//------------------------------// // Conceited and Unseated // Story: Harmonics // by ezra09 //------------------------------// The distraction plan had apparently worked better than they could have hoped. The hive was nearly empty, and Thistleroot and Wind Rider only had to hide once as a group of changelings passed by. Wind Rider had taken the lead, choosing paths that took them deeper and deeper into the hives. Despite the pegasus's early points, Thistleroot couldn’t help but feel nervous as each step took the two of them further from the last place they’d seen their allies. Eventually the hall opened into a large antechamber. Beyond the next archway, Thistleroot could just make out an eerie green glow, one brighter than the ambient light of the tunnels. Wind Rider edged closer and peered into the door. “It’s the throne room.” “How did you know where it was?” Thistleroot asked. “Don’t start that again,” Wind Rider said. Thistleroot gave him a skeptical look and he sighed. “Really? I’m a pegasus. I’ve got a good sense of direction. I just made my way toward the center of the hive. I wasn’t even looking for this room specifically.” “Alright,” Thistleroot said. “Are there any changelings in there?” “Not that I can see, but the ceiling’s pretty high. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re up there, waiting. Do your magic thing.” Thistleroot reached for his magic, focusing on a nearby pebble and trying to flick it at Wind Rider’s head. The magic poured from his horn and whipped away toward the throne room. He peeked around the door. The sparks vanished after moving a few feet, but they were definitely heading toward the center of the room. Thistleroot swallowed. Wind Rider hadn’t been joking, the throne room was huge. Dozens of tunnels all seemed to lead toward it from every direction, most just opening into the air. There were countless places that changelings could be lying in wait. “Guess you don’t need to worry about safety regulations when every member of your species can fly,” Thistleroot said, nodding toward the higher tunnels. “Not a guard rail to be seen, huh?” Wind Rider rolled his eyes. Thistleroot’s gaze drifted back toward the center of the room. A huge, twisted black throne stood raised at the center, carved from a black stone that didn’t quite match the rest of the room. “You think they hid the anti-magic field generator under the throne?” “Or maybe it is the throne. Why else make it out of a different material?” “Well, it does look pretty cool,” Thistleroot said, but even as he spoke he began noticing details he’d missed before. The base of the throne was carved into six stone roots perpendicular to the ground, spaced evenly around it. The roots disappeared into the soil, and then reemerged several feet later as large spikes curving back inward. It wasn’t exactly what he was used to, but he could imagine the forces at play under such a design. “Yeah, maybe. I think you might be right.” “So, let’s smash it and send off a signal,” Wind Rider said. Thistleroot nodded and patted his bag, reassuring himself he still had the fireworks Discord had given them. Wind Rider and Thistleroot stepped into the throne room, and were met with a hiss. “That was fast,” Wind Rider said. “Yeah, they—” Thistleroot cut off as Wind Rider shoved him aside. A changeling slammed into the ground where he’d been standing, flaming horn tearing a furrow in the ground and leaving a small crater. Wind Rider was already moving again, turning and bucking the changeling aside as two more landed on either side of them. The three changelings shifted, focusing their attention on Wind Rider as the obviously more dangerous pony. Thistleroot managed to keep on his hooves during the initial attack and was already racing toward the throne. “Just keep them busy for a few minutes.” “Oh sure, no problem!” Wind Rider called, rolling out of the way of a blast and taking to the air. The changelings followed. As Thistleroot passed the ring of inward facing spikes, he could feel the anti-magic field on his coat, like a gentle current drifting toward the throne. There didn’t seem to be any magic script or runes on the throne at all. It was more likely that the field was caused by the material itself, and then spread out by the structure. If that were the case, then Thistleroot was confident it could be broken. The field could be rendered into many smaller fields, no longer aligned with and reinforcing each other. He glanced back at Wind Rider. The pegasus was on the defensive, flying around columns and doing everything he could to keep one changeling between himself and the other two. He was doing well, but he wouldn’t be able to beat the changelings like that. He was buying time, nothing more. Thistleroot set his pack aside and opened it. He pulled out the rock he’d almost bludgeoned Wind Rider with. “Ha, I knew this would come in handy.” He turned back to the throne. “Okay, good news, bad news,” Thistleroot said to himself. “Good news, the nature of the throne seems to render it unenchantable by conventional means. It doesn’t seem to be warded from damage. Bad news.” He took the rock in both hooves, lifted it over his head and brought it down with all his strength. The rock slammed into the side of the throne and sent several ships of black stone flying. “Bad news, it’s