The tavern… or bar, or perhaps simply gathering cave, was loud, crowded, and filthy. It was, by and large, populated by dragons. There were a variety of regulars; and as conversations were overheard by Feather, he was able to put names to the many massive shapes that populated the bar. There was the mighty Grankertank, a behemoth of a creature with stubby wings but muscles large enough to compensate for any other item of anatomy lacking in scale, Garble, the bright red, loudmouthed brat just as likely to punch you in the face as he was to ask you to join him in punching someone else in the face. There was Brasser, who served as part bar-dragon, part regular customer, and one was never completely certain whether he was going to serve you a drink of molten, steaming substance best left to the imagination, or whether he was just going to straight up down his entire stock himself.
It was a true nest of thugs and dastardly behaviour. Feather would have to be careful.
“Don’t you think one pony, travelling alone, is just going to raise even more suspicion?!”
A small figure by contrast, his beige-gold coat in stark contrast to the vibrant, metallic scales, the stallion Feather Bangs looked up at a slight, yet powerfully built green dragon. Female.
“Not my concern,” the dragon replied. “If noting else, you will serve as a straightforward distraction.”
Feather Bangs groaned as all lizardlike eyes turned towards him. He was still carrying supplies, though now much reduced after a long trip across dusty deserts, rocky ranges, sulphurous slopes, and deadly ditches. One half of his mane was also singed black from a very unfortunate encounter with a volcano.
He hated the Dragonlands.
“Who ‘dis, then?” one of the dragons barked.
Feather Bangs swallowed. He was not accustomed to such a… tough crowd. What was he supposed to say?
He decided to do what he always did; flick the mane, smile, and hope for the best.
“Hey guys,” he said, his pearly white teeth glinting in the dark. “Where can a pony get himself a drink around here?”
There was a small moments silence. Slowly, a massive finger (belonging to Grankertank) pointed towards Brasser. “At da bar… duh.”
Chrysalis, wearing her disguise of a dragon to avoid detection, rolled her eyes. Feather decided to put some distance between him and the vicious Queen. Three days of putting up with her incessant commands, her snide remarks, and her increasingly dangerous requests…
“Where do you think you’re going?” she snarled.
“To get… a drink,” Feather muttered despondently. He glanced at Chrysalis, anger in his eyes. “Is that okay, mom?”
He wasn’t sure where that quip had come from. He certainly knew he was going to regret it… but for the first time in a while, Chrysalis was forced to be on her best behaviour. Feather had thought about it… Chrysalis was going to have to play at being a dragon. She couldn’t do things like command him about like a changeling queen any more. That would risk exposure.
She bared her teeth at Feather, but as expected, thought better of it. Ha, Feather thought. Got her!
Three days, Feather thought. Three days of trekking, miserable and unhappy. It had toughened him up, at least.
He had come to hate everything about Chrysalis. He hated how she talked, how she walked, and how she perverted virtually everything about Emerald Eve. Feather Bangs spluttered. He barely even knew Emerald, when he thought about it. He thought she had been hot, had been nice, and she liked talking about music despite, frankly, not being very good at it at all. He glance at Chrysalis, who was moving to talk with one of the dragons… she was leaning towards a slimy excuse for a dragon, more snake than mighty fire-breathing lizard. He knew that whatever Eve had been, it had been better than Chrysalis, though. Anything was better than her.
If only he wasn’t under this accursed geas!
He reached the bar, which was taller than he was, and looked up. He tried to scramble onto one of the stools, and upon succeeding, panted and looked over at the big, brass dragon behind the counter. Darn, the smell… it was like sticking his head in a bucket full of rotting eggs and jerky.
“Do you have anything,” he began, “that, like, doesn melt ponies?”
The giant dragon belched. “Dunno.” He turned behind him and poured a selection of drinks into stone cups. “Want t’try?”
Frankly, after days of travelling with Chrysalis, Feather was sorely tempted.
“Whoa there,” came a gruff voice from the crowd. The bright red dragon emerged from behind Feather and grabbed two of the cups. “Look, Ember’ll have my scales for dinner-plates if I let the only pony visitor in ages turn his insides to mush.” He put the cups down and stared at Feather. “Name’s Garble. Look; this one, regular alcohol. That one, diamond polish. This one will make you unconscious. That one will make you dead.” He growled. “Got it?”
Feather nodded. “Y-yeah, sure thing, Garble. I’m Feather.”
“I don’t care,” Garble replied. “Just… put a good word in for me with Ember? She’s been really making life hard for me lately.” Garble threw up his claws into the air angrily. “I burn one forest... just the one, and all of a sudden I’m the villain!”
Feather took a sip from the ‘non-lethal’ drink. He coughed; it still tasted pretty lethal! It wasn’t exactly Sweet Apple Cider…
“What do you do?” asked Brasser.
Feather swallowed. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to talk… then again, what exactly was Chrysalis going to do to him here? Kill him? Around all these dragons?
