Holes

Chapters

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

Chapter 1

When he was born, his parents had come up with a long, elaborate, and honestly ridiculous string of names, in emulation of the royal caste. Consisting of some six separate words, the name was embarrassing and completely unnecessary, and as soon as he had earned his cutie mark, Quillyn Pen had come up with his moniker, which he thought rather clever if he did say so himself. He soon had his name changed to this legally, so that the name his parents had bestowed upon him would finally be cleared away from the annals of history, or at least as close to that as one could hope.

Quillyn, or simply Quill, Pen, or even a further contraction, such as "Q", "P", or "QP", had a typical upbringing in the suburbs of Ponyville, which was no large city in itself. The town had one elementary school, and one secondary school, which rounded out the rest of education that could be had in the area, including an 'early college' program, from which he had graduated with an associate's degree in creative writing. However, this all speaks nothing of his experiences during that typical upbringing.

As a colt, he'd been short, stringy, and frail, prone to sickness and crippling bouts of shyness. He rarely spoke to his classmates, in or out of school, and went straight home to play alone in the modest yard of his home. His chestnut roan coloration was not particularly exotic, and the freckling across his nose and flanks made him look splotched with mud even when he wasn't. When he wasn't playing outside alone, he was inside, playing video games or with his toys. To others, he seemed a very lonely, dejected child, imprisoned by his inability to reach out.

If only they had known that the opposite was true. True, loneliness reared its ugly head occasionally, but most often, the colt that grew to be Quillyn was enveloped by his imagination. The simple, mis-matched toys were powerful cavalry storming the towering, impenetrable walls of the enemy. The time outside was adventure, climbing through giant trees and making death-defying leaps, with no wings or magic to help him. A lone earth pony striving to make the world a better place for all, despite everything he had been through.

The colt was strong inside, though he did not realize it quite yet. Not so strong as to be an invincible, unfeeling rock, on the contrary, he bent and flowed like water. His emotions were strong, but soon learned to pick and choose when to reveal them. The other schoolfoals were sometimes cruel, but most times avoided the strange, quiet, spindly colt that rarely spoke. When he failed to react to the larger colts' goading, they soon left him for easier targets. He felt sorry for them, since the younger ones hadn't learned what he had, but he was not yet bold enough to try and dissuade them.

No... young Quillyn still kept to himself for many years still, growing from a spindly youth to a lanky one, almost all legs it seemed at a glance. Thin of face but of sharply angled features, it was obvious that he had to grow and age for his looks to wear well on him. Instead, they looked rather awkward. His body did not fare much better. Maturing much earlier than the other colts and even most fillies, his voice dropped nearly three octaves in as many weeks, and he suddenly became aware of his drawling accent when before it hadn't mattered a whit. Carefully, painstakingly, he worked through his manner of speaking for months, listening to himself and correcting the way his tongue moved until he spoke clearly and without accent, making sure that the others would not have any more ammunition to use for their teasing.

The teenaged colt had soon perfected his speech into a clean, accent-less delivery, and through that added confidence, he began to speak to others. It was awkward and tedious to others, he felt, though years later he'd discovered that they felt he was extremely intelligent, surprisingly so. He didn't feel particularly smart at the time, stumbling through conversations and fumbling with gestures, especially as he began to garner acquaintances. Eventually, he fell in with others similar to him, with like interests and goals. He even made a few friends.

His popularity had unexpectedly exploded when he had delivered a rather heartfelt performance during a play, with several memorable quotes and gestures. Colts and fillies he'd only seen in passing came up to him and smiled brightly, greeting him with such zeal. It was overwhelming, and most often he mumbled a thanks with a quick, sheepish smile, quickly retreating from the crowds that would sometime surround him should he be spotted moving between classes. Others begged him for a small recounting of a scene from this or that, and most times he would oblige, to resultant applaud and laughter. Being laughed with was a new sensation to add to the rest of them at the time, though he'd learned to try and appreciate it for what it was, rather than reading into meanings that were not there.

It didn't always work. Still uncomfortable with others, Quillyn still made his way home as quickly as he could, attempting to take more secretive ways through Ponyville to confuse anypony that might've been watching him. He fled home to what he had learned was his most favorite thing of all, above acting, above playing, above all else... he loved to write. It had started when he was even younger, when he was taught to read. Almost immediately, he wanted to write his own stories, much like any other foal at that age, but the urge never really left him. It simply evolved, his imagination growing as he learned, articulating the words that failed to emerge from his mouth and putting them to paper. He was no prodigy by any means; his stories were exactly what would have been expected from any foal that age. But he never gave up.

The night after completing his first poem, Quillyn's cutie mark had appeared. A white-feathered penned quill, in mid-stroke, scrawling black ink behind in a graceful arc. Simple. It was exactly what he felt he deserved. He'd received his mark a full year before any of the others in his class, going into secondary school, and had accompanied the rest of the changes to his physiology that made him the awkward, leggy pony that everyone seemed to know him as. He was proud of that poem, though after a few years, he had lost it amidst all the others he wrote. Quillyn still had no idea where it had gone to.

During the last two years of school, he'd been extruded from his shell rather forcefully. Thrust into the equivalent of the school's limelight, the gawky colt with the odd, old-world features gained confidence by the barrel. He'd made friends or at least smiling acquaintances with at least half of the school by that point, no small feat in his eyes. His school marks had also improved as well, and he began to enlist himself in extra-curricular activities with zeal. Quillyn's confidence combined with his soft-spoken demeanor earned him at least some modicum of respect amongst everypony he interacted with, and was often lauded as the 'leadership' type despite the shyness that was still very much apparent. He was one of the 'good guys'.

Too soon, it seemed, school had ended, friends parted ways to go into the workforce or additional schooling for whatever they wished to pursue. Quillyn, left suddenly alone once more, decided to opt for a life in the Royal Militia. The physical training and endeavors were extremely difficult for him, never having been a particularly fit foal despite all of his time outside, even compared to other earth ponies. He was never strong, but he just passed the threshold for military service. He was fast in a short sprint, but soon tired and grew sluggish, being outrun by most everypony else. He was intelligent, but his wit wasn't sharp enough to contend with the debaters of the squadron, much as he had been in school. Much preferring quiet contemplation and steady work, Quillyn had been relegated to desk jobs rather than anything in the field.

His imagination, however, was not content with such things. All through the tedium, he wrote of fantastic things, worlds of fantasy, battle and intrigue, and even sold a few of the stories to magazines that dealt in such things. Admittedly, few of those magazines were sold in Ponyville, the populous generally preferring more practical themes, but Quillyn wrote more for himself than anyone else. Even after his time in the Militia was done and he was discharged after not renewing his obligations, he continued to write. He'd won a few obscure awards by this point, and the magazines in the larger cities were buying up his works as fast as he could send them out at times.

The fiction market was always a fickle thing, however. The tastes of readers moved on to genres that Quillyn had no desire to write in, and the sales began to slack off. Before long, he signed up with the Ponyville Express as a column writer, having a next-to-back-page slot he called "Entreaties to Worlds Unknown". It was a semi-successful column where he answered various questions on science fiction, fantasy, and other such things, mostly consisting of 'what-if' scenarios in established books. At times, he was surprised when someone who had read one of his stories would send in a question, and it always pleased him greatly... he would often take the entire column to reply to the sender, delaying the others for the next week's section.

All through this, he wrote still. He wrote what pleased him. However... after more than ten years, he had come to a dry spot, so to speak. He could not write. It became difficult to focus. Despite the activity that always seemed to be going on around Ponyville, especially when those younger mares got up to something, Quillyn found it nearly impossible to put pen to paper and write anything meaningful. The glasses that he was now forced to wear after years of staring at screens and papers only a few feet away from his face felt pinched and constraining. His head throbbed. Finally, he could take no more.

He needed to fix it.

Chapter 2

"Mister Editor," Quillyn began as he entered the office after knocking twice, "I'm thinking that I ne-"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course, Misses Rich, we will have it on the first four pages of ads," The editor replied boisterously over the phone, drowning out Quillyn's words. Grimacing ever so slightly, Quillyn reached and pushed his glasses further up onto his nose with a hoof before rubbing his cheek, waiting while the editor, an older grey stallion that was more than a little barrel-chested, finished with his business. The editor, for his part, had not even noticed the column writer enter, or made a show of it.

"Oh yes, indeed. Mm, that's terrible. Mmhmm," the editor, Mister Moving Print, murmured and blustered over the phone, his eyes finally flicking to Quillyn as he stood there. With a flash of a brief frown, he continued his conversation with Misses Rich on the end of the line. A fitting name, Quillyn mused as he stood there waiting, for the wife of Filthy Rich. They were meant for each other. Jarring from his reverie by the slap of the phone on the receiver, the writer looks up to his editor in chief.

"What is it, Quillyn? You look as if you have something to ask me," the gruff editor broaches, quirking a brow. It always struck Quillyn at how dark those eyes were, stern and cool. That isn't to say that he's had a particularly bad experience with the Express or his editor, but he was simply a small column writer, and very little was expected from him, with the same in return from the management.

"Sir," he replied respectfully, "I feel that I am... unfocused, as of late. My writing has been suffering, and I feel that perhaps I need a sabbatical." Moving Print studied Quillyn for a few long, uncomfortable moments, before his horn glowed and a cup of coffee previously unseen upon the desk floated up to his mouth. A loud sip and the clink of the cup upon the desk later had the editor eying him over once more.

"Fine. Just leave a couple of weeks of columns on my desk before you leave," Moving Print acquiesced, already seeming to concentrate on whatever else may be on the schedule, "Though don't think that you'll be paid if you don't deliver in three weeks. We can't afford to have dead weight around here, even if it is a back-page column." A curious bittersweet feeling welled up within Quillyn, elating in the fact that he now had some time to himself, though his pride was hurt by the statement of the biting truth. He bowed his head, murmured a speedy thanks, and turned back out of the office, walking through the small slalom of editing desks towards the nigh-claustrophobic hallway that led to his tiny office.

The buzz of the ego wound soon left, waning in the prospect of free time and rest. He couldn't quite remember the last time he truly took any time to himself, having been consumed by both work and writing in his free time. Quillyn hoped that while he took a bit of time off from both, the savor of it all would return. The office, painted dark grey after his preference and crammed with a desk, a computer, a small radio, and not much else, seemed smaller and smaller every moment he tarried. Stripping off the shirt he wore to keep his hooves and neck clean while he wrote, Quillyn tossed it over the back of his chair, grabbed up his brown ratty backpack, pulling it open, and putting what he figured he might need should the urge to write strike him.

A notepad, a few pens, a bottle of water, a towel for sitting on the dirt, and he had packed up nicely in his opinion. Taking one strap into his mouth and holding it open so he can step into it, he slings the backpack onto his back and awkwardly puts his other leg through the free strap, securing it snugly against him. Afterwards, he took up the columns which he'd already forced out and moves back towards the editor in chief's office, leaving them in his in box, not particularly wanting to face him again quite so soon, or seem so eager to leave despite how obvious that it was the case. The rest of the trip out of the building seemed a blur, the weight of work-a-day peeling away from his being.

It was a predictably nice day outside. The weather pegasi hadn't called for rain for a few days yet, and Quillyn's stomach was setting to rumbling in the afternoon haze. The grass seemed to radiate a rather bright sort of green, and the wind felt nice, warm but not humid. The unpaved causeway that served as Ponyville's main thoroughfare was humming with activity, the market area always attracting a large crowd throughout the day. The smells of pastries and fresh-baked rhubarb pie were starting to drive him over the edge into slavering, driving the lanky stallion on towards the market.

"Howdy, Q!" Applejack, one of those younger mares called to him as he approached. She'd earned the right to having the first stall on the west side of the market, which was usually the way ponies entered, and thusly the first customers. She was perhaps five or six years younger than he was, but after school had ended, he found that such things rarely mattered beyond a certain age.

"Howdy yourself," he replied with a gentle smile, moving over to her cart. He really enjoyed rhubarb quite a bit more than apple pie, but he couldn't bring himself to say such to her.

