//------------------------------//
// Chapter 10 She Drops a Bomb on Me! 
// Story: My Daughter Chrysalis 
// by Scarheart 
//------------------------------//

One does not expect to wake up in a fluffy bed, sunken so deep you think you're in a white valley of cotton comfort. It's almost like I'm in a layer of clouds! The materials they use to fill the mattress is kind of like those form-fitting ones, but much softer and even therapeutic. Again, I wonder what this fluffiness is called here in Equestria. I really can't put a finger on it, but it's amazing! A warm breeze tickles my nose and coaxes me to open my eyes. My dreams were odd, I recall; strange creatures watching me, studying me where one large one I felt I recognized had me for tea with the Mad Hatter, Ronald Reagan, Maureen O'Hara, the Pope, and a big-nosed penguin named Opus (yes, a bird with more of a massive honker than a beak). There may or may not have been nachos and cheese involved. The large creature was Sil, I remember groggily as I wipe the eye boogers away and it occurs to me there were other changelings listening...erm, watching...uh, how do you describe it? It was at Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears. John Madden narrated. With squiggles. I really remember the John 'effing Madden squiggles from the dream. They were everywhere!

I have strange dreams, it would seem.

As I slowly become aware of my surroundings. The first thing I notice is I am not in the hospital anymore. Blinking in confusion, I groan, not wanting to sit up (I'm just sooo comfortable!) and try to make out where I am exactly in the most lazy fashion imaginable. I just move my eyes around and maybe adjust my head a little. I just don't want to move. The pillow is perfect, neither too cold nor too warm and the sheets feel so clean and soft. I feel like I'm lying on a bed of fuzzy kittens without the meowing. I miss having a cat, now that I think about it. Having Chryssie around more or less cautioned against such a thing as there was a good chance a Mr. Whiskers incident would repeat itself and actually finish with tragic results.

There's a reason why we never had a vermin problem around the house back home. Who needs a cat when you have a prowling changeling practicing her hunting skills on unsuspecting opossums and raccoons? Of course, she stored most of them in those cocoons, using the local wildlife to practice her innate changeling skills. I've yet to see how she does it, but I imagine Chryssie secrets it either from her mouth or the holes in her legs. She won't show me as it's a point of embarrassment for her.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. I'm waking up. I'm in a strange bed. A very comfortable, perfectly normal sensation of not wanting to get up sort of strange bed.

I'm also quite naked.

What? As a jaybird? Nothing but my birthday suit?

Yay Stars and Stripes Forever freaking me.

This will not do. I sit up reluctantly, blinking as I'm more aware of the fact I am sans clothing of any sort (not even the hospital gown) and laid out in a strange bed in a strange room in a strange house owned by a stranger.

"I need an adult," I mutter to myself, my stab at humor more an attempt to quell the sense of dread Equestria has begun to sow in me.  

I really, really, really am starting to hate this place. Oh, sure it's colorful and pretty and makes Disneyland look like a dump, but it's the stuff behind the curtain that's making me writing a strongly worded letter to the management. I'll even use the thesaurus when I do! What is it going to take for a guy to simply check in on his kid and make sure she’s settled in?  If you think about it, I’m the parent who just saw his daughter sent off to college.  At least that’s how I’m trying to see it.  It’s not working out really well.  Somebody’s up to something behind the scenes.

I'm looking at you, Sunbutt.

Don't get me wrong: my first impression of Celestia when I met her at the house what felt like a lifetime ago was awe and fear. My tea time with her expanded on those original feelings, adding a sense what I thought did matter to her and she would do within reason what she could to make my stay here as comfortable as possible. From what I understand, she was really put out with whoever assaulted me. I think she took it personally, given the promise she had made while we chatted to ensure my time in Equestria would be no more than a pleasant vacation with the possibility of returning further on down the road. She chose not to elaborate other than to suggest her world and mine were going to be linked on a more permanent basis.

Selecting one of the sheets, I peel it from the covers as I gather myself into a cross-legged position and take in my surroundings while throwing it over my shoulders like a toga-robe thing. I don't know what else to call it other than modesty resumed. I just know I'm looking around the room for any sign of my clothes.

It's a huge room, much like the suite given to me in the castle. Am I still in the castle? I don't know. A cursory glance out the massive window taking up almost an entire wall tells me I am obviously not in Canterlot as it sits there filling half the view, perched precariously on the side of its nook in the mountain. Around it and huddling the pristine walls are the buildings of the city proper like a litter of kittens nestling close to their mother for protection. I must not be too far from the portal I came through as the scene almost matches what I had seen a couple of days ago. This feels a bit closer and at a lower elevation. The quick glance becomes an appreciative stare at the beauty before I tend to the matter at hand.

That is one impressive window, by the way. It's an expensive one, looking like three arched windows set together as a matching set, with the middle arch the tallest and bearing a fleur de lis at its center. It takes about four seconds for it to dawn on me where I might be. I stare at the white trim forming the shape and note how perfectly clean and shiny the glass is. The window pane is essentially a lounge built into the wall, arching outwards as the window itself is contoured to shape. There are white and rose petal pink throw pillows arranged neatly along its length. I think it's meant for a pony to lie there and stare outside while doing pony things.

"Where the—" I stop myself from saying a forbidden word. I've spent years trying to keep my daughter from using foul language. I'll never claim to be a saint when it comes to language, but needless to say, I'd like to think my grandparents would be proud of me for trying to 'keep that filth' out of my vocabulary. I sort of let that slip while I was in the Army. Shit and hell are about as far as I'll go, Chryssie tends to slip into some of the more colorful aspects of the human language when she thinks I'm not listening.  Damn internet.

She learned about seven years ago a bar of Irish Spring is a horrible troll.

I do a mental reboot, taking in a deep breath as I figure for a moment I'm not in prison: I'm in a comfortable bed, it's a lovely day outside (noonish?), and I'm buck nekked in a stranger's house. What could possibly go wrong? I'm sure a certain Mr. Murphy would love to play havoc with the next few minutes of my life. Is it Tuesday already? Stupid joke aside, I take a moment to see the rest of the room. Its splendor rivals that of the room back in the castle.

It's large, spacious, with a high ceiling. I take note of a mural depicting ponies riding over a flowered meadow towards a fierce flock of griffons, battle standards on both sides proudly frozen in mid-flap in a breeze. The sun and the moon are both in their fullest glory - one side of the sky is lighter than the other. Within each celestial body are the faint outlines of what appear to be unicorn heads in stark profiles, facing each other in the mural. The one in the sun has the griffons fighting for...her?, I guess while the ponies are under the one in the moon. I wonder if there's a story behind it. There usually is. Murals depict a certain historical or religious event and usually embellished depending on the imagination of the respective artist. This one looks like it's painter had one hell of a vision when he did this piece of art. Each creature has startling detail, almost as if they might fall from the ceiling and drop to the floor in the throes of battle.

"Neat," I say to it as I stare owlishly. I'm still not awake. The comfy haze between full wakefulness and sleepy bliss tugs at me to do either one or the other. It's actually a pretty nice option to have when there's nobody bugging you to get up before you're good and ready.