“I’m sort of… a musician and singer.” Feather flicked his mane. “I’m pretty popular in places like Fillydelphia and stuff…”
“Whot’s Fillydelphia?”
In the corner of the room, Chrysalis turned her eyes towards Feather, her eyes narrowing into slits.
“Oh, y’know, just some place…” Feather muttered. “Don’t you guys, uh… have cities?”
“More like gatherings,” Garble said. “Cities are for losers.”
“Oh.”
Brasser reached behind the bar. “Here. Can you play this?”
He dropped a pan-flute onto the bar. They had clearly been designed for something larger than a pony… a single pipe was almost the size of Feather’s hoof in diameter.
“Uh… I don’t think so…”
“Not much of a musician then.”
Feather winced. Was this going to be trouble?
“What about this?” Brasser dragged out a large trumpet. “Play this.”
Feather looked at the trumpet. It was… old, but functional. He picked it up in his hooves. Brass wasn’t exactly his strong suit… in fact, he kind of missed his troupe of back-up singers and dancers. How was he supposed to play and sing at the same time?
He brought his lips to the instrument, and blew.
It was a strong, clear sound that echoed throughout the bar. Feather played with the pistons a bit… tried a little tune. It was only when he realised all eyes were on him that he paused.
He was used to attention on stage. He liked it, even… but something about the sharp teeth, predatory eyes, monstrous claws, and threatening smoke caused him to quake at the thought of being the focus of every dragon in the vicinity.
Chrysalis continued to stare at him. Feather could only guess what she was thinking.
“Um…” he began. “Do you maybe have something a little more… string-y?”
Brasser threw a mandolin at Feather. “Like this?”
The crowd looked at Feather, curious. Did dragons not do music? Feather wondered if that was part of why they were so very curious in him. He caught the mandolin in his hooves and discarded the trumpet. He had learned guitar as a young colt… back in his highschool days, mostly as a way to try and attract fillies (it hadn’t worked very well), but a mandolin was new. It couldn’t be that different, he thought…
He plucked at the strings. Sound was different… lighter. Shape was weird as well… if he had time to practice, he could probably get used to the differences…
“Oi! Make some noise!”
Feather swallowed. Under the intense peer pressure of the dragons, it was difficult not to feel nervous… he couldn’t back down now.
“A-ahem…” he coughed.
Garble narrowed his eyes at the Earth pony, his arms crossed.
Where was a convenient team of back-up dancers when Feather needed them?!
“In… in the desert vast…” he began, struggling to come up with lyrics on the spot. Come on, he thought to himself. He was better than this… singing was literally his special talent. That and hair products, of course…
He looked at Chrysalis. Overcome with anger at his situation, he focussed in on the changeling queen.
He might not be able to rebel against her physically… but he’d enjoy doing it verbally.
He took a deep breath…
The door to the bar slammed open, and in its frame stood a tall, lithe, agile figure… from claws to spine she was the colour of sapphire, and large bat-like wings sprounded from her back. In-between fangs so jagged they could tear through leather slithered a forked tongue, and a pair of piercing reptilian eyes honed in on Feather.
Every lyric, every word and sound that Feather was about to utter froze in his throat. He knew the dragon by reputation only, but a fearsome reputation it was: Dragonlord Ember, the ruler of the dragonlands, fierce warrior and nimble thinker. Small for a dragon, certainly, and with all the weaknesses that this implied, she nonetheless commanded a fierce aura of fear and power.
Like Chrysalis, Feather knew that the dragonlord was equally dangerous, if not infinitely less malicious.
“What’s a pony doing here?” she asked, stomping through the crowd towards Feather. Behind her scurried a smaller, less powerfully built dragon, with large, curling horns and big, bulbous eyes. A retainer? “And why isn’t everyone making him feel more welcome?!”
The dragons assembled there all cowered.
“I give you one job! Be nice to visitors. Look, you’ve got him all nervous.” Ember sighed, and walked up to the bar. “Uh, hello… male? That’s right, isn’t it?”
Feather nodded. “Y-yeah. I’m… Feather Bangs.”
Ember tried smiling, which to Feather looked more like she was showing off her teeth. “Great! A name I’ll definitely remember, I promise. Why exactly are you here?”
Feather stalled. What was he supposed to say? He glanced over at Chrysalis, who was still staring at him in dragon form. That… couldn’t mean anything pleasant. Chrysalis would definitely kill him if he blabbed… but then again, if he blabbed, could Ember save him? If she even believed him… As far as she knew, Chrysalis had been petrified, right?
Feather began to sweat. What was the right move? And even if he wanted to lie, what was he going to say?!
“Uh, you okay there? You look kinda broken.” Ember turned to her retainer, eyebrows raised. “Was it something I did?”
“I… I’m looking for my muse!” Feather exclaimed. “I’m a songwriter… and singer! Yes, that’s true.”