"How's them columns comin' along?" she asks with her typical charm.

"Pretty good as usual, though I'm taking a couple weeks off," Quillyn answers earnestly before taking up a fresh red apple from one of the bins with his teeth, moving over alongside her so that she can withdraw a few bits from the pocket of his backpack. After so long, she knew exactly where he kept the cash, and he trusted her not to overcharge him, so it worked out well.

"Oh yeah? Well, shucks... I hope y'all have a good rest, then. Got any plans?" AJ asks after secreting away the bits. A juicy crunch and a careful balancing of the apple on his hoof later, Quillyn responds around the chunk of apple, "Not particularly. I figure I'll do some walking. That usually clears my head." The mare chuckles honestly and nods, "Yup, nothin' like havin' some friends'n such over for a dinner, too. Or workin'. But you're tryin' to not work, so I reckon that ain't what ya want, heh."

Soon, the stall had other customers, and Quillyn moved off to the side. AJ still tried to carry on a conversation, but between not wanting to distract her too much from her business and the disjointed speech, Quillyn thanked her and bid farewell, carrying on with the apple in his mouth. A few others greeted him, earning raised eyebrows and a jerk of the head, acknowledging them while he crunched away, trying to swallow the fruit down as quickly as possible. It was delicious as always, but the rhubarb pie was practically calling his name by this point. He'd helped write an advertisement for the pastry chef that made them, and so had been hooked on them in the weeks since.

A newspaper colt's calls came to his ears as he rounded the corner. "Breaking news, read all about it! Canterlot invaded, Changelings implicated!" he cried his buzzwords, hovering a copy above his head with his unicorn magic, "Princess Cadenza rescued after kidnapping and impersonation!" Quillyn remembered hearing something like that coming in that morning. Changelings? He had thought them myth, something to taunt misbehaving foals with. He'd even been told that once himself, that his mother and father would just get a changeling to take his place if he did not shape up, in one of his few rebellious phases. A terrifying notion at the time, he found it preposterous now. Base creatures could not accomplish such a feat, much less ponies with much more complicated physiologies. Could they?

The fact that it was his newspaper, despite the fact that he was employed as a science fiction column writer, spoke volumes. They did not generally fabricate stories outright, and this information had apparently been given by a guard that had been injured in the action that day. Moving over to the colt, he brought out a few bits and tossed them towards his saddlebags, where they were caught up in the magic and plunked cleanly inside. The copy of the paper floated towards him with an accompanied 'thank you' from the boy, and Quillyn took it between his teeth to go read at the table of the bakery he was on his way to. Changelings. Hah. He'd soon get to the source of it.

A rhubarb pie, an apple cider, and an hour later, he still could not quite believe the story. It all seemed factual. Solid. A grim account of the attack, and how it unfolded. The leader of the changelings, Queen Chrysalis, whom he'd never heard of, had masterminded the entire thing. She led her minions, hundreds of them, on an assault after taking the form of Princess Cadenza and imprisoning her in some sort of alternate reality. She held Princess Celestia herself hostage, and used the captain of the guard's powers against all forces arrayed against her, which seemed to include, again, those six mares. The fact that Applejack was back on the day this news broke was indicative of one of two things: Either the news was delayed while they sorted it out, or Applejack has an extreme devotion to her work.

While Quillyn did not doubt AJ's resolve, he found it highly improbable that she would be able to make it back so soon, and in such an unruffled condition. The one thing that was not particularly clear in the story was what exactly happened to Queen Chrysalis and the rest of her forces after the invasion stalled. Being ex-militia, he found this to be an extremely important thing to know, especially should they be able to re-mount an attack. Standing with a full belly and slightly buzzed from the cider, the stallion plunked the tab down on the table and trotted off back towards Applejack's stand.

By the time he arrives, she is already packed up and is starting to pick up the traces for the cart. "Wait!" he calls after her, moving around the cart and stopping in front of her, winded, "I need to speak with you."

Applejack cast a glance off to the side before looking back, "It's about that story, ain't it? About Canterlot?"

Still breathing heavily through his nose, Quillyn quirked a brow, "... Well, yes. How long ago did this happen? Why are we just now hearing about it?"

Another glance is cast off in the opposite direction, "Uh, well, we ain't supposed to talk about it... but... since I reckon I can trust ya... it happened about three days ago now. They had to make sure everypony up there was who they said they was, 'n not one of them changelin' types."

That made sense. A security breach in a high position is one thing, but another immediately afterwards would be disastrous. "Alright," he replies, nodding, getting his wind back, "What happened to... Queen Chrysalis, is it? Her and the rest of them."

The mare gave a ponderous shrug, the cart mirroring her movement, "Ain't sure. Once Shinin' Armor threw up that shield again, it just rocketed every one of 'em out every which way. They've had some patrols out 'n lookin' for 'em, but they up 'n skeedaddled."

Quillyn's brows knit together in consternation at that, "No trace at all?" When AJ shook her head in the negative, he nodded, apologized for holding her up, and moved out of the way, the mare moving on back towards Sweet Apple Acres. The sun was beginning to set, casting a beautiful pink and orange glow across the buildings, but Quillyn's mind was elsewhere. He wasn't sure what drove him to the decision. He could not quite believe everything he read to be pure, hard fact, though. They had gone somewhere, and Quillyn was going to find out where.

The exercise would do him good. He'd fallen back out of shape since his discharge from the militia, having sat around writing for the last decade. He'd honestly not even thought about just how far gone he was. Despite being as skinny and lanky as ever, what muscle he had developed had turned soft and ineffectual. Quillyn felt useless, tiring even on the light jog back to his house, the wind harsh in his lungs, his mouth dry and burning. After fumbling for the keys in his backpack, he lipped them numbly into the lock and turned, the keys slipping from his loose grasp a couple of times before the lock clicks affirmatively.

Tossing the keys onto the table, he shrugged out of the backpack and grabbed it up, tossing it onto the table as well, resulting in the keys jangling to the floor. "Horseapples," he grunted hoarsely, kicking the door closed and flicking on the lights with a thrash of his tail. Twilight had drenched everything outside with darkness, though the streetlamps soon illuminated small yellow circles of cobbled street below. A few pictures gazed at him from the walls, mostly of his parents and grandparents, extended family, that sort of thing. Past loves and flames had adorned the walls as well, during their times, but there were no such things evident now.

The urgency of his movements had taken their toll upon him, and soon he realized how futile it was to hurry at the moment in any case. He would not be able to set out until the morning, and he had plenty of night to plan his excursion. He would be sore in the morning, he was sure, but that mattered little in the long run. After three days, their trail might be cold from the air, but Quillyn had an advantage that the pegasi Royal Guard did not consider; he was entirely ground-based. He knew what to look for, and had been trained to do so. In spite of having a desk job for most of his career with the militia, he had still participated in as many field exercises as his commander had allowed, trying to prove to himself more than anyone else that he could withstand their rigors.

It hadn't paid off well in the past, but every now and then it cropped up, little hints becoming evident and making plain to him what seemed to elude others. It was just one of those things, he supposed, but now he was going to put it to work. It would also keep him occupied for a couple of days, perhaps, utilizing his mind for something other than what he has been doing. It was good to feel that peculiar sort of exhilaration, the adrenaline starting to pump, making his limbs shake, his heart fluttering in his chest. He felt as if he were doing something important, rather than just frittering away his life. He realized now that was what he was doing before, just cruising along and doing what came easily. He then realized that he had just ran all the way to his house for no reason again.

Rolling his eyes at his foal-like tendencies at times, Quillyn let out a breath through his nose and moved into the kitchen, looking through the fridge for a few moments and taking stock before the morning came. He had most everything that he needed, he imagined, and he still had his old uniforms, which would do well enough for ranging where he was planning to go. In the morning, he would pack up and lock everything tight. He'd be heading for the Everfree Forest.

