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Love Mine

by Zephyrus Scary

Chapter 9: "I'm not brave..."

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LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Alteration One:

Ponies

Chapter 9:

“I’m not brave…”

I slow to a stop about a meter away from the wagon, and there I do nothing for a long moment as I simply stare at it—long enough a moment for Rough Diamond to step in beside me, looking at me still worriedly, but kindly not saying anything yet. That wagon… it looks so… innocuous and plain; not a place one would expect a peacemongering campaign to begin. Such a cliché. Dangerously clichéd. This has a very high chance of being A Bad Idea and getting me killed or at least putting me in a bunch of ridiculous scenarios. I snort with derision, then chuckle as I shake my head. -but who would be better suited to show me around Equestria? I need information first and as quickly as possible. Information: the only weapon I could possibly wield against the Bearers and Celestia… and Luna.

“Rough Diamond…” I say softly as I finally turn to face her eye-to-eye—maybe a bit too softly, if the way her ears perk up is any indication, and I’ve been getting better and better at reading pony expressions lately, which will only make it harder to act ignorant. “I do know this mare, Trixie, from a long time ago—before I moved here—and I’m just worried about her and would like to talk with her a bit… alone.” I had known even before I said her name that that last word could only affect her negatively in one way or another, but it’s the most important word. Even if she and her advances on “me”—Wood Work—are the most awkward things I’ve experienced in my life, I can never wish any harm, even this, on her, but I can see no other way to make sure she doesn’t hear my proposal—not in that way!—to Trixie. “Okay?”

A myriad of emotions write and rewrite their signatures over Diamond’s face—not that I need to see her face to know which directions the tornado is going through her mind. First, eyes narrowed and eyebrows pulled together with suspicion; second, lowing her head to look at the ground as she berates herself for jumping to jealous conclusions, then chewing on her lip as she debates, going back and forth; finally, a sigh as she decides to put my wants above her own—she is so kind, even more so than the average pony; a real stallion would be so lucky to have her in his herd. From her emotions I already had known she would let me go from the beginning, but I put up an act of looking worried as I wait for her ultimatum, and I release a sigh of my own when she finally says, “Yeah… Okay. If it’s so important to you…”

She starts to turn away, but I shoot out a hoof to stop her with nothing more than a light touch to her flank—not as sexual an act as one such as myself might consider, or indeed sexual at all—and get her to turn around with a little pressure. “Thank you,” I say as I give her a quick one-hooved hug, pulling back with a grin large enough to make me close my eyes in that way ponies do; it’s only partially—not even a tenth—faked. “You’re always so… considerate, amongst so many other admirable things.” I worry that I may be pushing the limits of Wood Work’s design a bit, but I know I’m not; I know it’s only a psychological distraction—an attempt by my survival instinct to convince me that what I’m doing is wrong.

After getting over the surprise, she returns the hug, and we pull back at the same time, having hugged for a length of time just shy of being too intimate for “just” friends. “See you tomorrow,” she says, and it’s not a question, or anything with implications—she really will see me, or rather she’ll see Twin as Wood Work, since he’s currently working on replacing some rotted flooring in the house that’s directly on the opposite side of the street from Diamond’s residence and place of work.

Nodding once, I then watch her walk down the street; the shadows around her, and the way the Sun only shines on one side of her body reminds me of how late it is, making me jump and hover for a moment in shock (Equestrian “physics”…). I better just get this over with—like ripping a band aid, but… I kind of hoped I would be able to come up with a way to “breach the subject” on my way over here. Forget it; I don’t have to be… honest… right away! As much as I’d hate to give Celestia even more ammo against me, I can’t risk a bet on Trixie being more open minded than any other pony. I sigh with dejection at the fact I must again fool a pony in order to get what I want from her, but still turn back to the wagon and walk up to it as I shake my head—I need to get back into the role of Wood Work before somepony sees me and starts worrying, which would lead to questions, which would lead to unnecessary complications with the invented disguise.

I lift a hoof to knock at the door, but suddenly, before I can touch it, it is surrounded by a light purple-pinkish glow of magic (oh so familiar, of course) and opens up to reveal Trixie laying upon a cot barely big enough to hold her—though the wagon itself seems hardly fit as a closet for a quadrupedal creature, never mind fit to live in for any length of time. “Trixie heard you wish to speak with her… alone,” she smirks and quirks an eyebrow as she says the last word, which makes me pause—is she actually making a joke or does she really think I-…? Ew! No! Bad male brain! Of course not!—“Well, come in.” she loses what little patience she had in under a minute and beckons; the amusement that had graced her muzzle for so short a time is gone.