I decide to see what else is in the room. It's a bit rich for my tastes. I've never been a fancy guy for these sort of things. But everything seems what you'd expect from what looks like a guest room to me; a queen-sized bed, a nightstand by it, an oil lamp sitting upon it, bedpan slid discreetly beneath the furniture. My eyes have shifted from the ceiling to this bit of furniture, sliding along the wall beyond to where a walk-in closet lies open. Next to it is what appears to be a small bathroom. Then there's the other wall where what I assume the entrance to the room is. There's a large full-length mirror on the wall and I can see a disheveled man in need of a shave staring back at me with wry amusement. The expression on his face sours, moving on to the rest of the room as my visual tour reminds me I'm in a strange place.

You know, I should be panicking. I should be flailing my arms, making loud noises involving chagrin and outrage. I should be running for the door, nudity be damned. 

But, I don't. 

I feel oddly safe in this room. This bed is a haven. Nothing can harm me here. It's a sanctuary. No, it's not. It's another reason to add to the dossier I've compiled on Equestria as a place to loathe. Waking up in a place nobody told you would be your new bedroom inclines me to believe nefarious things are afoot, or something like that. I must be drugged, or something. I simply can't seem to panic. I want to panic! Strange place means strange people! Strange people means me sitting in a dentist's chair while the dentist comes at me with a drill and asking, "Is it safe?"

My daughter's name shoves its way to the foremost of my thoughts. Where is she?

I shoot back up again, just in time to catch the door open to my left. Do you want to know the sensation of sitting up while feeling mellowed out? It made me giggle like a lunatic. They drugged me. I laugh harder. Those damn ponies drugged me! Why? No, wait. It's not drugs. I'm just losing my mind. Nothing special. Move along. Nothing to see here, folks! The reality check bounced!

"Bonjour, Monsieur Spriggs!" calls out a voice unfamiliar to my ears. A gray pony with a fiery mane enters the room. She's some sort of servant, I think based off her simple uniform and the large tray table on wheels she's pushing in with her nose. "Vous sentez-vous bien?"

I notice she has no horn or wings. She pushes the tray to a nearby table by the window, smiling at me the whole time. In her eyes I can see her nervousness. Must be the cackling human in the bed thing. I don't have a clue what's she's saying. I don't speak Fancy. The mare sets about to putting a covered plate on the table, setting out forks and what I think smells like freshly brewed coffee in a pot to go with a small tea cup. I eyeball it like a vulture anticipating a perfectly rotten corpse just ripe for pecking. The maid — I assume her to be such prattles on in her native language rapidly as if to talk the nerves out of her system. She won't look me in the eye directly, but her stray eyes catch my face as I stare at her with a goofy grin on my face. I'm not laughing anymore, but I'm sure I've got one hell of a case of bed head to make her think I'm cray-cray.

She busies herself with setting out breakfast. Breakfast for lunch? I must be in heaven! I double check the skies outside. Yep, it's lunch time and I'm smelling waffles! I find it weird she's using her mouth to set the plate and utensils. How does she get that dexterity with her lips and hooves? She combines them together in an orchestra of practiced skill. I wonder what time it is.

"C'est un beau matin," she exclaims with a titter. "Le soleil est brillant et le ciel est bleu." She then rattles off more words, shifting eyes seeking out escape. She's terrified of me. I guess she's supposed to wait for me to do something. I don't know, maybe get up?

I shift from where I'm sitting, swinging my legs up, out, and over the side, having to scoot on my butt and heels to get there first. I keep the sheet wrapped around me for modesty's sake. The mare stares at me, her smile cracking plaster as her eyes grow wider and wider. I plant my feet on the floor. It's cold. I glare at it indignantly and stand up. The mare's head tilts back as her smile fades. I'm not quite standing to my full height, but I blink, smack my lips, and scratch an itch somewhere in my scalp.

A morning groan escapes my lips and suddenly there's a rapid, "Je suis désolé, monsieur!"

There's the clatter of hooves pounding the stone floor and the sound of a door slamming shut. Before I can open my eyes, I'm alone in my room with nothing waitng on me except for breakfast. I fall upon it like a lion on a sickly gazelle. Scrambled eggs, hash browns with ketchup, buttered toast and jam, pancakes, and finally a small fruit salad: They all fall before me, their little screams completely imagined in my head as I eat with gusto. I had no idea how hungry I am until the first bite goes into my gaping maw. The massacre was complete when the last piece of pancake is chewed ravenously only to take one last fall to the pits of my stomach.

Still draped in my semi-toga bedsheet, I push back from the table and note the chair I'm in isn't really made for humans. It's like sitting at the kid's table on Thanksgiving. There by my coffee cup I notice a neatly folded note with my name emblazoned upon it in really fancy writing. I wonder why I hadn't seen it before, but shrug it off as just a case of tunnel vision. Coffee in one hand, note in the other, I pry it open with a finger and flip the folds apart. I sip as I read, fully displaying my ability to multi task.

I reflect on my most recent memories. I remember talking to my kid and how worried she was. She didn't want to leave me. Chryssie's a good girl. Stubborn, willful, and argumentative when the mood suits her, but basically a good kid. At least she doesn't do drugs. The letter hangs limply in my fingers, unread. I blink, starting out of my thoughts and sigh.

The letter is addressed to me and it's from Fleur. Aloud I read, "Dear Mr. Spriggs. I apologize for the sudden change of scenery. As you can tell, you are no longer in Canterlot castle. At the suggestion of Princess Celestia, you have been removed from the palace for your own safety as the events following the attack on your mind has made the place untenable in regards to your comfort during your stay. As I have plenty of room in my mansion, you and your daughter will be staying with me until the situation sorts itself out. My staff is not as prepared as those at the castle, so I apologize in advance if some of the ponies appear frightened by your appearance. They're Prench. They're good ponies. I've known their families for years. Give them time. I vouch for them without reservation. Your good friend, Fleur de Lis."

I glance at the bottom of the letter. There's a post script. "Oh, I forgot to mention the Lady Midnight Emerald will be joining us for lunch. Her room has already been prepared. Odd thing about your personal belongings. They appear to have disappeared from the quarters given to you in your quarters. Princess Celestia is quite upset at this turn of events."

"Great," I say as I roll my eyes to the ceiling. I wave the letter carelessly about. 'I've been robbed!" My legs splay out beneath the table as I slouch in my frustrations. The chair objects to the sudden shift of weight and its back only reaches partly up my spine. As I lean back, the front legs lift and the chair teeters precariously on its back legs. There's a pause—a dreadful, awful sensation and I topple backwards, arms windmilling as I realize gravity is making me its bitch.

"Whoa!" my voice protests loudly. My legs flop and kick, contacting with the bottom of the table. It bounces with each kick, the plate and fork falling off. The fork bounces with a ping and the plate simply shatters. My head bounces off the floor. I can confirm it's stone, ladies and gentlemen! Stone hurts. My head was still sore at that spot from my last fall. Same place! I'm seeing stars and pain trailblazing through my nerve endings like Lewis and Clark exploring the Louisiana Purchase in the cockpit of an SR-71 at Mach three while hugging the contours of the earth. I'm tied to one of the engines as it screams through the air.

Yeah. That kind of pain. I might be exaggerating just a tad, but as I've said before: Yay me. Did I mention I'm not exactly having fun vacation memories of Equestria at this point? No? Yes? Oh, yeah...a bug empress wants to see me. I think. For some reason, I didn't think this way back on earth. Something had been mentioned about the air of Equestria and the magic inherently in it having some sort of effect on my thought process. Was it Luna who told me? I think it was. I also remember she's not at all a fan of me being here. I don't know why.