Chapter 3

He didn't sleep well that night, though that wasn't out of the ordinary as of late. Sleeping the entire night through had become a rare treat, and he never really expected it to happen. After tossing and turning in bed for what felt like hours, Quillyn finally dragged himself out and stumbled to the bathroom. A quick shower and a trimming of the whiskers that were already darkening his chin and lip, all the standard hygiene regimen, his brushes and soaps packed away with the rest of his belongings afterwards. Finally, the most important thing for his sojourn came to mind.
Preparing his food for the next few days took the longest out of his preparations. He kept his tail cropped short along with most of his mane, a shock of the reddish brown hair on top of his head remaining messy no matter what he tried to do with it, so hair care was not exactly part of his priorities. Thus, his focus was put towards making palatable, survivable meals that he wouldn't mind having to deal with on the road. Tending towards fruits spritzed with lemon juice to keep them fresh, he also brought along a few hard breads and some bags of trail mix that would do him well as snacks along the way.
After all of that, the sun had eventually crested the horizon, splashing color across the world after the moonless night before. Admittedly, he enjoyed the night as much as the day, and with his spotty sleep schedule, he saw much of both. These thoughts were fleeting in the face of what he prepared for. Quillyn had always enjoyed the walks he took, but this one felt... different, somehow. It was linked with his work, but also with something far deeper. Something that pulled at him with a sort of urgency that he could not place. Chasing ghosts and specters given flesh, perhaps.
Quillyn shrugged into the backpack after pulling on his old fatigues. The lush green-leaf pattern of the militia camouflage was as vibrant as before, but the clothes themselves hung a bit more loosely upon him than he remembered. He had taken the old ID card off of the front pocket upon his chest just below his neck, stuffing it into one of the other pockets, along with any other insignia that was on it. Finally, he pushed on his cap, readjusting his glasses with a last glance in the mirror. It was almost as he remembered, though the looseness of his clothes was slightly disconcerting, reminding him of the years that had passed since he wore the uniform before.
With one last check of the house, the writer lets out a breath, turning towards the door, and opening it with no further drama. Just beyond the landing, however, was a sight that he didn't quite expect. Rainbow Dash, whom he really only knew as a slight acquaintance, stood just beyond, hoof raised to knock on his door. "Whoa! That's some crazy timing QP," she blustered, nearly losing her balance if not for a quick thrust of her wings.
Quillyn hadn't expected it either, having to swallow his heart, "Ah, Rainbow Dash... what brings you here?"
The athlete looked him over and whistled appreciatively, "Nice duds, dude! Looking pretty cool if you ask me. Uh, well, I'd heard from Applejack that you might be taking a little trip to the Everfree Forest."
It figures that Applejack might say something to her friends, especially after the way he rushed off the night before. "Yes, I'm heading there now," he replied, casting one more glance over his house before grabbing up the keys from the table, speaking around them, "Anything wrong with that?"
Rainbow Dash quirked a brow and seemed to think for a moment before replying, "... no, not really... just kind of an odd thing to do, huh? Just... take off work and head off into there? There's stuff in there that's not really... very nice, you know."
Flipping the keys into his front pocket, Quillyn chuckled, "I know, Dash. Is that all that you came by to tell me?"
At that, the pegasus squirmed and shuffled, glancing around the stoop. It was very early morning, and there was no one else outside but them. "Well... there was something else," she said, glancing around again quite nervously, "... it's about what you're looking for. This is stuff that's really bad. Stuff that even we had a lot of problems with, and... well, you're..."
At that, Quillyn narrowed his eyes, "I'm what, exactly?"
Realizing her poor choice of wording, Rainbow Dash seemed to shrink a bit, "You're... you're not really all that strong. We're just kind of worried about you."
Quillyn wasn't quite sure just how to react to this. A foul mixture of anger and injured pride pushed its way to the fore of the morass. "I'm older than all of you by more than a couple of years, Rainbow Dash," he replied, voice near growling, "I've been trained to handle situations where I'm alone. This isn't the first time I've gone out on my own. Far from it. So don't worry about me."
The pegasus blinked, blanching, "QP, that's not what I mean, I-"
The lanky stallion pulls the door closed more than a bit hard, the sound of the slam echoing through the neighborhood, "I can handle myself. I... appreciate your concern, though I don't understand why I'm important all of a sudden. I assure you, I'll be alright."
Rainbow Dash frowned and opened her mouth to say something in terse reply, but seemed to think better of it, giving him a nod. "... okay. We'll be here if you need us, QP. Just let us know," she replied after a moment of Quillyn looking at her hard.
With a sigh, he looked down to her hooves before looking back up to her eyes, forcing a slight smile, "... thank you, Rainbow Dash. I just have some things to think about. I'll tell you how everything goes when I get back." With that, he moved around her, clopping down onto the cobbled street and turning towards the edge of town, near the closest cleared entrance to the forest. He could feel the eyes of the pegasus upon his back, but he never turned to look again.
Afterwards, he could feel his anger beginning to cool in his throat. There was little that tickled his temper, but being told that he was not capable of doing something was one of the triggers. She meant well, he knew; It still didn't help the matter. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his gullet, forcing his wounded pride down as he made his way a bit more quickly than normal through the town towards the forest's edge. A few others went on their way, occasionally greeting him, but his garb almost always got looks. It wasn't often that militia members were present in full view for the public, and he could understand their wariness, given the recent situation. He supposed it was fitting that he was going to be investigating that same issue.
Before long, the weight of the pack had begun to chafe his back through his fatigues, but Quillyn soldiered on. Perhaps his expression had slipped to something between pain and determination, as the greetings had begun to wane, even as traffic began to thicken. The market stalls were still closed from the night before, an owner here and there preparing for the day's business. It seemed like just another day in Ponyville to everyone else but him. Something about all of this carried a sort of dire air about it all. He knew, somehow, that he was going to be able to find something where others had failed. A sort of providence that reigned supreme over every other emotion.
Of course, all of that could just be in his head, the feeling of having some time off of work and embarking on some sort of 'grand' journey to find the boogeymen of almost everypony's childhood. But first, he'd have to actually make it inside of the Everfree Forest and elude detection by most everything in there. He may not be afraid of most of the creatures that dwell inside that wild place, but he did not exactly want to go traipsing about with abandon, either. It was a dangerous, wild place, that should always be treated with respect and caution. Some of his best inspiration for writing had come from that wood.
After leaving Ponyville behind, it was just a short jaunt through some light woods to the nearest easy access, which took him right by Fluttershy's small farm. For a shy pony that disliked the Everfree Forest and its proximity, she lived right on the cusp of it. Quillyn always found that rather odd, but he wasn't going to say anything about it to her. As it was, the pegasus was outside tending to her garden and the chickens. He stopped and waved politely before moving on, Fluttershy smiling softly and looking away. Though, right as he was about to slip into the woods, she bolted over to him with speed he'd rarely seen from her.
"Quillyn, where are you going?" She asked urgently, or as urgently as she could with her breathy voice.
He quirks a brow and looked at her over his glasses and under the brim of his cap, something of a balancing act, "I'm going into the forest."
"Oh... oh my, do you really have to go in there?" she replied, shuffling there in front of him. These ponies are acting strange as of late.
"Yes. I do," Quillyn leveled her with a stare for a few moments before giving her a smile, "I'll be okay. I don't suppose you saw those changelings go in here? Maybe... find some evidence of their presence?"
"Um... well, I... I... not... exactly, no... you see... um..." The pegasus blinks, choking and stumbling over her words. He knew he'd hit upon something.
"What do you mean, not exactly?" He prodded, his quirked brow rising a bit higher, but the effect was lost behind the brim of his cap. She became flustered and emitted some sort of squeaking sound before finding herself again.
"I... found some prints. They weren't... really... pony prints, not normal ones... they were around my farm, and went... went in there," she murmured, vaguely motioning with her hoof towards the forest. Prints were excellent proof, and left a physical trail for him to follow.
"What do you mean, not normal?" he returned, leaning in and leveling a gaze at her.
Fluttershy swallowed hard and seemed to shrink on the spot, her quiet voice becoming barely a whisper, "They had... holes... in them... like those nasty changelings... eep!" She suddenly spooked and grimaced, looking around rapidly as if there was someone else there.
Quillyn followed her glancings, puffing up his chest, "I'll not let them hurt you. They won't hurt anyone. They're on the run, right? That's the last thing on their mind. So... where are these tracks?" Hesitating, the pegasus seemed to regret even mentioning the prints, but she dutifully led him over to where they started, near the chicken coop. He smiled to her again, "Thank you, Fluttershy. Everything will be alright. After all, I probably won't find a thing... but it never hurts to check."
The shy pony didn't seem placated, but nodded, seeming to shake in her tracks. Then again, she always seemed nervous about something or other, so this didn't seem particularly out of place on it's own. However, with the way everypony else seemed to be acting about the whole thing, Quillyn had reason to be suspicious, though he doesn't press the issue. The prints were odd; clean cut-outs were made in some of the hoof marks. He couldn't explain it, especially when the particular sets were uniform, the same hoof apparently making the same mark, as if the hoof was not completely whole.
Odd marks aside, there were at least twelve sets of them, all leading into the same place. The pace was leisurely, judging from the spacing, though they did not linger in the area for long. Quillyn took in a breath and let it out through his nose, following the prints into the forest as Fluttershy watched. She stood on the spot for a long while after he disappeared into the foliage, and then scampered off, presumably to call her friends to tell them what had happened. He didn't care at that point; he was in the forest already, and there was nothing they could do to stop him.
The scent of freshly turned dirt and decomposing vegetation was thick in the air, dust and spores illuminated in the shafts of light that penetrated the canopy of the forest. Sounds of small animals and perhaps a couple larger ones echoed off of the trees, sounding muted and diffracted. Despite the sun climbing high into the morning sky, little light was available, and it took Quillyn's eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom. It was invigorating; it felt like an entirely different world, completely separated from everything else in Equestria. Admittedly, he'd not seen much outside of Ponyville except for the few exercises with the militia abroad, but no place seemed to have quite the atmosphere that the Everfree did.
The tracks were surprisingly easy to follow, once he got his bearings. It was obvious that they had not been careful in their retreat; twigs snapped off at withers height, plants tramped down, prints uncovered and unhidden. A foal could have followed them. However, they were not particularly fresh, and some even had pooling of water from the morning dew, so it was obvious that Quillyn had quite a trek ahead of him. Before he ventured too far into the forest, he checked over his supplies once more, tightened up the straps on his gear with a few tugs of his teeth, and followed the tracks deeper into the wood.
Every now and then, he would find a wisp of oddly colored hair clinging to a tree or a bush. The color of bright blue tourmaline and nearly as luminous, Quillyn often studied each piece. It was rarely more than a strand or two, but the stark contrast against the darkness of the forest made it difficult to miss. The length was usually longer than he was tall, and Quillyn was not a particularly short pony. The prints near the strands were oddly skinnier, but holed much the same way that the others were. It all perplexed him quite a bit. He had no real idea of the physical form of these changelings, if he is in fact chasing after them. All he had to go on were the prints and the odd blue strands of mane he found.
Sweat had begun to plaster his mane to his body underneath his fatigues, and Quillyn had tucked his cap into his backpack. The day was hot, and wind did not penetrate this far into the forest, it seemed. Heat waves rose from the foliage underhoof, and his clothes stuck to him sickeningly. It seemed that even the animals had laid low to avoid the temperature, the only sounds being the occasional bird flapping raucously from its perch overhead as the beleaguered stallion passed. The sun had risen to its zenith in the sky, though it was still as dark as ever in the forest.
Breaking for lunch as his throat began to grow raw from panting, Quillyn laid down amidst some odd, wide-leafed plant that looked relatively comfortable, stripping off his sodden fatigues and tossing them up onto some nearby branches. With a blink, he noticed the sweat dripping off of the clothes. Shaking his head incredulously whilst rooting through his pack, he brought out a canteen and took long, greedy swigs from it. His satisfied sigh seemed muted amongst the summer heat, the sound lost amongst the leaves, their glossy surfaces shining in what light there was.
As he sat up to look for something to eat in his pack, the spindly pony caught a glimpse of something glittering in the distance through the trees, and a catch of sound. The sound of water slapping up against a shore. Newly invigorated, Quillyn grabbed up a bit of bread in his mouth and trotted towards the water, being rewarded for his effort with an expanse of lake spanning for a league or so in every direction. The crystalline water seemed to call to him, the wind cool and refreshing as it hit him as he emerged. The forest bordered all around the shoreline, and he could see no other signs of anypony else in the area.
The lake was as cold and wonderful as he had thought it would be. The sound of rushing water greeted his ears as he dove into it with reckless abandon, and he could see almost two feet in the relatively clean water. Mud rushed up to meet his hooves when he reached the bottom, and he used it as a springboard to launch himself back to the surface. Spraying mist from his nostrils as he breached the water, Quillyn laughed happily at his luck, his voice echoing across the lake in babbling chorus.
Quillyn dove under a few more times before settling into a lazy float, bobbing just underneath the surface of the water, his nose jutting up above it. The occasional fish bumped up against his body, though he paid them no heed, legs splayed to his sides as he floated on his back. The brisk cold had dwindled to a comfortable coolness, soothing his sore muscles, drifting along with nary a sound. He drifted along like this for some time, though he was not quite sure how long he'd been there. It mattered little at the time. However, something soon roused him from his relaxation with a start.
A girlish giggle echoed across the water, his reflexes causing his body to seize up. The laughter was distorted underneath the water, but it was laughter sure enough. Poking his head up out of the water, still laying on his back, he slowly peered around, taking stock of where he was. He'd not floated too far away from the shore, but far enough so that it would take a minute to swim back. There, on the shore near his pack, was a filly dressed in his fatigues. Dark grey with a deep blue mane, she grinned at him as their eyes met and dashed off into the forest, the way he had been going.
Flipping over onto his stomach hurriedly and spluttering a surprised call after her, Quillyn thrashed his way to shore, taking his backpack and stumbling into the straps before galloping after her. She set an easy, loping gate, giggling all the way, casting glances over her shoulder back at him at every turn. The lake had done his aches well, but had started to numb his muscles along with it, his hooves seeming to find every root and rock that the forest presented him with, though he managed to keep her in sight. "Get back here!" he cried amidst his panting, "Come on, I won't be mad if you just give me back my clothes!"
The filly dashed around a blind corner, Quillyn nearly sliding into a tree in his scrambling to catch up with the elusive pony. His hooves caked in mud and splattering more across his body, he began to look more freckled than he already was, charging headlong after the girl, only catching glimpses now and then. He was hopelessly lost now, beginning to not even care about the clothes, but following her for lack of anything else to do in his situation. The forest around him seemed to grow darker and more close, the thick air stifling and difficult to breathe, especially in his state.
Pain exploded across his skull, traveling like lightning down his spine, and he could sense his movement immediately halted. Quillyn felt his body crumple to the ground, hitting with enough force to knock what wind there was out of his lungs. The ribs on his left side felt oddly liquid. Forcing his eyes open through the pain, he stared up at a stone wall, his blood smeared across the front of it. With a weak grunt, the stallion numbly began to look around, his limbs feeling as if they were vibrating of their own volition. The searing, burning pain had begun to subside to an overbearing sensation of ache, but just as his breath was returning, it was taken away once again by what he saw.
Standing where he had just come barreling through was the filly wearing his uniform. Her giggling had taken a sarcastic edge, and she stripped off the uniform, having not even broken a sweat during the hard run. Tossing it to the ground, her form shimmered and lost its definition, becoming a beast Quillyn had never seen before. Standing about the size of a standard pony was a creature with no discernible pupils, hard, horn-like protrusions over its body, curving wickedly. It almost seemed as if it was segmented in places, and as it grinned, fangs jutted out from behind its lips. Holes seemed to be bored into its legs from about the shin down to the hooves themselves.
The bushes rustled nearby, the beast's grin never faltering. A tall, wispy creature stepped into the small clearing as Quillyn's vision grew bleary, the pain starting to overcome him. "Excellent," he heard it say, sounding as if two voices were woven into one, unmistakably feminine, "He was alone. He lies broken at our feet... and he will draw the rest to us... right into the trap." The stallion tried to say something, but his lips would not work, his voice coming out in a thin squeak. The exertion was too much, and he felt everything grow warm, his vision dimming to black.
Holes.