Shrugging with Wood Work’s pegasus wings, I step in and take a look around, kicking the door shut behind me. As could be suspected, the place is quite cramped: at the far wall is the bed, and next to it against the left wall is a coat stand in front of a window holding a number of identical hats and cloaks, while opposite the rack on the right wall is a trunk/chest-thing under that side’s window, the contents of which I can only guess at. On either side of the door is a barrel (probably containing water, I guess) and miniscule icebox-looking-thing (presumably powered by magic). This leaves enough space for about one full grown pony and a foal, if one is not counting the space on the bed. The whole place is illuminated in a suspicious purple-pink by a lantern hanging from the ceiling with a “flame” of the same color; heavy curtains are drawn against the setting Sun, preventing its light from diluting the color of Trixie’s magic.

Eventually, Trixie seems to get impatient again, and begins to tap her forehooves together to get my attention; not a bad strategy, as the sound they produce is quite annoying when repeated in a rhythmic dripping-faucet-like pattern. When I only look at her but don’t say anything, as I still haven’t the slightest idea how to bring up the topic—Maybe it’ll be better if I wait for her to say something, and I can bring the conversation around slowly?—Trixie slowly raises her eyebrows before finally breaking the silence. “Well, my little imposter? What do you want from Trixie?” She narrows her eyes then and mumbles something to herself.

I blink rather stupidly at her words—Come on! Come on! You know the longer you wait the more suspicious you’ll look!—before I manage to cough some feeling back into my throat, which had dried without me noticing. “Uhm, im- ‘imposter?’ I… don’t know what you mean. My name is… Wood Work, and-…” I start to introduce “myself,” but Trixie rolls her eyes and scoffs, making me slow and eventually stop as I swallow a nervous lump. Who knows how long it’s been since the Ursa incident, or, if it’s past, the Alicorn Amulet incident? Just because she wasn’t powerful then-… I really don’t want to finish that thought! I swallow again, discovering my saliva has developed a consistency like peanut butter.

Then, inexplicably, her eyes soften. “Please, your kind cannot fool the true master of illusion: the Great and Powerful Trixie!” She suddenly jumps to her hooves before rearing up in what I presume is supposed to be an impressive display (but the absence of her hat and cloak greatly diminish the effect) before she lets herself fall back onto the bed with a great and powerful whoomp. “-but… you also need not fear her.” A smile graces her lips again as she says this.

That doesn’t stop me, though, from reaching halfway into my magic, ready to fight and keep her from shouting out my and the other Changelings’ secret. “I… don’t?” Indeed, as she shakes her head with that smile not leaving, I notice that her horn isn’t glowing… that, and the way she’s laid herself out on her bed: relaxed, unconcerned, and… exposed. I let out a great (and powerful) sigh of relief as I pull myself out a defensive stance I hadn’t realized I’d been in, and as the adrenaline wears away, I put a hoof up to my oh-so-slowly decelerating heart. “How did you… uh… know? -and why are you so… calm? -indifferent? -or whatever it is you are?” What would one call a pony who is so… this after discovering a Changeling in their home?!

Trixie chuckles as she stretches out a bit before answering. “Trixie overheard you talking with that pony who followed you from the restaurant. You said you know Trixie, but she doesn’t know you. -or at least she don’t know Wood Work. Has Trixie met you before?” Something about her answer and question strikes me as distinctly odd, but as I don’t answer back, trying to think of what exactly is bothering me, Trixie decides to go on. “As for why Trixie is so calm around you, or any Changeling—especially nukapish—is not only because she is very well-traveled, and therefore has encountered many cultures too alien for most Equestrians to even imagine, but because she’s dealt with Changelings many times and long before the attack on Canterlot. Who would have thought that a traveling showmare with a talent in illusion magic would attract that kind of attention?” Of course, her use of the word nukapish proves beyond any doubt she certainly knows Changelings better than the average pony, and—most importantly!—isn’t so biased against us.

