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// The Green Mile is the Only Movie to Ever Bring Manly Tears to my Eyes 
// Story: I Blame You 
// by Whitestrake 
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	Eating at the large table was rather awkward for everyone, considering the smell that wafted from Chrysalis and myself. Actually, I think Karapass was silently approving of what we did the previous night, which was alright, in a creepy kind of way. The humans, Jay included, were sitting at a smaller table, leaving me seated with Cadence and Luna at my sides. Chrysalis was across from me, next to an empty seat that Should have been occupied by Arachni. The honor of sitting with the queens was reserved for those fighting to determine the next Grand Matron, and any other guests of high status, explaining why alicorns were allowed.

There was a host of faces I didn't recognize, even without counting the humans and ponies that served our meal. I had only met three queens, and only two of them were present. Everyone else was looking over me in scrutiny, trying to find what made me stand out above the scores of human that inhabited Equus. About a dozen of them were from areas rumors of the Burned Man had been circulated, so they had a rough estimation of how he looked and that he was traveling with a changeling, so there was very little room for doubt. The wispy burn scars that wove around my neck didn't hurt, either. Maybe they were being polite, or maybe there was a genuine fear of me that prevented them from meeting my eyes.

I only had an effect on the ones under five hundred years of age; the others were simply too old to care. A particularly brave broodmother with yellow eyes looked at me for a brief instant, before the sound of a fork tapping glass captured my attention. It was Karapass, and she didn't look too happy. The exalted matriarch waited for everyone watch her before she spoke, building the tension nicely. I also thought I knew what this was about, but I still had hope.

“As you all know, tradition dictates champions must be allowed two days of respite before entering honorable battle.” Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment. Next to me, Luna stiffened in her seat, clearly worried about where the younger ruler was taking things. “It has come to my attention that Arachni's chosen wishes to speed things along, and has been in the armory since arriving.” Was I seriously about to get fucked over by some hot-blooded jackass with a death wish? Chrysalis shot me a worried look as she came to the same realization I had, so at least I wasn't cowering alone. “I am pained to say that the warrior's tradition has forced a jump in scheduling, and my meditations have shown this to be acceptable.”

Murmurs snaked through the gathered for the early breakfast. A number of queens looked to the reactions Chrysalis and I bore, only to be sorely disappointed. We remained stoic through receiving the message, which seemed to strike Chorion and Karapass as strange. To Cadence and Luna, we must have appeared insane or suicidal, but I had enough faith in them not to think so little of us. Calmly as possible, the two of us rose from the table and began our way to our suite. I almost expected Jay to get up and follow, but he was busy going to town on a stack of pancakes. They must have been pretty awesome.

The last thing I heard before leaving the dining room was the battle's time, so I had four hours to put on my kit and make ready for war.

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“Chorion sure is nice.” Scootaloo had heard a lot of bad things about changelings, even that one that lived in Ponyville. Come to think of it, the rumors sounded a bit like the wartime propaganda Miss Cheerilee had shown them from the war against the griffons about thirty years ago. That had been a weird history lesson.

“Yeah, but somethin's not right 'bout all this. Why did Jay bring us t' a changelin' hive?” Applebloom had spent the past several minutes pacing around the room, too restless to take advantage of the leisure suite. The yellow filly had talked to Chrysalis a few times, enough to know that only the queens had the pleasure of a foalhood, so it seemed likely that the Cutie Mark Crusaders were in the same nursery. “An' why's Taylor here, too? Don' he an' Chrys'lis have something to do back in Ponyville?”

“Relax, I'm sure they're just visiting the family. Rarity said something about them having some kinda unresolved tension, or something like that.” Sweetie Belle was once more the voice of reason, even if she was aware that there was a bit of a margin of error. The unicorn had a bit of curiosity regarding the hive, her curiosity sparked by the few glimpses she'd had of the massive, subterranean city. A knock on the door roused the group from their slight stupor of foalhood activities. It was Chorion, come to collect them as promised, to attend some sporting event that she hadn't explained.

“Come along, girls; your friends and princesses will be right there with us.” The doting queen seemed to have taken a liking to the four fillies, a phenomenon that lacked any logical source or cause beyond latent maternal instinct should she ever become the Grand Matron. It was a bit depressiong she would never have the chance to find out, given the lifespan she could expect after the start of the next regime.

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Armored fingers drummed against the ornate throne arm. The Deceiver sat restlessly on his artifact, nervous for the first time since the War of the Red Gem. The ancient even remembered the hero that saved Equestria back then. It was a real shame he returned to his home universe after all was said and done; he would have made a fair replacement for the immortal. Now the options were slimmed to almost nothing, making the decision nearly impossible for the analytical mastermind.

A timer appeared in the Deceiver's vision, a reminder of the new battle time. The tired man looked at himself, something he considered sinfully painful, if only because it forced him to think about everything that had transpired over the eons he'd spent away from home. As a stray thought, and a morbid curiosity, the man had his suit calculate how long he could survive when separated from his throne, provided he was still within his armor. It was a scant ten minutes, which was miraculous, given the fact he was over... how could he have forgotten his own age? Had it really been that long?

There was more to worry about than senility at this point. The golden throne might not work after the Deceiver's replacement, and that in itself might result in the entire changeling species's extinction. Shortly before beginning construction of the life-extending device, the artificial immortal had created the hivemind as it was today. It was simplicity itself to task the machine with maintaining the psychic network, but now the insectoids may have grown too reliant upon the global synapse. If the shock of transitioning between Grand Matrons was debilitating to any queen not inheriting the title, the ancient could only estimate what would happen if the system shut down. Given that even receiving the honor also inevitably killed the exalted matriarch, sudden death was the most merciful of the negative scenarios.

The Deceiver's wandering mind returned to it's razor focus as he felt Taylor approach the arena.

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Armor? Check.

Powersabre? Check.

Shepard-style pre-ending romance scene? Check.

Salve-soaked bandages for burns? Double check.

Preparations for a battle that's happening way too soon? As checked as possible, given the time frame.

“Walkin' the Mile, walkin' the Mile.” I repeated the phrase to myself at least a hundred times during my long trip down the corridor. It was oddly appropriate with the green stone that made the hall's floor. The powersabre clanked against my armor as I marched along, serving as a metronome to mark time. In the span of a few minutes, I was waiting at the pit gates, hoping for the battle to begin in time for me to enjoy what could be my last fight. Yeah, I was trying to apply my obscene taste for schedules to something I affectionately called my execution.

There was a tremble in the air, the roaring voices of a million mouths shouting and hollering in excitement. Such energy lifted my spirits even as oppression weighed heavily on my soul. My helmet was stifling, my blade cumbersome. The steel portcullis in front of me blocked the view of my opponent completely. My cloak concealed my armor from public view, hopefully giving me the element of surprise. The Imperial powersabre was on its medium setting, the gentle glow of its destructive energy provided no illumination for the dusky corridor, but served as a way for my newest enemy to see me exact location. In my off hand, a very special revolver awaited its chance for glory.

A lock came undone, and the portcullis began its slow ascent.