Chapter 4

His breath came back to him in a gasping gust, his eyes shooting open. He was on his back, resting on something soft, staring up at a dark green ceiling. It was dark where he was, and after a few moments, he noted that it was dark outside as well, starlight gently filtering in through a slotted window. A candle provided the sole artificial illumination for the room, sitting on a nightstand next to where he laid. The flame flickered as he stared at it, the halo blotting out the view of the rest of the room. How had he gotten here?
The dull pain in his side and head rekindled the memories. Attempting to move, the sound of heavy metal chains clinking taut accompanied his stilted motion. His eyes moved from the candle to the manacles binding him to the bed frame, and he gave them a couple testing pulls. The motion caused stitches of pain to ripple along his left side, eliciting a groan from deep within as he ceased to move. He had been taken prisoner because of his own idiocy. Perhaps they had all been right. He wasn't strong enough for this, and now what was going to happen to him?
Quillyn's eyes moved back to the candle's glow, a sigh escaping through his nostrils. Something beyond the candle's aura caught his attention soon afterwards, though it was difficult to focus. Two orbs, glowing green, seemed to coalesce at the far wall near the window, and began to move closer, an off-beat hoof clop accompanying them. He squinted and tried to raise his head, but found himself still too weak to move, so he simply allowed the creature to come closer. The orbs resolved themselves into eyes, glistering in the light, emerald green with black slit pupils meeting his gaze without blinking.
The dim illumination set the creature's mane to glittering as well. Bright bluish-teal hair fell in long curtains from its head, a stray strand near an oddly curved unicorn horn slipping into its face and down its front. Odd holes seemed to be torn from the waves mid-strand, only to continue on lower. A yellowish green covering, at first seeming to be something like a cloak or armor, turns out to be something more like a carapace from its withers to the top of the flank, hard and smooth, reflecting the halo of the candle. Its tail was much the same as its mane, draping to the floor. A pair of dragonfly wings, moth-bitten and ragged, were folded along the back.
Then, she spoke. "You have awoken," she said in a silken tone, though the powerful effect of her twin voices was not easily downplayed, "You nearly killed yourself in your pursuit. It has been three days, yet no other militia pursue." Her expression seemed disappointed as she drew closer, "You are different than others of the Royal Militia. You are older. You do not wear the same insignia. I feel that you are... not militia."
Quillyn blinked, his eyes feeling as if they were filled with sand, and he attempted to speak, though nothing came out. The tall, otherworldly mare tsk'd, her horn glowing bright green as she gazed at him. She had not blinked yet, though her eyelids were apparent, made up in a shiny, attractive dark jade that complimented her features. He found all of this odd, yet he could not quite look away from her, even when the cup bumped against his lip.
The cup bumped urgently against his lip once again, sloshing some cool water down his chin and onto his neck. Coming to his senses, he looked away, attempting a hoarse thanks, and slurped at the water. He hadn't realized just how dry his mouth had been, and nearly choked upon what he managed to get down, going a bit more slowly about his drinking subsequently afterwards. Once the cup had been drained, the mare moved the cup away once more, setting it aside. "I... am not," Quillyn whispered, his voice coming in crackling spurts, "Not any more. I am a writer. Now."
This seemed to take the mare back. "A writer? ... Why did you follow our tracks? Why are you here?" she replied, incredulous. She stepped forward and leaned down, ostensibly to get a better look at him in the dim light, but she took in a deep breath, closing her eyes once she was close. After a few moments of silence, she let it out, her horn glowing briefly before she spoke, "... I see. You speak the truth. You have no reason to lie. Truthfully... very little reason for anything." Quillyn wasn't quite sure how to take that, and his confusion must have shown. She laughs lightly, revealing fangs on both top and bottom rows of sharp teeth within the oddly-squared muzzle.
"What... what will happen to me?" He croaked, looking her face over as it hovered a scant few inches away from his own. Another laugh was given in response, the wispy grey mare laying down next to his bed and smiling, though the expression was menaced with fangs.
"That is a good question, my little adventurous colt," she said, resting one holed hoof over the other, her eyes sweeping over his body appraisingly, "It would seem that you have a fair amount of love within you. Love for your Ponyville, love for your friends, and quite a bit of love for your writing. Love for your parents as well, but that is common. Overall, you are particularly average. However..."
Quillyn shifted uncomfortably on the bed as the mare continued. His eyes focused a bit more, though without his glasses and the head injury, his vision was less than ideal. Her eyes were exceptionally large, but just as expressive as ponies despite having a rather reptilian cast. The joining of carapace to pelt was seamed, as well as the chest to neck, for reasons unknown to him. "... you have great potential. A particular resource that is untapped. You have... imagination. More so than the average pony," she said, a forked tongue flicking out to lick at her lips lightly, "This is good. Very good. We need somepony of your particular talents."
With a frown, Quillyn went to speak, but was stopped with a lightly placed hoof upon his lips, "Shhh. Rest. Please. You need to save your energy, now that we have something in mind for you. It is a start."
Once the hoof was removed and she stood, Quillyn pursued his questioning with the foremost issue on his mind, "... who are you?"
The mare smiled brightly, fangs glinting in the candlelight, "I am Queen Chrysalis, of the Changelings. Rest now. We will speak again soon." Just as he was beginning to form his next question, Chrysalis faded into the shadows, moving away from the warm glow of the candle and towards the window. He could just barely make out the slight luminescence from her eyes before they winked out of sight, leaving him alone once more.

Sleep came easily, but rest did not. His mind raced, though it was bogged down by the dull pain in his head and side, occasionally flaring to life with a red-hot searing. He was captive, to be sure. This Queen Chrysalis had not said as much, but the fact that he was manacled to the bed spoke volumes. He wasn't going anywhere any time soon. So, Quillyn's mind started going over the facts that he had already gathered, turning them over and over as he attempted to decipher them.

The queen's features had been hard to process when she had been so close, but now that her bewitching presence had gone, he was able to better remember her. Her eyes, slit as they were, were rather larger than any other pony's that he'd seen. The rest of her proportioning was unnaturally lithe, long legs that had her standing as tall as Princess Celestia herself, along with a slim, craning neck. Even her hindquarters shaved down to a point, it seemed, his mind's eye calling up the images between the flashes of ache. The horn and crown adorning her head, the ears that never quite perked up from an aggressive stance, the squared snout and muzzle, the fangs, the great chasms seemingly drilled through both bits of hair and body itself. It all was so alien.

It was far too early for Quillyn to make any particular judgement. It was obvious that they were not going to harm him, not right off. The one that had led him into the trap, or rather let him run into the wall on his own, had seemed fearsome enough once the guise was dropped. But yet... he shook his head, scowling groggily up at the green marbled ceiling. These were changelings. The stuff of nightmares. He had been taken captive by their queen, and she had said that they had designs for him herself.

Despite laying awake for most of the time, or at least as far as he could tell, Quillyn never noticed anypony refilling the water cup on the nightstand, or refreshing the candle after every morning. Both of these had been done every time that he checked them. His manacles had also loosened over time so that he could sit up and reach the cup with his hooves. The water was always cool trickling down his throat, the candle wick just perfectly singed to light easily. The short taper to light the candle smoldered in the mornings and evenings, all through the night should he need it, but never seemed to burn down past a point, always being replaced with a fresh one in the day.

All of this boggled the mind. Once he had noticed this occurring, Quillyn purposefully stayed awake for as long as he could in the morning, staring at the items on the nightstand. The sun had crawled into the sky beyond the slotted window long before he allowed himself sleep, finally confident that he had simply been imagining the occurrences. A languid blink later, perhaps a moment's dozing, and his eyes shot open once more to behold the freshened cup, candle, and taper, with nopony in evidence to blame. It was maddeningly agitating to him.

On the third day of his waking, the queen returned in the evening, as the sun began to set, casting a brilliant purple across the sky beyond his window. She had stepped from the shadows that had grown in the corner of the room, just as he lit the candle. With a clanking of chain, he started at the sight of her eyes once again, his heart jumping in his chest for the moment that he did not realize what was happening. Loosing a breath, Quillyn took up the cup and drank long from it to loosen up his voice as she approached.

The off-kilter sound of her holed hooves echoed through the room, the grey brick pavers telegraphing the sound easily. He could see her a bit better now, the violet sky reflecting off of the glossy carapace upon her back. The queen seemed to notice his eyes studying her, her wings giving a little buzzing flutter when she grinned at him, the expression not entirely malevolent, though not comforting either. "I imagine you have questions," she said lightly, a teasing tone in her twin voice, "I have given you plenty of time to mull them over. I have thought about what to do with you, as well."

At that, Quillyn couldn't help but blink in surprise. The questions that he had stored up were dashed away in an instant, warring for dominance with the burning issue of what was to happen to him. Her grin melted to a self-satisfied smile, sharp canines still evident. "You will be free to roam the manse. You will see what we do here. Everything. Nothing will be hidden," she spoke, moving alongside his bed and lying on her front, "You will record everything. You will report everything. We will be known for what we are, and what we want." Anxiousness welled up inside of him at these words. It was far too easy.

She seemed to feed off of his emotions as soon as he experienced them. The queen laughed quietly, lifting a frail-looking hoof and tapping his foreleg, "In return, nothing will be hidden from me. The water you drink has seen to that. I have... blessed it, with particular qualities that are valuable to me. It nourishes you as no other water could. It heals you faster than any salves could. It tells me everything that you do, how healthy you are, what you feel, what you think." Quillyn felt something akin to violation at all of this, but curiosity prowled in the undertones, eventually winning out as he stared at her smug features.

"Why?" he asked finally, furrowing his brow, "Why make such a gamble? I know little. I... I have no one except for my friends and my parents, you saw that yourself, most likely. I'm just a writer, a columnist for the local newspaper. I have little say in what people do, I'm in no position of command or respect."
Chrysalis moved her hoof away from his leg and rested it over her other, but she looked no less pleased with herself. "I know," she replied, her smile never wavering, "That is what makes you perfect. No one will miss you, not really, until you have completed your charge here and you return to Ponyville. From there, your story will spread to Equestria. We will be known. Our cause will be soldiered, and love for our struggles will grow."

There is that word again. Love. "You speak of love as if it is a quantifiable substance," Quillyn shot back, "As if emotions could be harvested like wheat. It's all convoluted, emotions. It isn't a literal thing, nor is it tangible!" At that, she laughed more heartily, resting her hoof on his chest. He could feel warmth, his own, seeming to focus upon that spot, leaving the rest of his body cool. Blanching uncomfortably, his eyes flicked from hers to the hoof on his chest, a soft red glow mingling with the green swirling around her leg, the red energy drawing up like a siphon. It was a sudden thing, but without fanfare; he felt less passionate about everything, more complacent, more willing to see both sides of situations, no matter how embittered he may be. That was the best way he could describe it to himself as it was happening.

All through this, the queen simply smiled, and if anything, seemed more at ease herself. She pulled away slowly, the energy clinging like threads to each other before finally breaking easily, the flow of both languidly retreating to their respective bodies. The warmth returned to his limbs, and Quillyn realized that he had not been breathing during the event. With a hard swallow, he looked back to her. She seemed to be... sated, would be the closest wording for it. A pleasant smile had replaced the edged one, and her eyes were less piercing. "Everything is quantifiable, as you call it," she said quietly, her hoof back to resting over the other, "We are all alive with magic, with essence, with emotion. Different beings crave different things. You are different than most other ponies. Then again, most are different from others.

"However... I know your name, and I know your lineage, Mio Aggraziato Presagio Di Compassione. You may be mundane on the surface, but within you runs the blood and soul of something much greater," she said, smiling sincerely. It was an unnatural position that Quillyn found himself in. She knew his birth name, that is true, but whatever greatness she spoke of was completely unknown to him.