“Wait!” I cry out when the answer pops into my head, “That doesn’t make sense! How did Trixie- I mean, you figure out I’m a Changeling from just me saying I know Trik- you! -but you don’t know me? Isn’t the more likely conclusion that I simply mistook you for somepony else?” I sit and raise an eyebrow; only after I ask the question do I figure it doesn’t really matter how Trixie knows, but that acknowledgement can’t stop that unknown from bothering me. Trixie opens her mouth, about to answer (I guess), but I yell, “Wait! Again!” before jumping onto the trunk to peer out between the curtains, and thankfully no pony is in view, but-.

“Relax: nopony—or anything at all—can hear us. Trixie has an enchantment placed on her wagon at all times that blocks any sound from escaping… as long as the windows and door are closed.” When I give her a dubious look from the window, with my forehooves still on the sill, she huffs, “I am- The Great and Powerful Trixie is the master of illusion magic! -and that includes not merely the sense of sight, but all senses! -and, as a master, I not only can make others sense things that aren’t there, but make them not sense what is there!” I don’t know when or how it happened, but when Trixie stops ranting, I realize I had backed away from her, now scooted into the corner and cowering on top of the icebox, and she is now standing, crouched as if ready to pounce; there’s a growl in her throat and her breath hisses as it passes through her clenched, bared teeth, which sends a new thrill of terror through me when I see they’re sharp like a wolf’s!

Considering them for a moment, that last part is what knocks me out of my fight-or-flee instincts: naturally, Trixie doesn’t have teeth like any kind of predator’s—she has “illusioned” them (that’s a word now, because I’m sure I’m going to be needing it if I convince Trixie to let me travel with her). As I lower my poor heart from its second fright in less than an hour, I huff out between gasping breaths, “Ah… Right-. … Of course you- … -can do that. … Uh… What were we- … -talking about- … -again?” Understandably, I want to pull the topic back to more civil grounds as quickly as possible.

Half falling, half slumping into a sitting position, Trixie takes a moment to regather herself before answering. -or so I think before she speaks. “I’m sorry. Ever since-… ermf… I can get really defensive when someone doubts my abilities.” As I lower myself back to the floor, I wonder if perhaps that “ever since-” concerns the Ursa incident, but I quickly decide not to bring it up incase it is—I need Trixie on my side. “So, we were talking about-…?” Trixie taps her chin a couple times before having a silent “eureka!” moment. “You were asking me-… how Trixie knew you were a Changeling.” Here, Trixie shoots me a nervous grin that squeaks (honestly, Discord didn’t need to do anything to make Equestria not make sense). “Trixie figured it out because… of her ability to detect illusion spells…” Is it just me, or does it sound like… that’s the one part of herself that she’s not only not proud of, but is—maybe—ashamed of? She did try to hide that particular ability by using that pitiful “evidence” first… but why? Ever more and more impossible to answer questions; something tells me I don’t think Trixie will be spilling the beans on this one without serious prying—which I’m not all that inclined to do, even if I had the leverage to do so. I have enough to worry about right now…

Something about her smile now is not entire convincing, either. That, and where have I heard of something like that before?… Ah, yes: Chrysalis… Let’s hope this isn’t a repeat of my “encounter” with her. I quirk an eyebrow (There’s a lot of that going on here lately…) “Hmm… I don’t think so. A Changeling’s… change is transformation magic.” As soon as I say it, however, I’m not so sure. Wait… if that’s true… Trixie was just now talking about “senses,” so if I transform into a pony when I “change,” then why don’t I get a pony’s taste buds, unless-?! Oh, manure… She’s going to call me out on my “lie,” isn’t she?

However, instead of narrowing her eyes, baring her teeth, or showing any of the expected signs of aggression towards me (again) for doubting her, she instead smirks before outright laughing a great belly laugh (though she doesn’t really have much of a belly; a result of her travelling alone and therefore pulling her own wagon all the time, I guess) that forces her to fall back on the bed and roll back and forth; at first, I myself am mildly amused by the display—after I get over my surprise—but soon I wilt under her laughter and shrink down in shame. When she regains control of herself Trixie says to the ceiling, “Oh, whoever you are, I told you I’ve come to know many Changelings during my travels, and if there’s one thing I know about Changelings that nopony else knows, it’s that Changelings can’t transform their horn away, so they have to hide it with an invisibility spell; even if they transform into a unicorn or alicorn, the pony-like horn is just a cover for the real horn, silly Changeling.” -and with that she trails off into giggles.