A man will often contemplate such things while lying on his back, legs draped haphazardly over a tipped over chair and dressed in a bed sheet. I am no exception as I try to figure out what exactly went wrong when I first came here. It should have been an enjoyable visit to spend some time with my daughter while she acclimated herself to her real (heh!) world. Instead, I find I have been drawn into a political mess I don't even have the foggiest clue to as the whole thing seems to center on keeping my kid somewhere in Secret Squirrel status.

Gingerly I rub the back of my head, groaning a pitiful unmanly sound more like the whimper of a whipped dog. Rolling on my side with a groan, I note the shattered pieces of plate on the floor and sigh. After picking myself up, I readjust sheet around and begin to pick them up. It's a bit of a struggle, but I manage. Just as the last large chunk of plate I can manage with my fingers is added to the pile on the table, there's a soft knock at my door.

Oh, great. I look down at myself and realize I'm more dressed for a Roman senatorial debate than anything else. Where are my real clothes? Why am I only now realizing I'm dressed in a bed sheet? "Just a minute!" I holler while looking around.

"Monsieur Spriggs? Are you all right?" asks a muffled voice from the other side of the door. It's Fluer. "I came to see how you are doing. There was a loud crash. Are you hurt?"

Why can't there ever be quiet crashes? "I'm fine! Where are my clothes?" I call back to the door loudly. "I can't find them!"

There's the sound of a whispered question and a babbled answer. Then another question I can only assume to be sort of an 'are you sure?' which is answered with the (P)French word 'oui'. "Try the wardrobe. Your clothes were cleaned and placed in there. Take your time and please come out when you are dressed." I think she sounds amused.

"All right! Thanks!" So, they saw me nekked? Why am I suddenly blushing furiously?

"De rien," is the giggled reply.

"What?" Did they like seeing me sans clothing?

"I said, 'you are welcome'!" She's giggling through the door. In a softer tone, she's rattling off in her native language to someone else. Probably the made I scared half to death.

"Oh!" I feel stupid. Chryssie can speak three languages that I know of, thanks to the power of the Almighty Internet. "Why didn't you say so? Gimme a minute!"

"Take your time and please feel free to shower first!" They're having a mental image of me showering, aren't they? As I might have mentioned earlier, I need an adult!

"Ah, yeah, thanks. I'll do that!" I wander towards the bathroom after a few seconds of looking around to spy the door. I must be overreacting and imagining things that simply could not be true and would be downright absurd to even contemplate.

I hear a snort and a titter, as well as harsh whisperings followed by even more giggling. Fleur discusses things with a light voice to whoever she's speaking to and there's a response in kind. They're speaking in their native language as I spy out the wardrobe in question and pad over to it. I have a sneaking suspicion they're talking about me. Why wouldn't they? I'm probably the only white man in the mansion or Equestria for that matter.

The shower is surprisingly not unlike the ones back home. I had one like this in the palace, but it's so strange seeing something as normal as one would expect on Earth for bathroom amenities, but made smaller to accommodate equines. I have to stoop under the shower head as it comes to my collar bone. As a matter in fact, as I lather myself up with soap, I stare at the ceiling and note an oddity just now occurring to me.

Pony homes have high ceilings. They simply do. No unicorn or earth pony could possibly reach some of the shelves that are easily ten to twelve feet off the ground. Did it have something to do with a herd mentality? The need for open space even indoors? Compensating for something missing? Insanity? The need to make background scenes fill a television screen so the characters have an open space to interact with each other in?

Nah, that last one is just silly.

Finishing my shower, I brush my teeth with the toothbrush provided at the sink, but forgo shaving. Maybe I should grow a beard. What do you guys think? Should I grow one? No, wait. Fourth Wall talk here. Sure, I'm talking in the present tense, but it doesn't mean you guys won't be reading this a hundred years from now. Moot point is moot point.

I'm going to shut up and get dressed. I hang my towel up and walk in the buff back into my room. I'm alone, I can walk around naked if I want to.

Inside the wardrobe, I find my clothes: earth toned flannel shirt, black t-shirt for beneath, jeans, underwear (thank you pony gods!), a pair of socks, and my hiking boots. Of course, there's also my Australian booney hat. In less than three minutes, I'm dressed and ready to dread this world again.

Just as I tie the last lace on my boot, there's another knock at my door and it swings open slowly. A pale pony head swaddled in a pink mane pokes in with a smile, her large eyes finding me quickly. Fleur de Lis lights up visibly when she sees I look hale and hearty.

"May I come in?" she asks politely.

"Kinda late for that," I reply dryly. Lifting the note I had left on the table it's in my grasp as I glance over it. "How bad is it?" I blurt to Fleur as she enters.

Behind her is a small army of servants who swarm in, each one giving me a little bow. I notice the one who had brought my breakfast, refusing to lift her head up as she tries very hard to avoid me without being noticed. Of course, this just makes her attempts all the more obvious.

"If you would be so kind as to walk with me, mon ami," Fleur says with a warm smile, indicating the door with a graceful indication with her horn. "Let the staff do their work. Never you mind the plate. Il n'est pas important. I have an old friend I should like you to meet. Perhaps the two of you should be good friends, non?" For a moment she winces at the shattered bits of plate on the floor, then the remains I piled on the table. Did her lip just tremble?

The staff, I notice is a bunch of giggling school girls. I can't help but see they stare at me for moments while they work, then whisper to each other. Then they giggle. A lot. Fleur ushers me out the door quickly, throwing a half-hearted stern glare at them before it melts into a smile of her own. The maids only start to laugh harder as the door closes behind us.

"Why are they laughing at me?" I keep my hat in my left hand. It would be rude to wear it inside such a grand home. Or any home, for that matter. I definitely feel out of place in this massive domicile.

"Oh, they do not laugh at you," she assures me.

The mansion interior reminds me of a fancy cathedral. There are pony busts everywhere, lining the walls and each one looking very serious. Paintings line the hall and partially melted candles sit upon golden candle holders set in the wall. Or do you still call them candlesticks? The floors are wooden and shine from a recent waxing. I'm tempted to kick my boots off and slide around on my socks. Warm, bright colors festoon the walls, most of them reminding me of sunshine and clear blue skies. There is very little trim, but each room we seem to enter has a fireplace. A big fireplace. Each one seems to have its own member of the staff cleaning or dusting or straightening something. I notice they're mostly mares. They greet Fleur politely and with practiced deference, always smiling. It must be a requirement for potential employees here to have a nice smile. As expensive as everything seems to be, there's a lot of functionality and practical application to each piece of furniture managing to catch my interest as we walk. There are a lot of display cases, most of them holding something.

I'm talking the whole time. I don't know why, but I just start telling Fleur what I think of my stay to this point. I'm rather blunt, I'm afraid. I admit I'm probably not being fair to this world, but I haven't really found nearly getting into a fight with one of the Royal Guards near and dear to my heart. Nor has discovering my daughter has been stuck in a gilded cage since she came here exactly made me develop warm fuzzies for this place. Then, there's that oh-so-fun-I-recommend-it-to-all-first-time-visitors-to-Equestria assault upon my mind which probably didn't help my thought process all that much. I know I'm a psychological cripple. I've lived with the prospect of toppling into the mental abyss of a complete collapse for years. In a way, I want it to happen just so I don't have to wonder when anymore.

The unicorn simply listens attentively, not interrupting. She prods me with gentle words when I'm between breaths and collecting my thoughts, encouraging me to speak my mind freely. Finally, my rant ends and I feel a little better. I rub the back of my sore head and wince.

