And We Are Not Yet Saved

by Silent Earth

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Changelings, Queen Chrysalis
Length: 1176

The harvest is past, the feeding is ended. And we are not yet saved.

Listen to the cries of my people, from a far distant land:

“The Princess is still in Canterlot. But what of our Queen? Why is she not beside us? We have provoked the wrath of sun and moon, and the anger of the heart, but we fought only out of need. The harvest is past, the feeding is ended. And we are not yet saved.”

My people are broken, so I am broken. I mourn, and horror has taken hold of me.

Published 2014-05-28 15:40:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-05-28 15:40:04 UTC

And We Are Not Yet Saved

I was their matron, their protector. The Guardian who would lead them to paradise.

The changeling stumbled over the barren and lifeless land that lay in all directions. She nearly fell, but no, that would not do. She could not falter, not now. She had to keep going. There were many who needed her, and only one way to reach them.

It made little difference where her legs carried her; everywhere she looked, it was all the same for as far as she could see. Forward, then. Always forward. She was afraid she lacked the strength to turn back even if she had wanted to.

I was their hope, the one who would bring them out of exile.

But in exile they remained. The land around them, the land they had inherited, was a charred and crumbling thing. Lonely, hollow, empty, like the shell of some magnificent creature that had gone in search of better things, leaving it bereft of color and life. Only memory remained, carved into the very rocks themselves. It was a discarded place, fit for a discarded people.

She paused beside a broken form that lay crooked and crippled in the dust. Its wings were tatters, shredded beyond recognition. The green eyes had greyed with death, so as to match the earth where they had found their eventual rest. Twenty-three. She knelt on the hard ground beside the body and placed a weary hoof upon the darkened face. Every one of them, my failing. And there would only be more.

She murmured a word as she gently closed the eyes. A pale aura emanated from the twisted spire of her horn, and with a silent gratitude she drew what little nourishment she could from the faded soul before her. It was a final gift she could never repay but to share it with others who yet lived. Even a silent heart could hold the echoes of love.

I was their Queen.

A queen of the lost.

Chrysalis rose shakily and plodded on her way. If she had ever been a queen, that time was passed. A queen required a kingdom, and the heart of her subjects, and she had nothing but the cruel, piercing stones that had shattered those hearts as they rained down upon them. No, she was a monarch no more. But if she was no longer a queen, what was she?

A mother. They were more than my subjects, they were my children. Every one of them a son, a daughter, a child that she had cared for, nurtured and loved. A people who would have followed her to the ending of the world.

And what kind of mother leads her sons and daughters to ruin? What kind of mother watches as her children fall on the swords and spears of her enemies, urges them on even as they perish in her name? You are no mother. You are nothing but a fallen conqueror.

“I am all they have,” she whispered. She almost believed it.

A sliver of light washed over her, and she felt the warmth of the sun as it seeped through the grey, swirling clouds that hung ceaseless above her. The changeling grimaced, her fangs clenching tight as she bared her frayed wings in retaliation. But idle threats were all she could manage, weak as she was. She did not even have the strength to fly. And then the sun was gone, retreating behind the veil in amusement.

Is this not enough, Celestia? Chrysalis stared at where the last rays had vanished a moment longer before lowering her gaze. Was it not enough to defeat me, cast me out, leave my children to wither and starve in this place that even you have forsaken? Must you mock me, as well?

How? How could it have ended this way? She had bested Celestia, the sun's own heir, only to be overcome by a simpering princess and her consort. Did that mare truly love her stallion more than I could love my people? Was her heart larger even than mine? More capable of love than my own? The thought did more than rile her—it filled her with uncertainty and, to her shame, fear.

“My Queen...?” a voice cried out.

The day had darkened as evening drew close, and she might have missed the figure that reached out for her had it not been for his call, so intent was she on her dwelling. But hear him she did, though his voice was little more than a whimper, and in an instant she was in the dust beside him. He lay with his back to a jagged boulder, smeared emerald from the blood that ran from the wound in his side. A long gash threaded deep between his eyes, marring the otherwise simple face. His remaining wing was ribbons, the other having been severed altogether. He looked up to her, and his eyes were dim and clouded. “I t-thought we had lost you,” he stammered. “I am glad to know I was wrong.” He extended a hoof toward her, and she took it in her own.

It wasn't difficult for her to see that the changeling was dying. A part of her was aware that she could take what remained of his strength and use it to bolster her own. He would joyfully give her his love along with the last pulses of his heart. Instead, she set about mending the wound in his abdomen. If she could close it, he might have a chance. One, she thought, hoped, prayed.

“How do we go on from this?” he asked her quietly. “Do we go back and start again? Make for a new land, a new way of life? How do we continue when so many... so many of us...”

“We will continue as we always have,” she replied as she worked. “We will endure.”

He nodded and relapsed into silence for a time. The glow of her love laced up and down his body, knitting and stitching his battered form into something she hoped would hold together. When she had finished, she lay down beside him and enveloped him with a delicate wing.

“My Queen,” he managed as sleep threatened. “H-how many? How many more...?”

Not enough. Not nearly enough. “Hush, child,” the once-queen soothed. “Save your strength, and rest. I will watch over you. You need not be afraid.”

She held him close, feeling the warmth of his love and the eddy of his heart as he drifted into an uneasy slumber. A tiny strand, a trickle of compassion left the tip of her horn and coiled about him so that his dreams could be free of pain. She watched as his breathing settled, and some measure of peace came over the scarred face.

We must not be afraid.

But the darkness was growing. As night descended, Chrysalis looked to the sky. She saw no stars that might light their path.

And they were such a very long way from home.