“Oh…” is all I am able to voice as my mind zooms backwards all the way to that first day where I had seen a glow of magic over “Hopping Hills’s” forehead, where, now I understand, Twin’s horn had been illusioned away. Changing has come so instinctively to me, even from the beginning, that I hadn’t even realized the specifics of the process involved—but why does that process involve illusioning away one’s horn instead of transforming it away? -and my sense of taste, at least, I can’t regain, but is that for the same reason, or a different one? “So, you know… that,” I say quickly, before (I hope) I start to look suspicious. Hah! A Changeling not looking suspicious? I’m pretty sure they have a word for that that starts with “o”… and it’s not “odd”!

At that, Trixie rolls back onto her belly and rolls her eyes at me. “Of course Trixie does! She just told you she can sense illusions,” She starts out strong, confidant, and somewhat condescending, but when she mentions her illusion-sensing ability, she again seems to crumple in on herself mentally—Okay, that’s twice now; definitely suspicious—but she recuperates fairly quickly and just as quickly changes the subject. “Anyway, Trixie thinks she knows what you want. She has travelled across Equestria with Changelings before, even once escorting a Changeling who had been crippled after the attack on Canterlot back to Hasharstan. I can take you anywhere safely.” Somehow, I doubt that… and how small is the chance that the one place I think you can’t get me into safely is the place I need to go?

Still, something strikes me as odd about her last statement. “Why?” I ask, “I mean, have any of those Changelings told you why they came to you? -you, specifically?” She said something about, I think, Changelings being “attracted” to her because of her illusion skills, but it is that the whole story? I tilt my head, trying to look innocently curious, and though something tells me Trixie doesn’t buy it, she doesn’t make her own inquiry.

However, she doesn’t answer right away, either, but looks up at the purple “flame” while humming in thought, until after at least a whole minute she turns back to me. “No, or at least no reason that made enough of an impression on Trixie for her to remember it,” she shrugs as she explains her potential memory lapses, “but she has her own little theory that she’s developed over the years, if you’d like to hear it?” I shrug myself, then motion with a kind of dip of my head for her to go on.

Again she takes a moment, this time closing her eyes—I’m guess she’s trying to collect her thoughts into a logical enough order so she can put them into words. “Over the years…” she starts with her eyes still closed, “one of the most important things Trixie learned is that Changelings aren’t all that different from ponies.” That earns her a raised eyebrow from me, but of course she can’t see it, and I’m unwilling to stop her. “-mentally, anyway.” She smirks, and in that instant I realize that she could be using some illusion to make it seem like she has her eyes close. In this lighting, after all, I wouldn’t be able to see her magic!… No, I can’t think like that. Trust; that’s the biggest piece of this puzzle I have right now, so I’m just going to have to go with it… but—of course!—I can’t just trust her for trust’s sake!

I can only suppose Trixie—proving me right—had noticed me delving into my own thoughts rather than her story, for she continues only when I come back to the present. “Which means she also knows that Changelings have no ‘hivemind’ that everypony suddenly started on about after the attack on Canterlot—not that anypony besides Trixie even knew that Changelings existed before that!—and it’s obvious that all those other things that’ve supposedly been found out about Changelings are blatant lies to anyone with-!” Trixie’s voice has steadily rose into a rant, which she just now realizes and stops herself—ranting about pony misconceptions on Changelings? Interesting. After waiting for her breathing to slow, she gets back on track. “What Trixie means is that just because Changelings don’t have a hivemind doesn’t mean they don’t have a hive mentality similar to ponies’ herd mentality: some kind of ‘safety in numbers’ instinct. Trixie has only ever… worked with one Changeling at a time, for any length of time; sometimes her wagon got more crowded, but Changelings almost always prefer the company of other Changelings, so at those times they usually left Trixie earlier than they originally planned…” Yet again that tone of voice: something like shame, but… “deeper”…

At what she says, however, I only hum, careful not to either nod or shake my head, though I know what she’s talking about in regards to the herd/hive mentality, having experienced it on multiple occasions now myself. After an appropriate “topic changing” pause, I’m about to say something about the “work” she just mentioned when she speaks up again. “So, now it is Trixie’s turn for questions… unless you had another?” she asks, noticing how I jump when she cut across my thought processes, but I shrug. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough, and what ever it is, I have to do it. -for everyone. “Trixie wonders: are you the only one going?”