"You have nothing to fear from me," she assures with an understanding smile. "Speak freely, speak honestly. I imagine you have more to say, but this is what you need now. I understand your position. Princess Celestia understands you all too well. This is why she placed you in my care until tomorrow."

Of course, I have to ask. "Tomorrow? What's tomorrow?"

"It is not for me to say as she has chosen not to tell me."

Well, that makes me feel so much better! I roll my eyes but say nothing.

Eventually, we come to a grand staircase sweeping from the floor we're on to the ground floor. This must be the lobby, I presume, or whatever passes for the main room visitors first see when they enter this house. It's fairly narrow at the top, but splays out towards the first floor. In its middle is a large bronze statue of an alicorn rearing on her hind legs, her wings splayed out in glory and her head looking down upon those who grace this home with their presence. The statue is the first thing visitors would see when they come in and she seems to both welcome and warn guests. Gaping in awe of this masterpiece, Fleur proceeds to tell me to note the statue has Luna's cutie mark on one side and Celestia's on the other.

A massive crystal chandelier hangs over the center of the room, almost big enough to cover the whole floor. A pegasus is currently replacing the candles, putting the old ones in one saddlebag on his right side while new candles are plucked from the bag on his left. He smiles and waves at us before going back to work. I notice his cutie mark is a candle with a pair of gray wings spread wide.

"Celestia presented this home to me many years ago," the unicorn mare says after allowing me a moment to drink in the sight. "I protested of course, but she had no use for the estate. As I had no residence of permanency in Equestria, I realized it wouldn't hurt to accept her most generous offer. I have done little to change the appearance of this house. The original owner was very much a faithful son of Equestria. Alas, he passed with no immediate family and stood empty for decades as property of the crown."

"Who am I meeting?" I'm prompted to ask. We start down the stairs.  Her hooves tic-tac lightly on the marble steps.

"His name is Fancy Pants. I have had the pleasure of calling him a dear friend for almost a decade now. A very prominent stallion with many powerful friends. He's proposed to me at least a dozen times over the years. Such a dear!" She smirks, glancing at me through the corner of her eye. Her tail flicks in my direction.

I nearly stumble. Why would you tell me that?

"Ah, so you are paying attention!" she chortles at my expense. "Non?" I must be blushing like a boy who just realized he's noticed girls for the first time. What is her game, exactly?

Females! It's bad enough I'm wrapped around a certain changeling's finger—er, hoof? Horn? She continues as we descend, my eyes lingering on the impressive detail of the alicorn statue. It looks like it could come to life at any moment!

"None of the bad things were going to happen, mon ami," Fleur is saying, a bitter sigh hinted in her tone. "You were supposed to get a grand tour of Canterlot city and spend a day or two in Ponyville. Princess Twilight Sparkle wanted to have a one-on-one question and answer session with you if you felt inclined. Princess Celestia was so looking forward to showing you the good side of Equestria as well as the difficulties Émeraude de Minuit faced. She wanted so badly to prove to her sister humanity does have some good examples of positive influence to show her beloved ponies. Nous n'obtenons pas toujours ce que nous voulons."

I'm not going to ask her what she meant with that last sentence. There's regret for sure and I'm beginning to think maybe I did overreact (justifiably, dammit!). Not feeling inclined to forgive all and soldier on, I simply nod to Fleur with a bit more understanding to her plight. I think she wants the same thing Celestia wants. Maybe. Hell, I don't know. They seem like they've been friends a long time.

We reach the bottom of the staircase where a stallion—I assume the butler waits for us patiently. He's also a unicorn and begins speaking very formally to Fleur de Lis, punctuating his words with the precision of a military commander, bobbing his head at the right time. He's dressed to the nines in a black suit fitting him perfectly. Nothing is out of place. I haven't a clue as to what he's saying.

Fleur introduces us. "Monsieur Spriggs, this is my butler, Tomas. His family has served me for generations and he is my eyes and ears for what goes on in my home when I am away."

His English (Equestrian?) puts me to shame. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir." He bows politely. "Might I add you will have all of your needs attended to during your stay. Please do not hesitate to ask me or one of the staff. They all speak Equestrian, despite their preferred language of gossip." He's got a smile that would make a politician concede defeat.

Fleur giggles, putting a hoof delicately over her mouth. "But how else are we to speak in front of the object of our interest openly and without guilt or shame?" says she with an air of mock seriousness. "To gossip in Prench is to make tilted ears yearn for more!"

Tomas gives her a deadpan stare. "It is as my Lady says," he says, showing a slight smile. "I shan't speak my native language in front of you, Mister Spriggs." The deference to me is a bit embarrassing. "Some of us would prefer to be up front and honorable in our intentions." Fleur stamps a little hoof, glaring at him in mock outrage. "Master Fancy Pants awaits in the drawing room, along with the Lady Midnight Emerald. She has only just arrived, along with a guard I presume to be from Princess Luna's Night Guards."

"My daughter is here?" I remember the letter Fleur wrote.

The butler nods warmly. "A charming young lady, if a bit skittish," notes Tomas affably. "One might presume she has something to say she is not really looking forward to. But what do I know? I'm just the butler." He begins to walk stiffly, yet with a certain odd flow as if there's no effort in his steps. Tomas...glides and Fleur flounces after him, nudging my hand to come with her. She actually used her mouth to grab a hold and tug on my wrist. Her lips felt odd on my skin. Not unpleasant, but just odd. As soon as I start after her, she lets go of me and smiles before turning her attention forward.

We pass through a double door and down another spacious hallway. Texas would love to have this sort of 'everything is bigger in...' housing in its borders. I'm noticing the theme for ponies. ‘We build 'em big because we can! Scale be damned!’

I remember the pegasus and begin to wonder if the high ceilings has more to do with preventing the pony fliers from feeling cooped up than anything else. Could it be that simple? The halls do seem wide enough to let a pegasus fly down them with room to spare at the wing tips. It was double back at the castle, if I remember correctly.

Tomas guides us unerringly past a few doors (honestly, how many huge rooms are there in this house?) until he turns abruptly to the right where a large oaken door frame beckons. Within is another large room with several stuffed chairs arranged around a round coffee table. In the center of the room is a Persian rug. Four windows with their heavy curtains drawn open let the sun stream in, basking mostly on the chairs and walls.

I can see an white unicorn stallion with a short, wavy azure mane (and mustache!) professionally styled. He seems to be wearing some sort of dinner jacket over a blue vest. The stallion also sports a purple bow tie. He's speaking to a not-quite-familiar mare—she's sitting with her back to me—and looks up when we enter.

"Ah, there they are!" he announces pleasantly. The stallion has an accent I place as being noble British. I think. The guest he's with spins around, her cerulean mane whipping about. Emerald green eyes fall on me and widen in happy surprise upon recognition.

"Daddy!"

Fleur and Tomas wisely step aside as a black ball of weepy happiness runs me over like a Mack truck. Only, I'm prepared for this onslaught and catch her, only staggering back a few steps as she bawls in my arms. I doubt she weighs more than a small woman. Still, I'm not the spry young man I once was. "Oof!" is the appropriate response. "Heya, pumpkin!" I say into her ear. We embrace for several long moments. It's nice to have something normal I can feel and see with my own eyes.  Though, I'm not used to my Chryssie with fur.  None of this trip has been normal by any stretch of the imagination.