"... I'm the only son of two earth ponies. I'm not entirely sure where you're getting all of that, but it sounds like something out of one of my stories," he replied, shifting on the bed with the rattling of chains, "But I do know that I am being held captive here. I'm not a greatly accomplished writer, I'm barely known outside of Ponyville, and even then, only a few ponies know me."

Queen Chrysalis smiled at that, the edge returning, though the previous glow remained. "Do not worry about such things. You will see in time, and you will prevail in my requests," she said, her voice dropping a bit more than it had already, "For the love you bear for your land is strong, but the love that you will yet know is far stronger. We changelings love little, as we cannot afford to give up what sustenance we can garner. You will change things for us. But you need to rest just a few days more."

As she stood, the manacles binding his legs unlocked, clattering to the stone floor. Quillyn rubbed at his ankles, careful to not move overly much due to the pain that was still very much real in his side. "A bath will be drawn for you. Simply step outside, and the servants will take you there. I find that nothing soothes pain quite like it," the queen said as she moved towards the door, the portal opening from the outside, "You are my guest now. Not my prisoner. Make yourself comfortable." With that, she stepped out through the door, lank blue tail trailing behind her.

Despite what she said, Quillyn hadn't felt any more comfortable than he did before. He had seen his... essence, for lack of a better word, pulled from his chest with ease, and she seemed to thrive upon it. The gloom of the room had fallen again, though with what he had seen, he hardly felt alone. Though he was sure he was imagining it, he felt eyes upon him now, from all of the corners of the tall room, in all of the shadows along the walls. He slid towards the edge of the low bed and gingerly set his hooves down, testing his weight before lofting himself, a twist of pain in his left side still evident. Finding his pack just below the nightstand, he looked through it cursorily, finding everything in its place, along with his fatigues, which were folded neatly in the bottom of it.

Just outside of his door stood two 'servants', as Chrysalis had called them. One, he recognized almost immediately, though the other also seemed familiar. The 'filly' that had lured him to this place stood outside, dark blue mane flowing down from her head. He saw that she now looked much closer to his age, but she grinned that same impish little smile. The other seemed a rather dour sort of changeling, though Quillyn immediately noticed it was rather difficult to tell genders with changelings in their natural form. This one just looked him over with slight disdain, a frown curving on the features.

"Good to see that little impact didn't break too many of the handsome bones in your face," the mare spoke after he closed the door to the room, "You almost killed yourself just trying to get your silly little clothes back." She had begun grinning even more mischievously then, Quillyn quirking a brow and flicking his eyes from her to the other guard.

"Why have you adopted that... look?" he replied, ignoring her jibe, "That is obviously not your true face."

She made a nasty little face at him, sticking her tongue out for a moment, "You'd rather us all look like aliens to you then, so you can judge us all by the same methods? I'll not make it so easy.

"I am Korvina, Queen Chrysalis' spymaster. I do pretty much what you would expect from somepony in my position. I'll be watching you closely, just in case you need... assistance," she said, notably without the twin voice that the queen had. It must be some sort of special thing for their royalty, he thought, just as the royal tone was with Princess Luna.

"Assistance," he replied flatly, adjusting his glasses with his hoof, "Well, Korvina, your queen has deemed that I should bathe. Will you be watching me closely then?" The unmasked changeling's head tilted slightly, a sort of glow upon its eye seeming to move like an iris upon a normal eye as it looked him over.

"Of course I will," the spymaster quipped with a snarky little smirk, "From every angle possible. I always find it fascinating how ponies wash, and how different everything can be. It improves my own craft." She winked with that and turned, marching at a brisk pace down the hallway, though the bounce in her gait was undeniable. Quillyn found himself grimacing, though he was soon prodded along the same path by the other changeling, whom motions for him to move with haste. He found the idea of being watched by some pony that had practically smashed his face into a brick wall was unnerving at best, but the fact that it was helping to aid her in her cloak-and-dagger pursuits was more troubling.

The corridor was constructed out of much of the same medium grey stone masonry as the walls and flooring of his room had been, though the roofing seemed to shift and change color far above his head, moving from deep blues to vibrant greens and yellows to crisp reds and violets. It was never a jarring change, and seemed to occur before he noticed it was transitioning. Trying to catch the change as he walked, Quillyn proceeded to run into Korvina's side at a fair clip. "Oof!" she grunted, stumbling a couple of steps before regaining herself, Quillyn taking a moment longer to regain his balance, glasses knocked askew. He blinked and blushed, flashing her a sheepish smile, though she just shook her head and opened the door to the bathing room, motioning with her head for him to enter.

Spicy scents and the musky smells of incense immediately wafted from the room, causing Quillyn to hesitate for a moment. "Go on," Korvina prompted as he pushed his glasses back up, the lenses becoming fogged almost immediately from the mist roiling from the room, "It's a bath. Ponies bathe, right?" Flustered, he eyed the mare before he stepped inside. The door closed immediately afterwards, and he found himself alone in the large bathing chamber, steam making his eyeglasses useless.

Slipping them off and setting them on a table near the door, the smells nearly threatened to overwhelm him. Perfumes and the like often made Quillyn's nose itch terribly; these were no different. The mist made it difficult to see the ceiling, a large, looming dark mass above, light provided by crackling, incensed torches arrayed around the room in sconces. The bath itself dominated the chamber, reaching from wall to wall in width, and was really more of a small pool than a bath, at least to Quillyn. Stepping up to the edge, he remembered Korvina's words, though he didn't stall for long. So what if she watched him? He couldn't see how, but these creatures were beyond his comprehension at this point.

The water was oiled, spiced, and scented strongly as well, but the temperature was absolutely perfect for Quillyn's tastes. Sliding in easily, he let out a pleased sigh, the aches in his body wicking away, as well as the strains of the mind. He rarely took baths, as it were, preferring quick showers to the languid practice of bathing, but on particularly hard days a bath was like nothing else. Perhaps the queen had been right about this bath idea.

There was one thing that had occurred to him, but never particularly manifested in his thoughts until that point. The castle was nearly silent in the areas that he had been in so far. Even in the large bath chamber, where sounds echoed easily off of the walls, it was only his movements in the water and the crackling of the torches that he could hear. Castles are almost always noisy places, ponies scuttling everywhere to get the day's duties done. But here, there was nothing but silence and the occasional buzz of gossamer wings as a changeling departed or arrived. It was both comforting and eerie, he understood just how alien these creatures were to him, yet similar in jarring ways.

Scented oils soaked into his pelt while Quillyn relaxed in the bath. It was big enough to need to swim from one end to the other, or awkwardly trot, though he never felt the need to move from his spot. There was something about a good, warm bath with enough space to move that was so deliciously luxurious. However, even in such a comfortable room, he felt the need to finish his business and not keep his captors waiting. Rooting around a bit and smelling more than seeing soaps and shampoos, he proceeded to scrub up, cleansing a half-week's worth of soiling, blood, and road dirt from his body.