still a giant rock, and Mr. Universe I am not.” “How’s it going over there?” Thistleroot turned back to see Wind Rider flying in a serpentine pattern as the changelings bombarded him from above, smashing tiny craters in the ground as they landed. “Oh, just great,” Thistleroot mumbled, turning back. “It’d be better if I could do that whole death from above crater thing. Stupid changelings.” He paused, his eyes widened, and his mouth curved up into a smile. “It’s going great,” he called out. “I just need to take one more swing and I can disable the antimagic field. Keep them from blasting me in the next three seconds and we win!” Wind Rider faltered, nearly coming to a stop, and arched an eyebrow, “Really?” The changelings had also faltered, turning toward Thistleroot, eyes going wide. Their horns flared with fire and they began to charge him, Wind Rider forgotten. “Oh no, hellllp!” Thistleroot called, tossing the rock aside. He gulped as the changelings closed on him, faster than he could ever hope to move. Luckily, he was moving a much shorter distance. He jumped sideways off the base of the throne and rolled down the decline. He heard three deafening crashes from where he’d been standing, and when the world stopped spinning, he forced himself up to admire his handiwork. The top two thirds of the throne had been smashed and scattered. The changelings were pushing themselves up, shaking their heads. One looked down at the throne, eyes widened, and then hopped away. Wind Rider walked up beside Thistleroot, an almost pained expression on his face, “I want to say ‘I can’t believe that worked’, but I really, honestly can. Let’s get out of here before these morons get moving again.” “Yeah. Heh, I guess she wasn’t kidding about them being stupid.” “Yes. Speaking of, you’ve got some nerve, thinking I’m a bad guy when you’re friends with a changeling,” Wind Rider said. “Not friends,” Thistleroot said, voice a bit more sharp than he’d meant. “Oh, wait. I need the bag. It’s got the fireworks.” The changeling that had already recovered looked over at him. Its horn glowed, and it launched a lance of fire at the base of the ruined throne. The fire struck the bag and sent it flying. It landed a dozen feet away, burning. “Oops, sorry,” the changeling said. Thistleroot blinked. Huh. I guess it had been going too well. “Uh, Thistleroot,” Wind Rider said. “Yeah. Uh, give me a second, still processing.” “No, look.” Wind Rider pointed up toward the ceiling. Thistleroot looked and blinked. “Oh, look at that. When did they all get here?” Dozens of changelings looked down at them from the various tunnels above them, some hissing in outrage, others staring in shock at the ruined throne. “They destroyed the queen’s throne!” The changeling called out. “They smashed it to pieces with their bare hooves!” “There was nothing we could do to stop them!” Another of the changelings said, standing up from the rubble of the throne and brushing throne dust from his carapace. “Make them pay!” The third changeling said. The flames engulfing Thistleroot’s bag had changed from green to an incandescent pink, and above the hissing changelings, Thistleroot swore he could hear some kind of bubbly laughter. “Wind Rider.” “Yes?” “I think we should run.” ***** “No, it is very much real,” Rosalia said as she stepped into sight. “I have no intention of letting it out of my sight.” Scootaloo stiffened, turning toward the changeling queen and taking a step back. Rosalia chuckled. “Did you really think such a simple deception would work? The Rosalia out there is a changeling. An overseer, actually. Not ideal trading such a valuable changeling, but Lirian tried to use an infiltrator at the gala and he was begging for mercy after mere seconds. I learn from the mistakes of others.” Rosalia moved forward into the room. The Royal Guards did the same, coming to a stop behind Scootaloo. “I have to say, I’m glad you chose to come yourself,” Rosalia said. “Oh yeah, why’s that?” “You really don’t understand?” Rosalia shook her head. “You played your part, like a good little pawn, and for that you were given your life. Yet, you still insist on coming back again and again. The fact that you’re still alive, even though you’ve long outlived your use is insulting. Embarrassing, even. I am the right hoof of the greatest being to ever live. I have orchestrated wars between species, rid the world of the alicorn princesses, and I can’t do away with one tiny, insignificant pony?” Scootaloo swallowed and glanced back at the entrance behind them, some forty feet away. She’d tried to outfly a changeling queen before. It might as well have been miles. The tablet was within reach, but even if it was possible for her to use it as a weapon, she’d only have a moment to figure it out, and she doubted she was supposed to smack the changeling queen with it. Once she grabbed it, Rosalia would attack. “And besides,” Rosalia continued, “even if I were willing to forgive that, you released Discord twice now. The first set the final steps of my plans back by a decade, and now the second is a desperate attempt to ruin everything I’ve worked for all these years. That cannot be forgiven.” “How did that ruin your plans? He was free for a day last time.” Rosalia smiled a humorous smile. “It is infuriating just how much trouble you ponies