"Are you okay now?" she asks, pulling back and looking me up and down. "I mean, you're not brain damaged or anything?" Chryssie sniffs me critically, her nostrils flaring and the sound of air rushing in and out making a distinct wish-whoosh sound.

"No more than I was before," comes my dry answer with a smirk. I plant a kiss between her eyes. "Who's this? Your new boyfriend?" I look over to the stallion who had risen and was simply enjoying the scene.

Chryssie flushes. "No! Daaaaad!" she whines plaintively, shoving my shoulder with a hoof. She drops away on all fours, glaring up at me over her flaring red cheeks.  Adorable!

Fleur laughs as Tomas bows politely and departs like a passing well-dressed ghost. The white stallion is chortling. "Greetings," he says affably. "My name is Fancy Pants. A pleasure to make the acquaintance of the father of this charming young mare." He approaches and offers a hoof. I have to stoop over to shake my hand to his offering. How does a hoof get a firm grip? I note that mentally as his grasp on my hand could only come from someone used to pressing palms and meaning it. "Miss Midnight simply can't bring herself to stop talking about you."

I grin. "Nothing good, I hope."

"She says you're the most terrible creature of the foulest temper!"

"That's my girl!"

"Daddy!" Chryssie's turn to stamp a hoof. Fleur pulls up to her and is shoulder-to-shoulder with my daughter.

"Pay you no mind to your papa," she coos, using her magic to straighten a stray strand of hair in my daughter's mane. "He is the playful sort, non? Come, let us all have a seat and discuss important things." I note the odd inflection of the word important as her glance slides upon Chryssie before flicking to me.

My kid deflates noticeably and nods after heaving a great sigh. I know that sigh. I dread that sigh. I've spent years getting to know that sigh. "What did you do?" Crossing my arms over my chest, I straighten and assume the 'you're in trouble even if I don't know what you did yet' posture.

"I'm afraid she did something rather...rash last night," Fancy Pants puts in, only to be shushed by Fleur de Lis' deliberate stomp on one of his hooves. Fighting tears of pain, he announces, "Right! Right! Let us sit down!" He limps noticeably back to where he had been sitting earlier.

Fleur sashays in his wake, her tail swishing as the only display of her personal amusement of something. Other than that, she bears an unreadable expression on Chrysalis and holds it as if she were a marbled sculpture. My daughter flinches under the stare and sighs, hanging her head as she follows after. I bring up the rear, completely baffled by the sudden downturn in the mood.

My kid settles uncomfortably into her seat, fidgeting and staring at her hooves. I walk past her and her head follows, her eyes turn up and following me from beneath her mane. An unhappy frown creases her pretty face. I sit down in the only empty chair, noting the chairs are all arranged equal distance apart and around the round coffee table. A tea tray with all the necessities appears in a flash as I sit down. Out of the corner of my eye I notice our hostess' horn aglow.

If there's one thing about my daughter that's a constant, it's her ability to dive headlong into an admission and go into details. Lots and lots of details. She spills out everything even as my butt touches the cushion of my chair. It always starts out with, "Daddy, I'm so sorry, but..."

Like any good father, I listen. I might not fully understand or grasp certain ramifications, but I listen. And gape as the details are exposing my daughter's penchant for secrets as they begin to fall out into the open, exposed one by one. She starts by telling me how she used to sneak out of the house at night after I was fast asleep to practice her innate abilities and try to figure out more about what she was and what she could do. I hunch forward, elbows on my knees as I clasp my hands in front of my mouth, resting my chin on the crook of both thumbs.

I listen. The way she's talking now begs me to not stray from her words. Chryssie speaks clearly, yet softly. I'm upset with her and she can feel it, but I'm holding my thoughts. Tears are streaming down her face now, her body as still as a statue as if any movement might elicit a break in my focus on her words. Still, Chryssie keeps spilling out what happened last night. How she snuck past Celestia's and Luna's guards, snuck past the two changeling guards, got into the ambassador's wing. How she planned on killing the ambassador.

I lurch when she admits that. I really don't want a stranger listening in on this, my eyes flicker over to the white stallion. He is listening, even as Fleur has her undivided attention to my pumpkin's words. Oddly, he has no surprise at all etched on his long face.

Her words die out and she looks at me expectantly, her bottom lip quivering.

"Daddy, please say something," she begs.

How long was I staring? How long did I mull over this completely unexpected and goddamn horrifying revelation? What was I supposed to think of it? How was I supposed to react? On the one hand, I'm flattered she would go to such lengths to do something this stupid. I'm happy she actually got cold feet and Princess Luna stepped in. I'm not at all happy she thought killing someone was a solution. I'm not happy she spent years sneaking out of the house and spying on my neighbors. I'm not at happy she did not think this through and let the ponies handle this. Inwardly, I'm very proud of her as much as I am disappointed. Such inner conflict!

"Damn it, honey," I say through a slow exhale. How do you react to this?  How should I handle it?  Rubbing my temples, I feel a headache coming on. "What were you thinking?" I angle my head slightly so I can see her fully from between clenching my head in my hands.

"This is the reason you were moved to my home," Fleur's voice floats over the heavy stillness following my exasperated question. "Canterlot is in an uproar and somehow it was discovered changelings have been hidden by the princesses. Fancy Pants was asked to make the move as seamless as possible."

I remember the note. "Do you know why I was robbed?" I ask the stallion bluntly. I'm thinking it's got something to do with my daughter's misadventure in the night.  I don't want to look at her right now.

Unruffled, the unicorn shakes his head. "Unfortunately not at this time. As the head of the RIB, I can tell you not only am I up-to-date on who you and your daughter are in terms of sensitive information inherently vital to the security of Equestria, but I can also tell you I will have an answer to your question by the end of the day. As it stands, the only possible individuals who might have an interest in you would be some of the nobility."

Blinking at the acronym, I can't help but ask, "RIB?"

Fancy Pants sits a little straighter in his seat. "Royal Intelligence Bureau," he supplies helpfully, "It's my job to keep an eye on the nobility for the princesses. Especially with the delicacy of the past year since negotiations began with the changelings.  I shouldn’t worry about it.  Your things will be returned to you.  My ponies are very good at what they do.  Your thief has been caught.  All we need is the name of the noble who hired him."

That’s good enough for me, but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.  I am not.  I’m brought to focus on this unpleasant bit of my daughter attempting murder...

"Daddy?" Chryssie's voice cracks. I look at her. She's edged closer to me, desperate for an answer, any answer from me. "Please..."

"Do you know what it's like to kill?" my voice rumbles from my throat. "Do you know what it feels like to take the life of another? Do you ever wonder why I never talk about what I did in the war?" I feel so sad now, but I know I should also feel immense relief she didn't take that final, awful step.

She shakes her head once, slightly. I stare at her hard. She shakes it with more emphasis. "No, I don't," she admits with a blurt, face contorted in shame. "I got so scared, Daddy! I wanted to run away because I knew I was doing something dangerous and stupid! I wanted to protect you, but I just got so scared!" More tears fall.

My voice is hoarse. "What were you thinking, pumpkin?"

A throat clears audibly. "Perhaps I can shed a bit of light on this," Fancy offers when my attention goes to him.

"I'm listening." My look warns him to not give me any crap explanation.

"Changeling queens are naturally inclined to protect their primary source of love as they need them, in fact to help hatch their eggs."

I look at him stupidly. "Huh?" My brain fizzles as the only logical solution pops and whirls and I go into a state of mass assumption. No...

There's a soft poke at my arm. "Dad...?"

