“Let’s talk about the reason for the changeling invasion- the love harvest.” The cream coloured unicorn leaned in as she spoke. “Everypony knows your species needs love to survive- but we didn’t know there was such a deficit before the invasion. If you’d asked us we probably would have-”

Jachs cut her off, shaking his head in the negative. “I know.” He met her eyes with a sad smile.

The unicorn nodded respectfully. “What was it like for you? I know in Vanhoover we were terrified of what was about to happen. We were all talking about how…this was it, that you were going to just start harvesting us. Leaving us…husks. Then, when the trucks rolled up it was basically just a dentist appointment. Annoying but not fatal- just something you had to do.”

Jachs disarmingly shrugged, quietly amused at her description. “It very nearly was…that was a bad time for us. Me and Alcippe- I mean.” He leaned back in his own lounger, stretching his hooves out- his legs hanging over the side. “The ‘suggestions’ that passed over my desk were barbaric. Monstrous. Disgusting. It was…like putting the ponies in a slaughterhouse. Turning them to- to cattle.” He shook back and forth, trying to banish the memories from his head. “When one of those maggots sat down at my desk and earnestly proposed…that, I thought I should have had him shot.”

The unicorn reached a hoof over, resting it atop Jachs’s own. She returned his careful smile. “We don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to.” Her voice took on a protective tone. Such anathema to the changelings, Jachs thought.

“It’s fine. I only glanced through the proposals, I never had to deal with the ‘lings considering putting them into action, Marsilio though…”

“Another of the Canterlot Five,” the cream unicorn spoke aloud as she scribbled down on her clipboard. “The Surgeon General.”

Jachs continued.”In our language we called it 'The Liebessammeldienst'. He’s the one that came up with the Seaddle Protocol. He put it into action- got the ponies happy to comply, and pretty much single-hoofedly set us on the path to Reconstruction. I don’t know where we’d be right now without him.” Jachs spoke eagerly of his friend, a tone of sheer pride in his voice.

The changeling sighed and grinned. “I wish I’d been there to see the looks on those lunatic-lings faces when his plan worked…but I did hear about it.”

-From “Memoirs Of A Changed Changeling” by Herr Jachs, Canterlot press, Equestrian Protectorate, 1,045.

Marsilio’s chitin black hooves rested upon the truck's dashboard as it rolled into a small but populous Equestrian town at the break of day. “We’re here, general oberstabsarzt.” The driver spoke as he pulled up into the town square. A few ponies noticing their arrival had begun to run from home-to-home. Passing a warning along, Marsilio guessed. Most were running into their own homes. Marsillio opened his door and slid down onto the cobblestone streets of the town. Equestrian villages weren’t built for automobiles- the streets were rough and uneven. This place must not have been near the war. It still looks like the old, happy little villages he read about in the history books as a child.

“Get them all out here. Line them up,” ordered Marsilio. He could feel the terror of the ponies around him, that small hoof full that knew they were seen and couldn’t run away to hide. They shrunk away when he looked over them.

As the driver nodded and turned to order his own men, Marsilio began the arduous task of unloading the equipment. The few other doctors here, guarded by the soldiers of the heer, unpacked a few ‘devices’, which were all they could be called. Essentially, they were large reclining chairs on wheels with a pointed, sharp apparatus affixed to the front. The ponies would be bound into them and their love-- as ordered by Vesalipolis, would be forcibly extracted until they were wrung dry, like a wet towel. Marsilio smiled. At least-- that’s what the original plan was.

He pulled in every favor he had to get it changed. The ‘Seaddle Protocol,’ as it was named, was a sustainable method of love harvesting. Targeting big population centers, one-half of the residents every month would be half drained of their love, and the other residents would care for them. It would repeat, cycling every month. Field tests and trials meant the best subjects were between 20-ish, and 60 years of age. Younger or older, and the subjects would be hurt in the process. He would not have them hurt-- any form of distress on the pastel creatures would not do. This had to be sustainable for the hives. This had to work-- and the more painless and the more of a non-issue he could make the harvest, they’d be even more willing to comply. After all, they’ll see the benefits of a changeling occupation far outweigh the cost of being tired a couple days every two months, he was sure.

He just hoped the ponies saw it that way.

“Not my son!” A shrill cry sounded from the back of the crowd. Marsilio glanced over, his white lab coat fluttering with the rapid beating of his insectoid wings. He could hear the sounds of a struggle-- punches, hitting, hoofbeats. Instinct drew him into the air until he spied the provocation. “Infanterie halt!” He called aloud to the changeling regulars around the terrified mare and her son-- a colt about the correct age by the looks of him, but frail and sickly. He shook his head in the negative- that one wouldn’t do.