cause while knowing so little. I spent years pushing the changelings toward invading, trying to convince my older sister to attack. Finally she was desperate enough. Things were finally in motion, but she got herself banished to the moon trying to help you and Discord, and Lirian wouldn’t move against the ponies until she’d consolidated her power.” Scootaloo frowned and glanced to her left. At the side of the room was the cell she’d been trapped in during her last visit to the changeling hives. “The last time I was here, another changeling talked to me. He told me that Chrysalis asked for help from Celestia before attacking. I thought it was a lie Chrysalis told them to justify their actions, but it wasn’t was it?” Real anger flashed across Rosalia’s face. “No. My fool of a sister, after a thousand years of trying to rule the changelings on her own, having forsaken our creator, she had a moment of weakness. She forgot her pride. The message was easy to intercept. And of course I had to warn the ponies of an impending attack so that they would prepare their defenses, an insult that wasn’t lost on Chrysalis. It’s the little touches, I’ve always found, that can give someone that final push. Now then, I’ve played your game. I’ve let you buy time, and the cavalry is nowhere to be seen.” She started forward again. “Go,” Biggs whispered. “Take the tablet and fly. You’re the fastest out of all of us. We’ll hold her off as long as we can.” “She’ll kill you,” Scootaloo said. “We knew that was a possibility from the moment we accepted this mission,” Biggs said. Scootaloo looked back at him, hardly able to comprehend what he was saying. Zephyr, Sunlight Spear, and Cloudy Showers all nodded. “We are the Canterlot Royal Guard. It is our duty to protect the ponies of Equestria, and our princesses.” He paused, and stepped around Scootaloo, putting himself between her and the changeling queen. “What’s more, I still haven’t forgotten my own orders, the last command Princess Celestia gave me, even before the gala. Keeping you safe. I failed then, but not today. Go.” Rosalia tilted her head to look around him. She was less than twenty feet away now. “If you go, I will kill them, and then I will catch you anyway. Surrender, make this easier, and only you have to die.” “She’s lying,” Biggs said. “Take the tablet and go. You’re fast. You can escape.” Rosalia smiled, and her horn began to glow with a pink light. “If you believe that, then go. Leave your allies to die. Betray them. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?” Something snapped in Scootaloo at those words. Something began bubbling up at the pit of her stomach. Before, those words might have hurt Scootaloo. Now, they only made her angry. Angry at this changeling queen that had manipulated her every step of the way. Mad that she was still trying to push her, even now. The feeling that rose up in Scootaloo wasn’t rage, however. It wasn’t fear. Rosalia was behind everything that had happened to her since coming to Canterlot. Not Nocturne. Rosalia. And now the changeling queen was smiling, pleased at the prospect of killing her and the ponies who were willing to die to protect their homes. How could anypony be so twisted? So evil? The feeling that rose up in Scootaloo wasn’t outrage. It wasn’t bravery, or confidence. It was pure, unbending stubbornness. She was done being Rosalia’s pawn. “You’re not as fast as Lirian,” she said. Rosalia tilted her head. “What?” “You took us by surprise, but I saw you fight. I saw Lirian fight Princess Celestia twice. She was faster than you.” Scootaloo shifted closer to the tablet. “Probably all those years spent pretending to be a pony, sitting behind desks, practicing your magic. You’re an egghead. You’re not faster than me. “You know I’m right. You wouldn’t bother talking, otherwise. You know if I try to help everypony get away, we won’t stand a chance. Or if I give up so you’ll spare them, you win.” “Are you willing to bet your life on this?” Rosalia asked. “You’re going to kill me, so I might as well.” Scootaloo edged toward the tablet. “If you take the time to kill my friends like you’re threatening to, you’ll never catch me. You don’t care about them, anyway.” Scootaloo gave her the best cocky grin she could muster. “Are you willing to risk losing the tablet just to spite me?” And then she moved, grabbing the stone tablet and charging, not away, but towards Rosalia. Rosalia sent a wide burst of fire toward them. Scootaloo leapt, transferring the tablet from beneath her wing to her hooves and flew over the fire. The Royal Guards were already moving, too. They were slower than Scootaloo and Rosalia, but they’d been ready for the attack, and backed away before the fire could reach them. Scootaloo put on a burst of speed, drawing even with Rosalia. Time slowed, the next second drawing out to an eternity. If Rosalia pressed the attack against the Royal Guards, Scootaloo would escape, but she would have thrown their lives away. She’d made a huge wager, hoping, praying that Rosalia would care more about the weapon than the guards. Rosalia turned toward Scootaloo, horn glowing. Scootaloo felt the beginnings of a spell around her, but she was already moving too fast. The spell took form behind her and fizzled to nothing. Rosalia leapt after her, wings spread, and gave chase.