"Are you pregnant, too?" I demand shrilly, spinning on her like Ace Ventura realizing that's not Snowflake. Chryssie draws back from me, her eyes saucers and mouth hanging agape in incredulous shock. Wait...eggs? "Who is he?"

"I don't understand," she stammers, physically shrinking from me. "He? He who?" —she suddenly realizes what I'm raving about— "Oh, nonononono! No! Nothing like tha—"

I rise like the Kraken from the sea and rage, "I WILL CASTRATE THE SON OF A BITCH AND MAKE EARRINGS OUT OF HIS BALLS!" Eggs?!  I think I just broke my brain again.

"Monsieur Spriggs, calm yourself!" snaps Fleur de Lis. Her eyes are a bit wide, I notice.

How many eggs?

"DADDY, I'M NOT PREGNANT!" screams Chryssie in a voice that would do Bruce Dickinson proud.

"Mr. Spriggs, how are the grandkids today?" Someone will ask me in the park and I'll joyously answer, "Oh, scrambled with pepper and salt, thank you."

...Wait, did she just say, 'not pregnant'? Hawkishly I peer down at her. I think one of my eyes is twitching. "No?" I beg, plead, and hope all in one word.

"Positive," she assures with a squeak. Which is in itself not very reassuring.

"My word," murmurs Fancy Pants. "Do sit down and calm yourself, Mr. Spriggs. You are not behaving rationally. You are not doing yourself any favors by jumping to conclusions. If you sit down and let me finish, perhaps I can enlighten you to more details in regards to last night's incident." He fixes me with a stern glare. 

I feel a tug at my hand and look down. It's coated in a green aura. I look up and spy out the owner of the glow. Chryssie is tugging at me gently with her magic, having come off her seat and moved to my side. "Daddy, I'm sorry. I'm not going to kill anyone. Please forgive me! I'm not pregnant, either. Please calm down, Daddy. I'm just so happy you're all right and safe. Please Daddy!" She's almost bawling, like she was a little filly, her slightly disjointed voice cracking and small and so very little girl-like. Her chest heaves with each gasp. Her magic tugs my hand to her face, wanting me to pet her and tell her everything is going to be all right.  When did her voice begin changing?

She reminds me of me. My adopted daughter is a reflection of my emotions, my feelings from nearly two decades ago.

"Not pregnant," I parrot again. I flop unceremoniously back into my seat and stare stupidly. I do a lot of stupid staring. The back of my head still hurts. Now I've got a headache. A shaking hand touches fingers to my forehead. My brows scrunch and I pinch the bridge of my nose.  No, the headache never went away, I correct myself.

"Coffee?" a disembodied voice asks to my left. "To settle your nerves? Not a good shock to undergo, non? I must say, Monsieur Spriggs, you are a most interesting specimen of this human species you represent."

Gratefully I accept the offered beverage, looking up to see Fleur smiling at me. She's always smiling. Even when she frowns, she's smiling. What a weird mare.

"Thanks," my voice manages through a forced smile. "I'm sorry. Why is he here? Why does he know about Chryssie? Let's start this whole thing over. Just let me finish this first." I heft the cup to my face, not looking anywhere else but at the surface of the steaming mug. Ah, coffee. You have never failed me.

My daughter curls up next to me, her nose pushing against my hand again. I can't stay mad at her, though I really am disappointed with her. I taught her better than that, I swear! Though the way she reacted while telling me was enough to convince me of her remorse. I don't make eye contact with her, but I do ruffle her mane between her ears reassuringly. I'll talk to her more about it when we have some privacy to have something more on a father-daughter level. I slurp my coffee and just let my thoughts set themselves as I mentally prepare myself for the shitstorm I've obviously walked into since day one.

Three and a half gulps later (or was it three quarters?) I finally look up from my cup, taking in a deep breath in the process and leveling my gaze at Fancy Pants. "Let's start with you, Mr. Fancy Pants. Since I've gotten here, I've had two things going for me: Jack and shit. Jack split about the time someone thought it would be neat to play god in my head. This leaves me with shit. So, let's talk shit. Please tell me, just what in the goddamn hell have I gotten myself into?"

I feel Chryssie stiffen next to me. Her eyes bug at me with enough force I can taste them. I don't curse around my kid. Hell, I haven't cursed since that night I first found her. Seems like yesterday. Her body tenses like a deer sensing danger. A reassuring scratch of human fingers convince her to relax a bit, though I can feel her body quivering. She's still afraid and she knows she's upset me. This is a different me she's seeing for the first time. She's seeing the warrior trained by the U.S. Army make an appearance after a lifetime of trying to forget him.

"You certainly have a rustic grasp of the common language," notes Fancy Pants wryly. "Very well, I shall endeavor to enlighten you to the best of my abilities, or as much as my position allows me to. There are certain things I cannot disseminate without permission from the diarchy or the Council."

"So what can you tell me?"

"Allow me to start with the relations between Equestria and the Changeling Empire. There's another name for it of course, but it's unpronounceable in any language unless one is linked to the Hive Mind." Fancy Pants nods as he speaks. Even though he has a stuffy way of speaking, he doesn't seem half bad to me. "After the invasion and battle following in the wake of the false wedding, there was a great deal of anger and confusion. Nopony knew why the changelings attacked and were even more surprised to find out such creatures existed."

"How long was the battle?" I ask, suddenly curious. Chryssie raises her head, her ears swinging forward as she tilts her head to one side eagerly.

"Five days. It was estimated the changeling force involved was in excess of ten thousand. It took calling up the regular army almost two days to gather enough force to effectively push the invaders out. Not only that, but Canterlot was not the only city struck. Key strategic points were all hit by at least five other hives." Fancy's horn glows and a rather thick looking stack of documentation appears, separating and shuffling as he goes through them. No, there wasn’t any sort of briefcase or folder...they just appeared! "Both princesses have authorized me to tell our lovely young guest," —he smiles politely at Chryssie— "the details of her former self and her involvement in the war."

"Why can't they tell her themselves?" I grunt. "None of what's happened in the past...forty-eight hours?" I glance at Chryssie for confirmation. She nods, I smile at her. "None of what's been going on since I got here would have happened at all if they had just let me and my daughter live in peace back on Earth."

"But she does not belong on your world," Fleur starts to say with a gentle smile. It vanishes when I interrupt her by showing her my palm.

"And I don't belong on yours," I return tiredly. "I'm sorry, but there's something more going on than just me be invited to see my kid and making sure she's happy. This whole thing stinks of politcs and cloak and dagger bullshit." I may be stupid, but I trust my instincts.

"Princess Celestia will be here shortly," Fancy insists, waggling a hoof at me. "Please keep in mind matters of state make her a very busy mare. She delegates a lot of her responsibilities to the Council, but she still has a nation to run. Your predicament is important to her. Please, I beg your patience."

"The invasion," Chryssie suddenly chimes insistently, "I want to know what happened! The show makes it all cartoony and dumb..." I can see this troubles her and immediately put an arm around her withers. She leans into me. "I mean, how did this end up with me on Earth thirteen years ago while less than two passed here?"

Fleur purses her lips as she begins to pour tea, passing cups around. What is with ponies and tea, anyways? Doesn't anyone want to have something other than tea? I suddenly find my cup refilled with coffee. I blink and stare at it for a moment. Fleur gives me a wink and a smile.  Magic will be the death of me.