A quick brush of the teeth with his toothbrush at a sink conveniently placed in the corner, and he was ready, if a bit inundated with all of the cloyingly sweet smoke and spices. As soon as Quillyn had stepped towards the door, it swung open, revealing the impish spymaster just outside. "Good to see that you enjoyed the bath," she cracked, holding up an oddly non-holed (compared to the others) leg in gesture, "The Queen would have you in the dining room now that you are prepared." He should have known that there was a catch to the bath, though it was not as if he had anything else better to do, so he moved on without question, the scent of the bath clinging to him irrepressibly.
Though he would have liked to have had some sort of formal dress for the event, Quillyn didn't have anything of the sort, and nothing beyond the bath had been provided for him. Then again, did changelings eat in the same manner that ponies did? From what he had seen and heard so far, which was admittedly little, it would seem that they gained sustenance from abstract concepts given form. Though, as he thought about it, the presence of a dining room would be utterly ridiculous if all they did was feed on such things...
... Unless it was some sort of mass torture chamber. A huge room devoted to nothing but the horrific draining of ponies, their hopes and dreams being sucked away with utter ruthlessness and devoured before their eyes. Admittedly, it had not been a particularly painful experience when the queen had shown him such things, but it was not what he would consider pleasant either. It was difficult to place it, to put a name to the sensation, though the memory remained, despite how muddied it had become over the short time. Perhaps an hour had passed, but Quillyn could barely remember being in any sort of discomfort at all, excepting the ache of his injuries.
Daydreaming once again, Quillyn nearly stumbled down the stairs while Korvina led the way, oblivious to their appearance. Pulling himself forcefully from his wild delusions, he wriggled his nose in an attempt to push his glasses back up onto his face, though the action simply resulted in the frames sliding further down. Not wanting to stall Korvina in her spirited, steady pace, or get speared in the rump by the guard that moved resolutely behind him, he jerked his head up a few times, managing to partially slide the glasses back up, though they sat slightly askew.
With an agitated sigh, Quillyn decided to just wait until they came to a stop in spite of becoming more aggravated with looking through the uneven lenses. He needn't wait long, as the long, nigh featureless corridor soon opened out into a dim, brazier-lit chamber, somber in mood. Korvina had stopped, insect-like wings appearing on her back in an instant where none had been before, the gossamer buzzing almost inaudibly in short, timed bursts. After moving up beside her, a startling scene filled out in front of him that had been blocked from view.
A long wooden table stretched down the center of the chamber, with simple, dark green pillows laid evenly on either side for seating. The table had simple grey stone platters placed evenly as well, covered serving dishes placed every four positions in the center of the table. At the far end of the chamber stood a dais and an arrangement of brightly colored pillows, starkly contrasting the rest of the room's arrangements. However, the most striking aspect of the room was the inhabitants.
Standing beside each placement was a changeling, each at a uniform distance from the table and between each other, facing the entrance at which Quillyn was standing. Motionless and saying nothing, the chamber was still alive with the buzzing of wings, once he began listening for it. The noise was faint, but there, a chorus that rose and fell nearly like conversation would in such a place with ponies. However, the familiar sound of the queen's hooves upon the dais silenced even that quiet communication.
The changelings turned as one, hooves clopping uniformly against the floor. With a bow of their heads down to the stone pavers, they rose as one after a deferential moment and moved to their assigned pillows, sitting fluidly. The room remained silent for a long, uncomfortable moment, Queen Chrysalis gazing at him from across the room. A sudden pop from one of the braziers caused him to flinch, twitching in discomfort. In spite of the distance, he could feel her eyes upon him, and see the slight smile, not unlike Korvina's own impish grin.
"This is our guest, my children," she spoke, her voice carrying through the chamber with a palpable sense of power and poise, "We will treat him as such. So. We will use our voices to speak tonight." The uniformity broke in places, he saw, a few of the changelings exchanging raised brows over their iris-less eyes. The queen continued on unabated, seeming to not notice or heed the break, "Speak freely. Answer his questions to the best of your abilities. Enjoy the feast."
With her last words, the serving dishes were uncovered, silvered metal covers reflecting the reddish gleaming of the braziers. Obscured by steam for the first few moments, the food underneath seemed as alien as his captors for an instant. It only took that instant for Quillyn to realize what it was, his previously grumbling stomach turning to cramping in disgust. Roast suckling pig, an apple stuck in its mouth, laying upon a bed of lettuce. Spitted chicken with caramelized onions and peppers. A lamb and goat stew in a thick, savory broth, with a honey dipping sauce set in a separate bowl.
The changelings set to with gusto, hefting blades with their mouths and slicing off chunks to set upon their plates. Stew was ladled into bowls, bits of the meat occasionally picked out to dip gingerly into small serving bowls of the honey and gladly popped into waiting mouths. A salad or two was in evidence, sprinkled with chicken and peppers. The sights and smells were nearly too much for Quillyn. Ponies do not eat meat, and being somewhat sensitive to scents, Quillyn's stomach rebelled. Korvina looked over to him, quirking a brow, though the smile upon her lips that exposed the sharp canines hinted that she knew exactly what was bothering him.
"This is something you will simply have to adjust to," she said simply before descending down to the table, a seat near the head left empty for her. The unmasked guard also seemed to smirk as it went by, sitting near Korvina. Head swimming from the rush of the alien sensations, Quillyn leaned against the wall to catch his breath, attempting to will his gullet into submission. Though he had not eaten anything for days, the water he had been given had quenched his nutritional needs. He somehow doubted that he would be receiving much of it in quantity now that he was able to move on his own. Ponies are not carnivores... but he had to find something to sate his hunger.
The salads soon attracted his attention, and Quillyn willed himself to concentrate on this. A few of the changelings had begun to converse with each other, but their words were hushed and often lost amidst the other noises in the chamber. The pony took in a breath, letting it out slowly through his nose, and moved down the small flight of stairs to the dining room proper. The occasional word could be picked out amongst the din, though never enough to piece together a conversation. Their voices all seemed normal to him. Had he closed his eyes, he would have thought he was walking through the cafeteria of a school, or perhaps an office, rather than down the outer aisle of a foreboding castle chamber.
A green and red salad, thankfully devoid of any meat, sat ready for him at the empty spot directly to the side of the queen. She had watched him the entire time, it seemed, as he made his way towards the head of the table. The occasional changeling hesitated while eating, watching him pass, though they soon after continued as if he'd not even been there. Quillyn's eyes passed over a few of them, and while at a distance they all looked identical, it was upon closer inspection that he noticed subtle differences. Hardened, spired horns upon their bodies were in different places than the others, some shorter where others were more substantial. Some looked nearly normal in his eyes, except for the holes in their legs, the gossamer wings, and not to forget the iris-less green eyes.
Each had their own voice as well, as hushed as they were. Some were distinctly female, while the others penetratingly deep, though the range was anything between, the distinction blurred here and there. There was even a laugh here and there that echoed through the chamber, lightening the mood, which in turn helped to bring Quillyn out of the haze he had sunk into without realizing. The pillow assigned to him at one step below the queen upon the dais was luxurious silk, dyed a bright yellow. Queen Chrysalis had a neatly arranged plate of all the offerings upon the table, but it appeared untouched. She looked to him as he sat, her smile growing ever so slightly, green slitted eyes boring into him unflinchingly.
"Your... cuisine is... interesting," Quillyn broached, offering an unsteady smile to her, "Though I thank you for the consideration of my own tastes."
As he motioned to the salad, the queen laughed cheerfully, reaching and rubbing his shoulder with her hoof, "As I said before, different creatures of Equestria crave different things. Perhaps your tastes will become more accustomed to our 'cuisine', as you call it." For a moment, she looked distant, as if she was thinking of something other than the conversation, though her eyes soon refocused upon him, the smile reasserting itself.
"This is mere sustenance for us. It has taste, and fuels us, but... we cannot truly grow or prosper without love. It is something that we do not generate, just as your body does not generate vitamins or nourishment on its own," she continued, a few of the nearest changelings turning to look somewhat apprehensively upon him, "In order to thrive, we must harvest what you think of as abstract concepts much as one of your kind would... milk a cow, perhaps. Or reap wheat from the fields. Draw water from the wells. You ponies do still perform those duties, do you not?"
The smell of the meat was starting to become less intrusive as Quillyn grew used to it, and he could concentrate upon the question posed after a moment of hesitation. "Well, yes... after a fashion. Much of it is mechanized, as I'm sure you saw during..." he started, trailing off as he broached a subject that may be rather prickly considering the company, "... well, during your studies." The changelings near him, whom had larger horns and some jade adornments here and there that he took for symbols of rank, grumbled unintelligibly and glowered, though the queen who had perpetrated the invasion simply continued to smile.
"Of course. Though Canterlot did not have many of the more... simple professions at work, having all of its raw materials shipped in. There isn't much of a place to farm and mill on the side of that mountain, after all," Queen Chrysalis replied, "So I know little of how things are done in the low country. Perhaps you will aid me in that as well." Her smile grew, revealing the four sharpened fangs that overlapped the pointed teeth behind, perfectly white. Quillyn found her smile both jarring and somehow pleasant. She at least felt comfortable enough to smile so earnestly, but then again, why would she not? She had him exactly where she wanted him; at her mercy.
The rest of the meal went on normally, or as normal as things could be to him at the moment. Quillyn found the entire experience quite disconcerting; the similarities between the changelings and ponies were more jarring than comforting, and the culture shock had his senses reeling. He finished his salad, just. The rest of the conversation that he shared with the queen seemed mundane, and they had traded questions back and forth. Nothing that caused any revelations, they were just simple curiosities.
The fact that all changelings seemed to have both horns and wings, as odd as they were, was surprising to Quillyn, and he had inquired on this. The queen, after answering that it was simply the way of equality and necessary for their abilities both, asked after his parents. There was little to tell, both were earth ponies of mundane origins, and had loved him very much. He had a good upbringing, he felt, if simple. This seemed to amuse her, though she said little else. He had chosen not to pursue any more conversation, opting instead to listen to the hum of conversation in the dining hall.
Korvina and the still unnamed changeling escorted him back to his room afterwards, which had been outfitted to be a bit more comfortable in his absence. A wardrobe of dark, red wood had been placed on the opposite wall from his bed, the sheets changed, and a few other niceties were provided, though it was still just as dark as before. The spymaster noted that she would be nearby should he need anything, though he doubted that he would go wanting that night. He was surprisingly worn out from the short venture, which he attributed to the recovery from his injuries.
With a stitch of pain flaring in his side, Quillyn went over to the slotted window to look out over the Everfree Forest. It stretched as far as he could see, a distant mountain range indigo against the moonlit horizon. Stars twinkled above it all, bathing the forest in dim white light. The lake reflected the stars and moon placidly, barely a ripple upon its surface. Though the ring of the din within the chamber still buzzed in his ears, the castle had fallen silent once more, excepting the occasional hum of wings as changelings arrived and departed, or perhaps conversed with each other.
The pain began to burn constantly within him, and he turned carefully, favoring his left side with a hobbling gait while he made his way to the bed. Peeling back the satin bedclothes, Quillyn slid himself inside gingerly, staring at the near wall. It was featureless grey stone bricks, semi-polished and expertly laid, just as the rest of the castle had been. He found himself wondering how long they had been here, and how this place had not been discovered before. There had to be some sort of enchantment at work, he imagined. Wary of his tender side, he twisted and snuffed the candle on the nightstand, darkness sweeping into the room.
A few more moments, and he found himself gliding to sleep easily. His dreams came quickly and steadily, seeming lucid at the time, though he knew he would be hard-pressed in the morning to remember them, as usual. Quillyn's imagination had always been vivid, and he enjoyed those times that he did recall his dreams, as rare as it was. The stallion laid upon the bed, sleeping soundly in the silence of the castle.
Two green, slitted eyes appeared in the corner of the room, glowing like embers in the darkness, gazing down upon Quillyn as he slept. Her lips curled into a grin, wicked fangs flashing in the starlight.

Chapter 5

His toys clattered and clanged together, having been beaten together in such ways many times over the years. The paint was peeling off here and there, revealing the dull grey metal underneath, but they were still just as good as ever in Quillyn's eyes. His voice had already started to deepen, and his cutie mark had just appeared a few weeks ago. The sun was shining, and the other children, unfortunately several years younger than him, were outside playing as well.
The layouts for his toys, which he called models these days to anyone that asked him what he did at home after school, had evolved over the years, becoming more elaborate and technical, but the players remained the same, good against bad, evil wilting in the light of the heroic good. That day was like any other, after his homework had been done. He was planning out a diversionary tactic with skirmishers of light cavalry against the stalwart defenders when she stepped up behind him.
"Whatcha doin'?" She said, looking over his shoulder.
A rush of hot, itchy embarrassment flooded over his body, and he jerked, knocking over most of the mismatched militia and trying to cover them in vain. "N-nothing! Really, I... I just..." he stammered, trailing off and looking back at Strawberry Slice. She'd gotten her cutie mark a week after he did, but she was in a different class than he was. He always had liked her, even if she did pick at him like the others did. She seemed different somehow.
The rest of the conversation had been strained and awkward on his part, though she had seemed genuinely interested. Everything ran through his head in a blur, the trivialities of the talk straining him to breaking. She was a pretty filly, one that he thought was quite out of his league, though he didn't exactly have much confidence in himself. Strawberry Slice was being nice, for once. They were talking about a show that they both watched, though admittedly, he didn't care much about it.
Then, he pushed himself forward. His lips met hers, awkwardly, quickly, timidly, but it was a kiss. His first upon another girl. She hadn't pulled away. In fact, she just giggled and let him kiss her. He did it a few more times before they simply sat together in silence, Quillyn basking in the warmth of success. Time passed quickly, much to his chagrin; she had to leave, and soon after he found that she had a pony she was already seeing. She had chosen to continue with him, leaving his heart torn asunder.
A year passed in a blink of an eye. Quillyn was at Broken Bridle's house, another filly. She was another of his crushes, as well. She had, perhaps, taken pity upon him and his balking desperation, but he hadn't realized it yet. Nearly burning hot to the touch, she was attractive and wild, a free sort of spirit that enjoyed the outdoors quite a bit. He liked being outside as well, but never really thought of himself as an outdoorspony before that. She had been too free for his good; the relationship, as it was, lasted only a month before she had left him for his best friend at the time.
Romantic interests came and went nearly as quickly as he could recover from them. Quillyn never really gave up. Despite being socially awkward, he was a terrible flirt when he was alone with a filly. He could woo them with his words, a die-hard romantic. It simply came naturally, despite how awkward he was otherwise. Yet, every relationship ended in heartbreak for him... it was something he had come to expect, but never something that he became used to.
Endlessly, these relationships flashed before his mind's eye, reliving every moment in excruciating detail. Thrashing in the bed, tossing his sheets askew, Quillyn writhed on the mattress as she watched his dreams, her horn glowing green while she plied her magic. With a desperate cry, the stallion sat stock upright, panting and glistening with sweat in the starlight. He could see her eyes staring at him from the edge of the bed, her form barely visible in the midst of night.
"You are a tortured soul," she whispered, moving to his side as he stared wildly, still catching his breath, "... you have experienced more than what you should have of heartbreak. Of disappointment. Tragic, really... the way you hold on to every bit of it," Quillyn started to reach for his glasses upon the nightstand, but her hoof cut him short, blocking his path. She leaned against the bed, her face drawing close enough so that he could feel her breath upon his cheek. It was curiously soft and cool against his skin, the sweat beaded upon his face chilling him with a shiver. Before he could think to react, her lips were pressed against his own, the familiar rush of passion tinged with more than a little sting of fear.
Then she changed. Strawberry Slice's face, perhaps matured a bit to his age, was suddenly before him, her eyes shining with that gleeful little expression she got when she was happy. She looked just as he remembered her. Her lips pulled away for a moment before she kissed him again, and Broken Bridle was suddenly there in her place, blonde mane brushed back behind her ears to fall in curtains alongside her neck. Another kiss, and another mare. Each kiss tasted sweeter, but he found the beating of his heart in his ears to be troubling, the sense of wrongness growing in his head.
Every kiss revealed another of his past loves. It was frighteningly fascinating, and he could barely react, eyes bolted open as he watched, his breath never quite catching up to him. She pressed closer to his chest, and he could feel the heat from her body radiating in waves against his own, the sweat beginning to rankle his skin agitatingly. Finally, one impassioned last kiss, and she was her normal form once more, yet no less distant, her fangs brushing with a teasing sort of edge against his lips. She tasted wonderfully, indescribable sensations that were not quite flavor or texture.
"I can be anypony you want me to be," she whispered still, her lips skirting against his with her words, "As long as you love me." Her green, slitted eyes closed, and she pressed a final kiss upon him, a pert, meaningful thing, before pulling away and turning. He could do nothing but watch her turn and move into the shadows, seeming to melt into them with ease. Those glowing emerald eyes glanced back to him silently, though he could swear he saw a slight smile just before they winked out of sight.
With a thump, Quillyn slumped back against the wall. Suddenly remembering to breathe again, he was panting more than he had been before, he held his quivering hooves in front of his face. Sweat dripped from the edge of his nose to land upon his stomach, though he barely noticed it. A knot had formed in his throat, making a swallow an impossible proposition. Of course, he immediately had to. Grabbing up the cup of water upon the nightstand, he tossed its contents into his mouth messily, slurping up the dribblings with a wild desperation, his hooves barely able to hold it against his lips.