Feather swallowed. Ember narrowed her eyes. “Seems legit. What’s a muse?”
“It’s fun, innit?” said one of the dragons in the crowd.
“Nah, that’s ‘amuse’, Stankrag.”
“I thought it was like one of ‘em big animals with them horn things.”
“That’s a moose, Brasser!”
“It means… inspiration! Like… uh… when you can’t think of something, and then poof! It enters your brain and you can think things all of a sudden!” Feather explained. “It’s not a moose.”
Ember clapped her claws together. “Wow! Why is a muse here? Last I checked we just had lava, rocks, and lots and lots of treasure.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not part of our treasure, is it?”
“No! I don’t think so… it’s more of a mental thing.”
“Sounds pretty mental to me,” muttered Brasser.
Ember sighed. “Okay, whatever… losing interest. I mean… I’m very interested, but… whatever.” She groaned. “Do you have, like, somewhere to stay?”
Feather swallowed.
“No.”
Chrysalis nodded to him, slowly.
“I mean yes!”
Chrysalis shook her head, anger flashing in her eyes.
“Actually, no. Definitely no.”
Ember clicked her claws together. “Well, you can decide on the way. C’mon, I want to show you my mountain. You’re the first tourist in the dragonlands! It’ll be great for this place if you bring back cool pictures and stuff.”
Ember’s retainer, the small slimy dragon, held up a claw. “Um, actually…”
“C’mon, what could be the harm?” Ember asked, and beckoned to Feather to follow her. “Besides I never get guests.”
As Feather jumped off the stool to follow Ember, Chrysalis edged closer to him, and unbeknownst to Ember and her retainer, she wrapped a claw around Feather’s neck.
“Act. Natural.” Chrysalis’s eyes narrowed. “Remember everything they say… spy.” She grinned. “Got it?”
Feather felt his heart drop into his stomach.
“Y-yeah, sure.”
Ember exited the bar, and gestured wildly towards the vast expanse of volcanic rock, sulphur storms, and crags. “Behold!” She exclaimed, pointing towards a massive, black lump of rock. “For I live here.”
Feather beheld, and was suitably impressed. “Rockin' the stone look, I see,” he said. "Heh."
"Heh," Ember replied. “Let’s get going, Feather. And you, um… Wimp?”
Her retainer sighed. “Ebonite…”
“Wimp is more memorable. Let’s go inside.”
Chrysalis, wearing the form of a sleek, slender dragon, slid out the entrance of the cramped, smelly bar, and emerged into the dusty brown landscape beyond. The travel had worn her down, more than she liked to admit. She hadn’t been able to increase her powers again… she was no closer to her old self than she had been when she had escaped the Town with Feather Bangs.
What was wrong with her? She could luckily still shapeshift, but that was a skill that even the lowest changeling possessed. Clearly her magical self had been damaged when it had been transported from Chrysalis’s old form to her new one, and badly.
Chrysalis moved through the rocks and acidic clouds, following Ember, her retinue, and Feather from a safe distance. She didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Ember might only be a big brute of a dragon, but she likely held the advantage in strength. Even wearing the shape of a dragon, Chrysalis was not one. She would have to rely on deception and intelligence to overcome Ember in a confrontation… and for that, Chrysalis needed information.
Sending Feather into Ember’s castle was a risk… but a calculated risk. She knew that he might realise her deception, break the ‘geas’, and turn against her, revealing that Chrysalis was still alive to the world… but on the other hand, she could identify weaknesses, Ember’s habits, and other potential risks.
Chrysalis licked her fangs. If she could simply remove Ember, she could throw the entire land into chaos, and with dragons being more integrated with pony life, the potential for widespread havoc was unimaginable.
Chrysalis sniffed the air, and frowned. She sensed something… something unpleasant to her. It could simply be the sulphur and ash, but then again… there was a familiarity to this putrid odour.
She stepped towards the ‘castle’ that Ember lived in… closer to a large mountain with a big hole in it than a proper fortress or living area. Chrysalis scowled at how crude dragon architecture was. Nothing approaching the complex three-dimensionality of changeling hives, for sure.
She looked around for any sign of guards… but there weren’t any. Was Ember’s home completely undefended? The entrance lay before Chrysalis, vacant of all resistance. She could simply walk in if she wanted…
Chrysalis snorted. If she had known the dragons were so pathetic and careless, she would have invaded them long ago.
Thinking better of sneaking in, she decided instead to wait until she got a chance to see Feather again.
It galled her how Feather seemed so unashamedly dismissive of her grandeur. She had risen the changelings to be feared by all of Equestria! Yet somehow he thought that she was the lesser for it. She snarled. She’d show him… she’d show all of them.
She looked down at her claws, and clenched them together. The fool was likely still bemoaning Chrysalis switching places with his pathetic little changeling. Clouding his judgement. Ponies… they were so irrational and small-minded.
She’d show him who was the greater of the two… some nameless changeling spy, or the queen of all changelings.