"It was not a sanctioned invasion," the unicorn mare announces softly while still serving the drinks. "Unknown to the world, the changelings were in the midst of a civil war. Each hive functions much like a city state: independent of each other but subject to the will of their empress. Not all changelings belong to hives nor are all changelings subject to the rule of the queen that birthed them. C'est une société très compliquée!"

"Quite right," agrees the stallion. "Changelings who are not associated with any hive must still by changeling laws be subject to rule. These 'gray changelings' are considered the children of their Empress and are required to at least offer her yearly an allotted amount of love in the form of a tax. In return, they are offered the structure needed by all changelings to thrive; a hive mind to link to." Fancy sips at his tea, gathering his thoughts. "A social network, if you will."

I give him a deadpan stare.  Chrysalis simply nods as if she understands completely.

"All hives offer stockpiles of converted love magic yearly in tribute to their empress. Nopony knows who she really is," Fleur notes with a slight shake of her head. "She has never been seen in centuries. Even Celestia will not say a word in regards to this mystery changeling. One should think if such a creature has the power to remain hidden even from the eyes of an alicorn, she must be a force indeed."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" My question causes the mare to narrow her eyes a bit as if seeing me for the first time. "I mean, she's lived for thousands of years, has godlike powers, and hasn't noticed a bug under her nose the whole time?"

I can feel my daughter sour in mood at the mention of the word 'bug'. I wince. Poor word choice.  Given what I just had been told and her reaction...we're in a bit of a tense spot at the moment.

Fleur snorts, sips her tea, then stares at me over her cup. "I will not claim to know the mind of the princess nor her intentions. I will, however take offense to anypony, even a guest who questions her with such rude words."

"As I mentioned," Fancy cuts in smoothly, "the empress does have the ability, it would seem to conceal herself from those she does not want to see her. It is even believed the changelings she does call upon for an audience cannot recall her features after meeting her. It's as though she deliberately takes steps to keep her appearance a secret. That being said, there is speculation that is one of the reasons why the changelings suddenly erupted in a nasty civil war.

"From what we've been able to piece together along with what the changelings were willing to tell us in the aftermath, the civil war erupted from their shadows because certain queens thought it would be a good idea to stockpile their pools of magic by draining Canterlot and several other cities of their love, as well as other emotions. We still don't know who was fighting for who or why the civil war even happened, but we do know it has something to do with some sort of power struggle. One side was trying to tip the balance in their favor by intentionally dragging Equestria into the war."

Chryssie balks. "That sounds so stupid!"

"Oh, but it very nearly succeeded," insists Fancy as he contemplates my daughter for a moment. He then turns to me. "The five queens nearly succeeded in their objectives, but were betrayed at the last minute by one of their own. The details are still sketchy. It is unfortunate more facts are currently unavailable to us. The RIB has been investigating the 'why's' on the attack ever since the unprovoked attack. It's partly the reason why negotiations have stalled. We want to know why and they - the changelings don't want to say."

I point at my kid. "So what does this have to do with her?"

"According to my sources as well as follow-up investigations to corroborate them, none other than Queen Chrysalis was the architect of the attack and she was also the catalyst of the civil war of the changelings."

My finger goes to my chest. "What about me?"

Fancy Pants shrugs and sighs. "I honestly don't know. I would venture to guess it's not just you, but perhaps your whole race in general. With Princess Celestia's insistence this world and yours will soon be permanently linked, I would imagine you are but a small piece of the whole."

I nurse my coffee, bothered by this bit of news. On the bright side, at least I won't be required to do heroic things, it would seem. I'm too old for adventures. Or am I? Why do I have this sudden dreadful premonition dawning on my like an anvil dropped on my noggin. "I don't like it," I gripe. Another slurp during the pause as I shift my gaze between Fleur and Fancy...Fancy Fleur! Brangelina ponified! "I don't like getting dragged into someone else's mess."

"I'm afraid there's no helping that now," announces a new voice seemingly hovering around the air. The great white form of Princess Sunbutt herself appears in midair, her wings flared wide (overdoing it, I think). Her body is covered with a golden aura, letting everyone feel her power. She settles to the ground, her hooves lightly touching upon the wooden floors. Fleur de Lis rises, as does Fancy Pants and they both bow to her reverently. Celestia smiles at them warmly as her wings settle to her sides.

Chryssie scrambls to her hooves, but did not bow. She was not a subject of the princess and was not the sort to bow to anyone. Way to take it to the Mare, kiddo! Grudgingly I follow suit and nod politely at the princess, much like nodding in passing at a homeless man screaming the end is nigh at a street corner while tap dancing to Enter Sandman.

Best. Song. Ever.

As she settles in her seat, Celestia announces pleasantly, "My apologies for being late. I had to meet with my sister alicorns in regards to our human guest and his daughter.”

About damned time.

She catches my obvious glare. I mean, it's basically like having Mt. Rushmore suddenly give you four troll faces while you're looking at the four presidents. I was that startlingly obvious. Still, Celestia's a pro at this sort of thing and probably worked with harder heads than mine in the past. I mean she's what? A million years old?

"I recall making a certain promise to a certain young filly earlier this morning," Celestia says as she settles herself comfortably. She manages to maintain a smile despite my stinkeye. "But first, to you, Mr. Spriggs, I owe you my deepest and sincerest of apologies.  Your visit was meant to be a pleasant one for you and your daughter.  I had no idea outside entities would step in so quickly or so rudely.  I had hoped you would be departed from Equestria before it happened.  It was misfortune and circumstance.  It also affected my own judgement, I'm afraid.  I did something I am not proud of as a result.  I shall explain as best I can."

I'm being a jerk, I know. I am justified for my jerkiness! Okay, well, maybe not. Maybe it's not her fault my mind was turned into a slushy. Maybe Celestia did want for my visit to be a pleasant experience. Maybe I am taking this a bit too personally.

Yeah, and I'm a Chinese jet pilot.

"Still a bit grumpy, I see," she notes wryly, brows furrowed slightly as she offers an apologetic smile. "I shall try and explain to you a few truths that have come to my attention recently as well as expound on our discussion from yesterday. Again, I cannot convey enough how badly I feel for what you have undergone. I assure you, Mr. Spriggs I will personally see to it things are put to rights. I only ask for you patience for a bit longer."

Grudgingly I nod. "Fine."

"Thank you." She turns to Chryssie. "Now, I believe I promised you a bit of an explanation of what happened two years ago. Good Fancy Pants here I assume was warming you up to the subject." He nods at her and beams nobly.

"Kinda," my daughter mutters as she slides a dark look in my direction. "Daddy, play nice."

I open my mouth to retort, but the words die before they can emerge. What I want to say to her can wait until we can be alone. Motioning to Celestia, my wordless gestures are the basic 'ignore me, I don't know what I'm doing' routine. In short, whatever. My glare does lesson to more of a sulk. Very mature. I focus on Celestia and a passage from the Bible looms to the forefront of my thoughts.

And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer. It was from the book of Revelations, chapter six, verse two. King James edition. It dawned on me right then and there like a delayed fuse finally at its destination and igniting the realization. Celestia, despite her denials to me the other day was probably as close to a living god as I would ever come.

I could have sworn she read my mind as the gleam within those magenta orbs she cast bore into my soul. A shiver courses through my frame and I cringe inwardly.

"Your kind are very aggressive by nature," the white alicorn begins. "Changelings are a species of the shadows, striking when your prey least expects it. Changelings do not normally seek targets they cannot hold. Normally." She adjusts her wings, taking a moment to examine one of her flight feathers critically before settling it in place with a single fluff.