I don’t have to think about that before I nod; even if one of the others—most likely Replie—wants to come with me, I have to be adamant that, if I fail—an all too real possibly, but one I have to ignore—I will at least fail alone and bring no one down with me. “-but I’ll be leaving with a different disguise. There are… others who will still need Wood Work,” I quickly elaborate.

“Trixie half expected that.” She nods and smiles at first, but then her eyes slide out of focus and she frowns. I can only guess at what she might be thinking: why I’m leaving, why they’re staying, especially so close to the border, or maybe even why she’s offering this “hidden” service. Either she thinks through whatever it is quickly, or she dismisses it, for she shakes her head almost instantly before smiling again. “Of course, Trixie advises you to disguise yourself as an Earth pony, so you may work for Trixie without as much risk. Trixie hopes you didn’t think she ferries Changelings back and forth across the country for free, after all!”

-and there it is. I can’t help but groan at what I imagine she’ll be having me do as an Earth pony. “I suppose that’d be because you want a strong set of legs to ferry you around in your own wagon? -setup the stage? -pull around your wheel-less, giant four-poster bed?” -and there that is! I know Trixie has already made her first appearance in Ponyville because of Braeburn’s reaction, but now this will either give Trixie the idea for her second appearance, or… pull… her… smile down. Well, that wasn’t what I-!… Great.

Almost instantly she begins to fidget as, I imagine, she tries to come up with some kind of convincing lie. “I-… er… Trixie-… That was-… I wasn’t-… didn’t-!” she shouts and rushes on, “I didn’t mean any of what I did. The Amulet-. I didn’t know what it would do!” Well, then! Color me surprised! I was sure for a moment Trixie would deny it or try to work around the issue in some other-. Wait! I wonder… could that sensing-illusions thing have something to do with the Alicorn Amulet incident? Not that I have any evidence… and I can’t see how yet, but it may just be something to keep in mind. Soon enough Trixie, perhaps after frantically arriving at the conclusion that I couldn’t know about the Alicorn Amulet—and I’m not about to correct her; I have the information I want—coughs in an about-to-change-topic way. “An-Anyway, not exactly, though we will take turns at pulling Trixie’s wagon, naturally, but I say Earth pony because I want your assistance on stage for an act. I don’t want you to participate here—that would be far too suspicious, since… Braeburn,” she hacks out the name as if it’s a hair trying to snake down her throat, “knows Trixie is here alone. she’ll explain the specifics another time, since it’s getting late-”—how does she know with the curtains-? Oh: more illusions, I’m guessing—“-but she can say you don’t have to do much of anything but move where and how Trixie says. Now, before Trixie asks you to leave so she can sleep, one last question: Where do you want to go? -if you have a specific destination in mind, of course…”

I grimace, knowing this question would come, but hoping it would have be asked a little bit later, maybe even after we leave. Looking down, I say to the floor, “I… have to get to-…” No. I can’t be like this. No hesitation. No questions. No choices. I look back up with a vigor in my eyes that makes Trixie pull her head back with wide-eyed surprise, and what I say certainly doesn’t help. “I have to get to Canterlot. Not immediately, mind; I won’t be bothered if we take a bit of a more winding route.” -because I need to see what the life of a pony in Equestria is really about before I see Celestia again…

“Canter-…-lot?” Trixie puts a hoof to her mouth, and this time I can’t even guess what may be going on in her mind. “Why? A Changeling entering Canterlot is-… That city has the largest concentration of guards who, despite Celestia’s policies and orders, still watch carefully for anything that looks halfway like Changeling activity…” She lowers her hoof, then turns away and down, now staring at it with a thoughtful crease to her brow.

“That’s what I’ve come to you for, Miss Master of Illusions.” I smirk, but she doesn’t look up, or even react in any way, never mind any way I imagined—and hoped—she would. “As for why-…” I can’t tell the truth. First, she probably wouldn’t believe (I know I wouldn’t believe me in her position), and second, I’m not going to accidentally incriminate her—or at least make it look worse for her—in case things go bad. “-that’s my business, and mine alone.”