"... oh, horseapples..."

Quillyn slept no more that night, despite the early hour and his tiredness. The castle was quiet once more, but he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. Paranoia kept him awake, though he wasn't sure why he was so bothered, or even surprised. These are changelings, he reminded himself, and she was the queen. Changing shape must be as natural for her as picking up a quill is for him. But those thoughts did not make it any easier to accept. It was one thing to have an ability such as this... it was another to delve into his own mind and memories to use it almost as a weapon.
She had seen inside of his head. She had used his thoughts, his memories, real ponies in real situations, to strike him cold and defenseless. There really was nothing that he could do now but go along with what she wanted... but what was that, exactly? To flabbergast him with her otherworldly powers? To tease him just because she could? It was maddening, moreso than the nights before when she had left him with practically no information at all. Whatever her plans were, he was sure that it was working very much to her favor, and that he would be left in the dark for the foreseeable future. His thoughts circled around on themselves in this manner, making slumber a nearly-graspable, but just out of reach prospect.
The sun broke over the horizon, light streaming through the slots of the window to strike the wall, dust motes floating lazily within the beams. Quillyn laid motionlessly on the bed, his eyes burning and gritted from sleep deprivation, watching the shafts of light slip from the wall to the floor languidly. The sun had risen high above the trees before anypony knocked upon his door. Three simple raps upon the thick wood, the sound echoing within the large chamber that served as his bedroom.
Korvina opened the door a moment later, grey nose and deep blue mane sweeping in. She coyly peers inside at the bed, an impish little grin revealing the pointed fangs of her kind, though she quickly put on a pouting face when she noticed Quillyn had not been asleep. He regarded her coolly, the way only a pony who hadn't slept at all through a night could. Whether she noticed or cared about the expression, however, was another story.
"Breakfast will be served in half an hour. The queen and her court have it separately from everypony else, so it'll be a more intimate affair," she said without greeting, shoring herself up after her perceived loss of surprise upon him, "Come on and wash up. You look terrible." Quillyn reached over to the nightstand and slipped on his glasses with a sigh, rolling out of the bed. The pain in his side was considerably less than yesterday, though the stitch remained when he twisted this way or that. Outwardly, there was simply a cleft in his pelt along his ribs, not particularly noticeable, but evident upon inspection.
"Thank you, Korvina," he murmured flatly, his tone less agreeable than his words, "Let's go on, then." The mare perked up and smiled earnestly at that. That struck him as odd for some reason, as if she enjoyed his agitation or something, but he didn't pursue it, far too tired to get into discourse beyond base needs. Tramping along behind her as she led the way to the bathing chamber, she went inside and did not leave after he entered as well, simply closing the door and moving to the bath. Afterwards, she trotted up to the steaming bath itself and slipped in with a breathy sigh, and started to lather herself up.
Quillyn's jaw worked up and down, his eyes blinking rapidly for quite a few moments before he could find words that suited him. Even then, his voice and mind failed him. "I... what... you're... what are you... this is... I'll just..." he sputtered, rapidly looking from her to the door, stumbling over both words and feet.
Korvina simply laughed and blew bubbles at him from the lather, "You silly pony. It's a bath. I needed one, you need one, it isn't as if we're on top of each other, ogling and grinding. Come on, you're wasting time." Blinking a couple times more while he processed all of this, he finally sighed, gave a shrug, and moved to the opposite end to get in.
His glasses immediately fogged up, though at that moment, he wasn't sure if it was a bad thing or not. He had to take them off to see the soaps, though, so he carefully slipped them over to the side, where they promptly clattered to the floor. "Horsehockey," he murmured, rubbing his eyes with his hooves, the cloying scent of the bath already beginning to irritate him. Squinting through the steam and the itching, Quillyn took up the shampoo and squirted a glob onto his head, scrubbing haphazardly.
She finished before he did, despite the much more voluminous mane and tail, and was already out drying off when he stepped out of the bath. His hooves slipped and clacked hard against the smooth stone pavers, the gangly stallion scrambling for footing before he finally found purchase. The pain in his side immediately flared up, leaving a burning tear along his ribs that left Quillyn sucking in breath through his teeth and Korvina giggling at him. He shot her a withering glare, the still-sodden mare covering her mouth with a hoof while her magic takes care of brushing through her mane, though he couldn't maintain the hard look for long.
Despite possessing sharp, austere features and being capable of glances that withered lesser ponies where they stood, Quillyn had a soft spot for the cute ones. Despite what she was, what he knew she was, and the fact that he was in pain, he imagined what he must have looked like, all flailing legs and eyes wide open while he skittered to stay upright. The glare shifted to a dry chuckle and a shake of the head as he moved over next to her to look into the mirror. He picked up a brush to try and tame his unruly mop, but found there was already one hovering over his head, running through his short-cropped mane. It was always easier one somepony else set about those sorts of things, and he didn't mind the assistance.
Korvina had already finished with herself, and was carefully styling his now, her tongue just barely sticking out between her fangs as she concentrated. With honestly no idea of what to do, Quillyn let her do what she wanted, the two of them wordlessly abiding each other. After a few minutes of hard concentration, she'd done what she'd wanted, which was more or less what he would have done anyway, even if it felt a bit awkward on his head and hips. A slight, sheepish smile traded for a big, boisterous flash of a grin, and he moved out into the hallway, steam following in wisps. Korvina stepped out a moment later, and they continued down the corridor towards the royal chambers.
Taking a branch off of the main corridor that Quillyn hadn't noticed the night before, he found himself in a drastically different portion of the castle. Statues and busts of ponies and changelings lined either side of the hallway, set back in ornate alcoves with plaques underneath them. He recognized few of them, though the ones he did were from antiquity, before even Celestia's reign, from the fractious times. The ceiling above and the flooring below were a brilliant blue marble, the stone bricks seemingly a brighter, more polished grey than the rest of the structure.
The changeling statues he could barely tell apart from each other, they looked so similar in shape at a glance, but he could not stop to study any of it at the moment. By his judging, they were already cutting it close to the time that they should have been there and seated, though without his watch, it was difficult to tell. Korvina herself seemed in no more of a hurry than normal, her pace easy but purposeful, her hooves having the same sort of off-kilter sound as the rest of the changelings. They rounded a corner and came up against an intricately carved and stained door, a scene of some sort of tree grove laid within the cherry wood. The eery buzzing of wings came from beyond, muffled by the barrier, though as the spymaster opened it, the buzzing seamlessly transitioned to verbal conversation.
"... really do not believe that the patrols will be able to find this place without our knowing it," A changeling spoke in a rather deep voice, slightly larger than the others and dressed in odd, thin-looking armor, grayish-purple in color, "Our wards will hold, just as they have for years."
Another, possibly the smallest, scoffed loudly and toyed with a bauble hanging from one of its spired horns along the shoulder, "Perhaps the wards will hold, but with Celestia's patrols thickening the skies at noon and midnight, they will find a chink in the armor somewhere. Sooner, rather than later, most like."
A third, sipping at what looked like a tea cup that hovered in front of its lips, spoke in a feminine drawl, the glow upon her eyes flitted to Quillyn and stayed there, "This one did."
Korvina ignored the conversation and moved to the table, taking up her seat after giving the queen a deferential bow. Queen Chrysalis had so far been silent, letting her advisers speak their piece, though as the one with a woman's voice spoke up, she held up her hoof. "He was a special case. The spymaster felt he was special in some way, and I concur with her decision. He is more valuable than you know," she continued, studying him as he stood there fidgeting, "He is both mundane and quite possibly our salvation. The key to ultimate victory. Or perhaps a better term would be a locked box, needing a key."
At that, the three turned to regard him, the armored one in a skeptical light, the other two with an air of wonder, or at least interest. It was the one whom he took to be female that lifted herself from her pillow first. She gave a slight bow with a flourish, "I greet you then, in the judgement of our queen. I am Dinesti, the court battlemage."
Not to be upstaged, the second, more frail-looking changeling stood and gave a bow, jewelry tinkling. "I am Cantemir," he said from his prostrated position, eyes closed and head bowed in supplication, "Humble viceroy of Her Majesty's holdings, at your service."
The armored one snorted derisively and clambered to his feet after a moment of silence, giving a terse nod to Quillyn. "I am Tsepesh. Commander of the queen's forces by and large."
Quillyn found himself the subject of much scrutiny very quickly. Raising his brows for a moment, he blinked behind his glasses, "Ah... I am Quillyn Pen. Writer." The three continued to stare at him while Korvina made it a point to focus entirely on her food, chewing and swallowing the eggs with a rather dull expression. Queen Chrysalis, however, seemed quite pleased with how things had gone, a smile upon her lips. A chill ran down his spine at the expression, and he uttered a quick 'at your service' to them. At that, they seemed satisfied, and seated themselves once again, resuming the conversation as before.
"... in any case, apart from the spymaster's decisions and allowances, we must invest in some sort of active defenses beyond the cloaking," Dinesti picked up, looking from Quillyn to the others arrayed at the table, curiously excepting the queen, "The bubble is easily maintained, but limited in its effectiveness to repel outsiders. Honestly, if they simply flew or walked into it, they'd go right through, as we all know, and our position completely visible."
Tsepesh grunted and shook his head with a scowl, "That is no defense in my opinion. So, we need to increase our military standings and active patrols."
"Ah, but you see," Cantemir cut in with an easy smile, "With active patrols come also the risk of discovery, and what good would any defenses do if we were crushed by an assault from Canterlot when a stray patrol leads them right back to us?"
The commander bristled and thrust his hoof onto the floor with a resounding clack, "Are you implying that my soldiers cannot evade detection from those simpletons?! We are masters of camouflage and stealth!"
The viceroy holds up his hooves plaintively, still smiling, "No, my general, not at all. However, there are times that despite the best of skills, the enemy may find a hole in the defense, or just stumble along something in dumb luck."
The parallels with Quillyn's writings and musings were uncanny, though he had always imagined royal politics and strategy to be something like this most everywhere. So far, he was not disappointed. He sat at the table opposite of the queen, between the military commander and the battlemage, whom were still engrossed in their conversation. Cantemir, however, stole a few looks and smiles that left Quillyn with a greasy feeling, the writer already knowing his type of personality. The ones that always seemed to wriggle away with everything always had that same sort of slimy smile, and Cantemir was no different from all the others he'd known.
However, none of them had treated him badly, even if Tsepesh was a bit brusque, and while they were deeply involved with their conversation, they were not being particularly rude, either. Quillyn sat listening, having his poached egg and toast rye, finishing it off with a glass of apple juice, quiet changeling servants swiping out the plates and such without being acknowledged by those at the table. They seemed smaller than the others, and without most of the horns and hardness of the more influential in the room, eyes averted. Every society had their lower caste, and he imagined that changelings were no different, despite what the queen had mentioned about equality.
Sopping some of the yolk up with a bit of toast, Quillyn listened quietly to the conversation, though his thoughts had wandered. The words stopped meaning much to him as he thought about the night before, those events still very fresh in his mind. Slowly, he became aware of the queen's eyes upon him, their bold green gaze and the unsettling slits of pupils boring into him. She never seemed to blink, not when she was focusing, and it was obvious to no one but him that she was doing just that.
Queen Chrysalis appeared in his thoughts, wreathed in an emerald aura, seeming to overlay the image his eyes were receiving. He swallowed nervously at the knot that was starting to form in his throat. He wasn't even safe in his thoughts, he remembered now. "You worry far too much," she spoke, though the words echoed only in his mind, her visage else-wise immobile, "The situation here in my domain is never quite what it seems."
"Those servants you observed are puppets, essentially," she continued, motioning towards the smaller changelings in the corners, standing at attention, "Simply empty bodies to be brought to my beck and call, with no will of their own. No... we are all equals here... or at least, we all started from the same level. All are my children, of one type or another. Just as you may see yourself as one day... but that is not today."
In reality, the queen looked away from him to speak with one of the others, though it all suddenly seemed pointless, muted, and garbled somehow. The words no longer made sense, as if he had his ear against a wall, as well as being submerged. The image of her within his mind's eye remained focused upon him, lounging easily upon an unseen pile of pillows, or perhaps a couch. "Today, I believe I'll have you follow my lovely viceroy, Cantemir, since you seem to have taken to his personality," she said blithely, smiling so that the four sharpened fangs bared in their full glory, "I feel that you would do well to see what it is that he does in detail."