"Now, I've been able to do my own nosing around in regards to the why's behind the attack and the subsequent battle following. As you had me imprisoned, Chrysalis, we actually had some enlightening conversations up until the point you realized you were betrayed by one of your own sisters." Celestia adjusts her magnificent mane, her serious tone brokering no nonsense.

Well, she's cutting straight to the chase. That's good. I think.

Chryssie's ears perk forward. I can sense her trepidation. "Really?"

"Yes. You did not tell me why you were attacking my nation, my cities, my ponies, but you didn't have to." She still wears her smile, but it was a mask. I've seen it before on certain generals and politicians. The old girl has been wearing it a very long time. I wonder if she's even aware of it. Probably is. "I could read it off of you and watched how you interacted with your children."

Chryssie balks, her features having paled as Celestia spoke. "Children?"

"You're a queen, dear. You will lay eggs. You will incubate them. You will hatch them with your magic. You will raise them. Changeling queens love their children dearly. There is little else they care or live for. But there are times queens will take calculated risks for the sake of giving strength to their children through a mass infusion of love. You and the queens who threw their lot with you struck with the intention of amassing as much love as you could for your war against the other queens. You never intended to keep your gains, though your soldiers were brutal to those who resisted."

The princess seems to lapse into the past, recalling a memory less than pleasant. "I still remember the sounds of battle, the screams of the wounded, and the cries of the dying. I remember the blood as your hive became overcome with love lust. A most curious side effect to being bloated by stolen emotions like love." A wry grin shadows for a moment. Celestia snorts softly, "Zealotry is perhaps the tamest definition of what I witnessed. So many of your children died trying to take my capital. I could see you feel each one die as the battle raged. For five days I could see the mourning in your eyes. You would come to the pod I was imprisoned within and simply stare at me, asking me why my ponies dared to resist. Weak, you called them. Made soft from having such a protected and sheltered way of life.

"Other queens came to you, voicing their concerns. The cocoon I was in muffled the words, but a face is easy to read. They clearly were not comfortable in staying in the open. They were also losing their precious children. But you wanted to stay, to take more. There was not enough stored love for whatever grander plan you had in mind. Perhaps you meant to move against other queens. It would be the most logical assumption. But you also intended to take my subjects with you deemed worthy enough in taking."

Chryssie's eyes have grown wide hearing this. "I wouldn't do that," she whimpers, shaking her head slowly, her horror stemming from a combination of the words coming from Celestia's lips and the stoic expression of her visage. Her eyes seek me out. "Daddy, I wouldn't do that!"

"That was the former you," consols Fleur, somehow appearing next to my daughter and drawing her into a hug. "You were reborn, given a second chance! We have a saying where I am from, 'vous vivez seulement une fois, mais vous pouvez mourir plusieurs fois'. Do you know what that means?"

My pumpkin nods. "You only live once, but you can die several times," she mumbles as she leans into the hug. "Princess Celestia?" her question pierces a few seconds of silence.

"Yes?"

"How many ponies died?"

"Are you certain you wish to know?"

"Yeah, I think I do." She pushes away from the unicorn, straightening herself to a more dignified position. "I need to know what I'm getting myself into. I need to know why so many secrets about me were kept from me. I need to know why my daddy is so suddenly special to this bitch claiming to be my mom. I don't want to be afraid like I was last night. I never want to be afraid like that again! I want to know why I'm a monster in the eyes of your subjects. I think I deserve that much. I'm tired of wondering. I'm tired of crying. I can't be strong if I don't know who or what I am."

"Even losing one of my little ponies is too many for me,” she tells my daughter.  That was in the past, in a different life for you.  You need to focus on what you think you will become or want to be.  That will take time," Celestia says gently, yet managing to add steely resolve. "Time you will have during your journey."

"Journey? What journey?" I demand suddenly.

The alicorn heaves a weary sigh. "Earlier this afternoon, I consulted with my sister and both Twilight and Cadance. They are reluctant in coming to this decision, as am I, but you are to travel to the heart of the Changeling Empire to meet the Empress."

"Why?" demands Chryssie in a voice that's shot up several octaves. "I don't want to meet her! She can go to hell!"

"She threatens war," sighs Celestia sympathetically. "I cannot accept such a risk. She means you no harm, Chrysalis. She does not have the means to act out her threat. The Empress simply wishes to see a daughter she feared dead."

"She hurt my dad!" she cries furiously, tears forming.

"No she didn't," Celestia assures her in a motherly tone. "She actually used her magic to repair what her subject did. Anzealous acted without thinking and he has been removed as ambassador for his actions.  The Empress tried to make amends by healing that which was damaged."

I brush my fingers against one of my pumpkin's forelegs to get her attention. She looks at me. "I met her in my dream," I quip. "She's weird and creepy, but I don't think she's intent on hurting anyone. Besides, she's invited me to go, too." 

It’s a trap! Admiral Ackbar shouts in my mind.

"I assume you've accepted her invitation?" Celestia asks me with some surprise.

I look at my daughter. "I have to. For her. For the light in my life. As much as I love my parents and my sister, Chryssie's been the one who's been there for me as long as I've been there for her. I need to see this through because I ain’t letting her face this alone."

Chryssie lifts her head, her emerald eyes wide with surprise. "You'll come with me? Honest?"

"I let you down once by not fighting to keep you with me," I say, flinging a quick glare at Celestia before shifting my anger to myself with a downcast stare at my feet. "Even though we both talked about it happening, I flaked on you, kiddo. I missed you so much and hurt so bad from the guilt. I feel like I abandoned you. Just like I abandoned other things in my life. I can't do that again. I can't be that kind of man." I adjust myself, fidgeting as I scan the ponies in the room. I settle on Celestia. "I'll stay until my little girl is able to stand on her own. Are we clear?"

"I believe I can agree to that," she amends with a nod. "I will see to it this terrible experience you have had to this point is compensa—"

My hand goes up. "No promises, please. Don't be a politician. There's a reason I don't vote in my country."

I hear Fancy Pants sputtering in outrage. Well, I am being a bit rude.

Unruffled, Celestia nods. "Very well. I shall impart you with truth. I believe there is another reason why the Empress wishes to see you." She tilts her head to one side, closing her eyes for a moment as if questioning herself for what she's about to tell me. "What I am about to tell you has only recently come to my realization, though at the time it became known to me, I did not know of its significance."

"Go on," I prod, jaw set firmly.

"Upon the day the flying machine carrying your daughter and her mother crashed, there were bodies never recovered."

Well, that was about as sudden as a heart attack after eating a plate of rabbit food. "Yeah?" I sense Chryssie lurching in my head, immediately moving to brace my emotions with her own. "What of it?" I'm wary and in shock she would speak of a pain still raw in my heart.

"You have always wondered why the crash has never been explained, haven't you?"

This is true. The investigation had confused the FAA to no ends. Parts of the plane simply ceased to exist, as if they had never been. Portions of the passenger cabin and the fuselage had simply disappeared. Twenty-one passengers were never recovered and presumed dead. Crystal, my baby daughter was one of them. I nod to Celestia numbly.

“I shall simply answer by telling you I am not the only being of this world to have ever invested time and energy in studying humanity.  I suspect the changelings have infiltrated Earth for years for reasons I as of yet have not uncovered.” Celestia settles back and finally has a sip of that terrible tea she adores. "On the bright side," she announces with a smile. "I'll be going with you."