Trixie nods, now actually closing her eyes. “Alright. Trixie will help,” she says in the general direction of her pillow. “-but now it is getting late, and Trixie thinks you still have a lot to talk about with your friends.” This time, she smirks as I turn around and leave, the “candle” extinguishing just before I close the door behind me.

She’s right. Now… for the hard part. I sigh as I trot slowly through the town that had become a haven- a false haven to me for such a short time that had seemed so long.

- - - -

When I finally enter the underground room, I had become so lost in thought trying to create some plan of attack that minimized the chance of Reflection, Twin, and/or (especially) Replie hating me, that at first I don’t realize where I am until I’m inexplicably wearing a giant, furred necklace determined to choke the life out of me—i.e. Replie. “What took you so long?!” she chides, pounding my back with just enough force to leave a sting that lingers.

“What? You were worried about eména?” I ask jokingly, chuckling as I pat her a bit more gently on her back. I wonder if it’s just me that finds something familiar about this scene? Doesn’t matter… no more distractions. The sobering, self-telling-off makes me stop laughing in a way that I realize too late is rather worrying itself; at this, Replie pulls back, nodding slowly, uncertainly. I don’t answer the unspoken questions I can feel in their emotions, but fly somewhat languidly onto one of the couches, and the others quickly take seats opposite me; their quiet, concern yet unrushed makes me feel even worse for what I know my words will do to them. “To be honest…” I start, but shake my head; there had never been the question of “are you being honest?” in this room outside of being a joke. “I’ll just come right out with it:-”—Like a band aid—“-I’m going to be leaving Apploosa… soon. I’m not sure about exactly when, but… that fact is at least pretty much written in stone.”

The effect may not have been as bad as I’d been imagining, but then again the mind's eye for the future tends towards the extremes of any spectrum, so I may not be the best judge at the moment. Twin is simultaneously disbelieving and something that can only be described as “waiting-for-the-punch-line” which I’m sure has something to do with my use of “to be honest.” Well, that really bit me hard in the behind, didn’t it? Next to him, Reflection… frowns and tilts her head, but also nods in a knowing way that implies she’d been expecting something like this to happen eventually. Finally… Replie. She gasps and puts a forehoof up to her chest; tears start to pool and she shakes her head disbelievingly. “No. No, You’re not! You’re-…!” She screams with her voice on the border of shrill that still makes me wince, but I must stay strong here; she—they—deserve nothing less than the whole truth. “Where would you go?! Why?!”

Those two damning questions… Better to get the hard stuff out of the way first, isn’t it? I look down at the floor under the table and let out a sigh so long I start to feel a little lightheaded near the end of it. No knocking yourself unconscious to get out of this one, Alternate. “I’m going to-”—moment of truth—“-Canterlot.” Not good enough. “Canterlot Castle. -to speak with Celestia.”

Their reactions are about as “good” I could expect at my most optimistic. “Samuura hamix! Do you have a deathwish!?” Reflection shouts, abandoning her earlier calm acceptance—not that I had expected her response be any less worried for my safety than her words, as angry as they sound, truly indicate.

At the same time, Replie again cries out, “No! No, you’re not!” but they all must know I’m being completely serious. Twin seems to have gone from disbelief to trying to convince himself not to believe me as he closes his eyes, hangs his head, and jerkily shakes it as if in answer to some question in his own mind.

I can’t do this and fight against their emotions at the same time! I need to get across my reasoning first. No distractions! “Let me explain.” I hold up a hoof to catch their attention and prepare to catch Replie in case she decides to fly at me; certainly, the way she’s staring at me, whimpering quietly, hiccupping occasionally, and eyes watering all make me worry about being choked into unconsciousness (maybe by accident) so that I’ll miss leaving with Trixie. “All three of you-… I know you know that no matter what happens, our days here—in Apploosa, as Wood Work—are coming to an end, and soon.”

No distractions! Before I can gauge their reaction to this, I quickly close my eyes, but not tightly, only to look as though I’m thinking, but in my strangely clear mind—perhaps it has to do with actually being focused on something for once since I’ve arrived in Equestria?—I already know what to say. “Whether you think Queen Chrysalis has a chance of successfully attacking Canterlot again or not, she’s going to try. I can think of only two outcomes: One, she wins Canterlot and eventually Equestria, and once her victory is secured, she’ll come after those who didn’t believe in her and abandoned Hasharstan. Two, she fails, and maybe it will take multiple attacks, but eventually Princess Celestia will be forced to admit that stronger security against Changelings is needed, and she won’t care whether the Changelings she finds and kills are spies or scavengers. One way or another, this war is going to kill us, even if we don’t participate.”