Quillyn felt ill. He could see Korvina staring at him, though it didn't quite register as something that he should react to. His stomach swam even as the image of the queen faded from his mind, the cloud engulfing his consciousness slowly fading away with a slick, slimy sensation. Dully, he looked over to the others, who seemed to still not to notice anything out of the ordinary, before he looked back to Korvina, who'd raised an eyebrow slowly in question.

"Well, if we are done here, I imagine that my new protege would perhaps like to take a stroll about the grounds?" Cantemir affected with a large, sharp-toothed grin and a short tittering giggle, standing with a bending bow to the queen, and lesser deference to the others accordingly. Quillyn's mouth felt dry, even as he stood to follow the queen's orders. Korvina continued to watch him, unblinking but curious, though he did meet he gaze. He was not sure of what to do any more, and his stomach continued to twirl in his gut until he numbly followed the viceroy out into the hallway.

Eventually, he became aware that Cantemir had been talking to him the entire time. "... unprecedented, you know? We have not had a true outside guest in quite some time," he spoke as they passed through the hall of stone visages, "Not since the last queen's mother. I believe that was the reason why... well, let us carry on with the tour! I understand you will be staying here for some time to recover from your wounds and to experience our society in it's fullest. We are not the monsters and savages that your princess would have you believe, you know! We are quite refined, and..."

Quillyn lost his focus again, though his stomach had been feeling much better progressively since they had left the meeting room. The grey halls had given way to an expanse of something that he'd not quite thought possible in the manse... a garden. A huge garden, with every sort of tree, plant, fruit, and vegetable that he could think of, and many more that he could not, even with his tours with the militia to neighboring areas and through the Everfree. "Quillyn Pen, are you paying attention?" the viceroy prompts pointedly, eyebrow quirked over a bright cornea-less blue eye, "Though I cannot say that I blame you... the first time I beheld the garden, it took my breath away as well. Simply astonishing, isn't it?"

"Seeds, saplings, and cuts from every forest, borough, cave, plain, and land that we have seen have all been carefully brought back to be cultivated here," Cantemir explained, motioning with a holed hoof, "Through care and dedication, our cultivars have nursed every specimen to perfect, blooming health!" The viceroy certainly seemed proud of the area, though for good reason. "Also, through directed magic that is in no way easy even for our specialized magicians, the weather is controlled in every way to be perfect for each specimen! Amazing, isn't it?"

Quillyn looked to Cantemir and gave a dumb nod, adjusting his glasses after failing to move them further up onto his nose with a couple of wrinklings. "It is certainly more extensive than I would have imagined," he replied, glancing back to the gardens, and over his shoulder. The way back seemed to meld into the castle, a transition artfully crafted of stone to move to earth and back without thought. The sky above was clear blue, with a few specs of clouds, though he did note that there were no clouds within the protective bubble surrounding the demesne, and flying patrols held tight formation as they made their rounds. The paths were irregular and numerous, perfectly aligned.

He began to wonder if they were also 'empty bodies', as the queen had called the servant classes, though he doubted it. There were far too many... and those of soldiering types seemed as varied in personality as any other collection of ponies. He'd not had much experience with them yet - dimly, he became aware that he was nudged by Cantemir's hoof. "You have a tendency to lose focus, do you not...?" the viceroy gave a smile, not unlike a school teacher to a recalcitrant student, "No matter. We have plenty of time, I do not have a meeting until noon hence, so we may go about this in a relaxed manner."

Blush rose to his cheeks. It was definitely not the first time he'd heard it, and he knew it to be true. He lapsed into deep thought as often as not at random, and it used to get him called out upon when he should have been paying attention to the matter at hoof. "S-sorry," he admitted, sheepishly returning the smile, "Please continue, viceroy. I... simply have a lot on my mind as of late."

Cantemir gave an uproarious laugh, clopping his hoof on the stone path that ran down the middle of the gardens a multitude of times, "No worries, my boy! No worries at all. You are most definitely in a position that few others can claim to be in, that is to be certain. It can only be expected that you take things with gravity and grit!"

The viceroy jingled and glittered as he animatedly gestured, his visage set afire by the sparkling of his jewelry. "The gardens are but one of our many triumphs," he explained with a proud smile, "We have our arcanery, of course, though I imagine the court battlemage would much prefer to show you herself rather than I. There is our library, as well as our astronomer's tower. I particularly enjoy going there, though we haven't had a proper astronomer in some time... it is a shame." This had Quillyn turning to try and catch a glimpse of the tower, though nothing could be seen beyond the large entryway back to the castle. "Ah, it is on the other side, away from any obstructions that might get in the way of the astronomer's glass," Cantemir says, walking back to Quillyn's side, "We will go there later in the day, as it will be one of the last stops."

Quillyn and the viceroy continued down the pathway of the garden, Cantemir stopping now and then to ooh and aah over one specimen of plant or another. They really were rather splendid, but Quillyn’s interests did not lie in horticulture. His eyes continued to wander towards the ever-encroaching exit, wanting more and more to step through the expertly constructed architecture, and finally, after the last row of whats-its was passed, they stepped into a considerably darker section of the castle.

Such sights as the armory and guard barracks were simple enough, and their pony analogues were similar enough that Quillyn found himself recognizing most every bit of equipment and furniture. The dining room was explored with a little more detail, but he found himself zoning out during all of that as well, mind wandering back over the past few days while Cantemir spoke on this and that sculpture or statue. Overall, he felt that he had, perhaps, misjudged the viceroy's personality. He seemed... pleasant, if a little sycophantic in his ways.

The day continued on with various minutiae being discussed, or rather, being lectured to Quillyn by the excitable viceroy. However, he came to from his slight boredom when the outer grounds were revealed. A perfectly-manicured courtyard and lawn that stretched for some time, giving the guard towers above plenty of view, the outer grounds held young changelings and their keepers playing and frolicking. A pang of deja vu struck the writer, and he felt as if he could write this scene down sheerly from his mind's eye. It was so similar to the images of his own youth that it felt almost wrong that he was not joining them in play.

Cantemir looks over to Quillyn and gives a smile, "Yes... our young play just as yours do. We prefer the sun when we can have it, though the darkness also provides a cool respite from the day's warmth." Oddly, Quillyn found himself chuckling slightly. He wondered if Princess Luna knew that some of the creatures that appreciated her night were such as these.

"I imagined it to be similar," Quillyn finally replies to the viceroy, "But I had not quite prepared myself for it to be so... spot-on." He found himself at a lack for words, but the changeling gave a nod, understanding the sentiment.

"Yes... I have never been among your kind myself, though I have read quite a lot about you," he returns, and then blinks, "Not you in particular, of course, though I'm sure that your own works are prolific." Not quite, though Quillyn appreciated the attempt at a compliment in any case. He looks back to the scene before him, little changelings buzzing through the air and tussling with each other, while another group plays quietly near a little pile of sand.

That would have been him, one of the little ones near the sand pile. Making little castles, playing with toys there rather than rough-housing. Sometimes he enjoyed a good tussle, but mostly, Quillyn kept to himself and his make-believe worlds. "I'm not too well known," he says after a few moments, tearing his gaze away from the little ones there in the sand and back to Cantemir, "But eventually, I will be. Especially after this piece is published." That's a thought. This piece would be the first of its kind. A view of the enemy from behind their lines, with their guard down. It would be phenomenal on many fronts, really.

"Oh yes! I imagine so," the viceroy replied with a little buzz of his wings and a prance, "It will be most excellent for all of us, I do hope!" For a creature that 'loved little', Cantemir seemed like he was full of verve and vim. Quillyn imagined that he was not exactly one of the changelings that was most like the others. He figured most were mischievous things, like the spymaster. His thoughts wound back towards Korvina, though not for long before something impacted his face.

A sensation of stars and dizzyness overtook him, but not enough to send him reeling. A ball bounced off of his forehoof after it had smacked into his face, and one of the small changelings zoomed over to grab it... and then skidded to a stop. Large blue iris-less eyes gazed up at him, a little fanged maw hanging open as the child stood in slack-jawed awe of the pony that stood there, smarting his cheek. Quillyn adjusts his glasses and gives a little smile to the child.

Then he felt it. The coolness left behind in his chest that accompanied the... the suction of his essences from his very being. His eyes go wide as he watches a thin stream of pink slip from his front and start sliding towards the little changelings open mouth, the tiny thing concentrating hard. Then a holed hoof thrusts out to strike the baby changeling away, an insect-like squeal accompanying the impact. The warmth suddenly snaps back into his chest, and Quillyn remembers to breathe again.

Cantemir scowls at the child, who seemed otherwise unharmed despite the dirt on its carapace. Slinking away before sliding into the air with a buzz of its wings, the child seemed more like a scolded animal than a pony. "The young ones know little of self-control," Cantemir says lowly, the older keepers slowly hovering towards the children and gathering them up, "It must be near their feeding time. I am truly sorry."

Quillyn shakes his head, blinking rapidly. That certainly pulled him from his wistful reverie, and compounded the fact that these were not ponies. These were, and always will be, individuals that feed upon the essences of ponykind. While they may be kind to him now, he is really no more than potential prey for any one of them. Only the word of their queen keeps them at bay from sucking him dry. He shivers at the thought, then shores himself up to go back inside of the castle. He'd seen enough of the grounds for that day, he figured.

Before he knew it, most of the day had been whittled away by the tour around the massive grounds. The fact that it had taken that amount of time spoke volumes of the immensity. Quillyn found himself wondering how they managed to keep it all hidden behind whatever 'bubble' they had been talking about earlier. He'd managed to find it, but as far as he knew, only he had. This large of a... a colony, or whatever one might call a gathering like this, had to have a massive 'food' resource somewhere.
The only place that Quillyn could think of in that regard was Ponyville. That location has always had a massive amount of... of love and care for each other, despite the travails over the years. Its only grown in magnitude since he's been alive. With the changeling castle so close by, he felt sure that they had all been fed upon at some point or another. Cantemir had noticed him worrying his lip, though couldn't quite wheedle out what was bothering the pony.
That night was another dinner in the dining hall, his seat still at the place of honor next to the queen. The changelings still watched him from time to time, but few seemed to be as interested now. No visions in his head that night, either. His salad had a bit more color in it as well, the writer did notice. That was considerate of them.
Finding himself back in his bedchambers, Quillyn moved to the window that looked out upon the grounds and the forest beyond. The night was filled with twinkling stars amidst Princess Luna's blue night, her moon high in the sky. Occasionally, a star or two would be blotted out in an even motion across the sky, glowing blue eyes gazing down at the forest below as the changeling guards hover slowly around the perimeter.
Despite what Chrysalis may have said, Quillyn was still a prisoner here. He could not leave of his own free will. But he could make the best of it. This piece would be magnificent... or at least he hoped it would be. His glasses drifted down his nose, and he pushed them back up with his hoof, taking in a deep breath and letting it out through his nose.

"Time to live up to my name... and my special talent."

Author's Note

Chapter 5 finished! Chapter 6 coming soon. 04-05-2015