“Please not my son!” She repeated, a mare deep-blue in colouration with bright blue eyes. “Please, he can’t take it. Take me- please.” She looked into the doctor’s eyes with a pleading expression. Marsilio’s snout wrinkled-- by the queen, he hated this. These poor ponies-- reduced to groveling like animals.

“Shutup!” A loud thump echoed around the quiet town hall as the butt of a rifle slammed hard into the mare’s stomach, causing her to double over in agony. “Herr Doktor, the-” Marsilio’s eyes flared in righteous anger- but he bit his tongue.

“That one’s too weak to give any love of a decent quality, take the mother.” He dropped to the ground as his wings stopped fluttering, and turned as a soft ‘thank you’ escaped the mare’s lips. The soldier confirmed his order in the old language.

Marsilio lied, of course. The quality of love extracted was not at all relevant to the health of the subject. Though, to the infirm the Extraction process could be painful-- and if carried on for too long, outright fatal. This was something he knew the soldiers of the heer did not care about. Short-sighted fools, seeking short term gain over long term prosperity.

For the moment it did not matter. The Seaddle Protocol was a stroke of genius and they would all see it in time.

In short order the first group was led before the machines. Several ponies, male and female- notably with the mother of the colt from earlier. They all huddled close together, tense and nervous. All of them except the mother. Marsilio noted, she seemed to be strangely calm.

“You first.” A soldier ordered, pressing the barrel of his machine gun into the back of the mare. She gulped, but complied. Marsilio sneered. Despite his distaste, he had no power to command the heer. No matter how many times he told them the subjects were more compliant when treated with a gentle hoof, it seemed some were more concerned with punishing the ponies than actual progress.

The mother nervously climbed into the apparatus, and Marsilio stepped forward. He hovered above her, his own hooves strapping her down- binding her to the machine. “This won’t hurt a bit,” he tried to assure her, but in her eyes he saw she did not believe him. He was met with a look of steely determination. The look of a mare who knows they are about to die to protect their child.

Marsilio softened in apology. It would be so much easier if they believed him…but showing them will have to do.

His black hoof fell upon the activation lever, and he threw it.

The machine whirred to life, the apparatus spun around and around- a metal thing that looked remarkably like a griffon’s claw, digits extended to grasp around the head of the mare in its grip. It did no such thing.

Instead, a purple-pinkish hued essence, an aura, began to flow from the chest of the mare. “Ah!” she cried, perhaps expecting there to be pain-- but instead she was just confused. She exhaled, and glanced over at Marsilio for reassurance. The good doktor gave her an ‘I told you so’ shrug. The entire process lasted for only forty seconds, before the machine whirred down and withdrew. “There you are- all done.” Marsilio announced as much to the crowd as to her and set about undoing her restraints.

In disbelief, she climbed from the machine. Unsteady enough that Marsilio let her brace against his side. “Is…is that it?” She spoke incredulously.

“That’s it!” The changeling responded, again to the crowd as much as her. “How are you feeling?”

“...like I need a nap. That’s really it?”

Marsilio laughed. “Then go home and rest-- doctor’s orders.” He gestured for one of the soldiers to take her from him. She climbed from his grip and onto the cobblestone streets once more. She shared a couple smiles with a few townsfolk-- no doubt friends of hers.

“We’ll be taking half of you today!” He called aloud to the crowd. “The other half next month and repeating after!” He gestured for the next pony, a young blue stallion, to climb into the machine next.

About halfway through the Extraction, Marsilio took a break. He climbed up on the hood of one of the military trucks to watch the crowd. For the first time in two years the surgeon general lit up a cigarette to calm his nerves.

The reaction was promising at least. The townsfolk were in good spirits, sharing hugs and smiles- even some laughter. For a trial run, the general oberstabsarzt supposed this didn’t go too badly at all. He did note too, with some self-satisfaction, that after the ponies learned it was truly harmless they were much less nervous about climbing in the machines. Perhaps even the soldiers of the heer learned something today, though he doubted it.

Still, promising indeed. A tax paid not in bits but in Love- just as annoying as regular taxes, but just as safe too.

Marsilio chanced a glance to the side. The mare from earlier-- now with dark circles under her eyes, had thrown her son over her back and was taking him home. The changeling scientist inhaled a fresh breath of acrid cigarette smoke and let himself smile. Once this all got finalized perhaps they could look into incentives for ponies who wanted to, to give more Love. A payment in bits for another donation, perhaps…

Promising indeed.

Author's Note

Disclaimer: not my characters, not my story

This story is based on the 'Pax Chrysalia' storyline from the EAW mod's changeling lands ending. It is simply a passion project to patch some holes in the story and bring about a more satisfying (in my opinion) ending. It is not a replacement to playing the game and in fact I recommend you to.