Let's Try This Again

by HypernovaBolts11

Prologue

The large changeling stumbled into the cell, ushered on by the spears pointed at her. She tripped, landing clumsily on her face, with her backside hanging in the air for a moment, before it made a thud against the cold stone floor. She released a small, barely audible groan, and lay there.

The cell door closed behind her, and the lock clicked as a guard turned the key. He was just about to remove it again, when one of his comrades grunted, "Got one more." He looked over his shoulder, nodded, and opened the door again. He helped the other guard pitch the second changeling into the cell, and smiled once he'd locked and teleported the key away.

The queen and her prince lay still for a while, silent as rocks, not whispering, not breathing —at least, not audibly. They just didn't have the strength in them to do anything, much less escape. They'd been driven out of the hive, and now, having come so far to escape the other changelings, starving, locked up below Baltimare.

The prince, while confident in his mother's ability to survive nearly anything, worried that she'd be unable to take him with her, wherever she would go. He grunted, straining, and lifted a shaking hoof off the ground. He lifted himself up, one toxic green eye closed, and whimpered in pain, before collapsing back onto the ground. He glanced at his mother, something other changelings couldn't do without turning their heads.

Her eyes were closed, peaceful, and unconcerned. She was always like that, confident in her good luck and ability. Even starving, she was likely working out some plan to get herself free. They had approximately a day before they'd be transferred to the dungeon in Canterlot, which, for her, was ample time for one of her brilliant plans.

He would have smiled if he'd had the energy, but wished for sleep, brilliant, soothing rest, to wash away the world, help him forget the journey north, and let him escape this whole mess. He let his eyes drift closed, and within a minute, his breathing was slow, deep, and rhythmic.