“How can you… know those are the only two possibilities?” Twin’s uncertainty is obvious; as for the others, I continue to strain to keep from looking at them. What they think is of no consequence, I’m doing this no matter what! I slowly lower my hoof down before answering.

“A couple of things that Princess Celestia said when she confronted me over a month ago…” I hear the expected uneasy drawing in of breath from all three of them at the mention of my encounter. “First, the thing that saved my life from her: She said that the base of Equestria is trust, and I know she believes in trust because it was her trust in… Fluttershy’s, Rarity’s, and Rainbow Dash’s judgment that she spared me.” I shiver and sigh as I see flashes of those wonderful ponies defending me, even against their Princess—it’s still a little hard believe. “However… when Fluttershy explained her defense, Celestia said something else. Something about animals being more dangerous when they’re hungry. I didn’t think much of it at the time, since I figured anything I said would automatically be taken as a lie, but now I know she tricked- lied to Fluttershy… though I’m not sure if she realized it herself. Hunger is just a kind of fear, and it’s fear, in the broadest sense, that makes anything dangerous, and… after the siege, I’d bet- I am going to bet my life that Celestia is scared, that the only thing holding her back is trust, and that someone has to pull her back before Chrysalis pushes her past the limits of that trust—that tiny sliver of potential trust that I’m going to try to cultivate inside her. There’s a chance; I can just feel it. I can feel that there has to be something-… something else beyond the trust of her subjects that’s holding her back—that I have to… get to.”

A pause, and the only thing I hear is breathing; two heavy and thoughtful, and the third quick and panicky. After a long moment—longer than I expected—there’s a sudden buzz of Changeling wings and a set of holed hooves wraps around me again; I don’t move an inch to stop Replie, or push her away, instead I simply remain still, or as still as I can with a shivering Changeling hanging off my neck, crying as silently as possible, face buried against the shoulder where my scars from so long ago (or not really so long ago) are now hidden by my fur. “Why?” She eventually manages to ask, “Why you? Why does it have to be you? Why not someone else? -somepony else?!” and by her tone, I can tell she already knows, or at least suspects, my reasoning.

“Replie-…” Breathe in. Breathe out. No… distractions. It starts to get hard to think such a thing, however, with my shoulder wet and getting wetter. “Replie, you know no pony is ever going to go against Princess Celestia on something like this; even if some- very precious few ponies don’t think of us as mindless, soulless monsters, even fewer wouldn’t find at least some merit in the argument that Changelings are a threat to Equestria.” I can’t hold myself back any longer, and give in to hugging Replie, loosening the valve on my heart slightly, and pulling her tighter against me, though her own grip is already quite firm. “As for-… Even if there is another Changeling out there willing to stand before Celestia, I just feel-… I think my previous encounter with her may just give me the tiniest boost I’ll need to convince her. -or at least make it easier for me than for anyone else.” That last part I’m not entirely certain about, but I need to say something halfway realistic.

“We don’t-…” Reflection starts, but swallows nervously; when I look over at her questioningly—Reflection? Nervous?… If we were ponies, I’d think she’d been replaced by a Changeling!—she looks pained, as if she expects whatever she has to say will hurt her. “We don’t have to stay here!”—Now that’s… interesting… She’s almost pleading now. “It’ll be easier to travel once Silverglass hatches; we can leave the week after that! Gryffia. Saddle Arabia. Anywhere that’s not Equestria or Hasharstan.” Silverglass… I look over at the egg that has been here since I first arrived, with very definite features; I wouldn’t be surprised if it hatched before the end of the month, and then… It would be so easy to leave. I… once was a human—I think—so this war has nothing to do with me. Going somewhere would certainly give me a greater chance of survival than purposefully waltzing into the Canterlot throne room right in front of the immortal Sun Princess who called me an enemy of Equestria on sight!

However… “Reflection, why did you come here in the first place? After you… ‘abandoned’ Queen Chrysalis, why did you come to Equestria, instead of going to one of those other places you just mentioned?” I could also say I don’t know how to transform into anything besides a pony, but they’d just say they can teach me, and I can’t let them let themselves get distracted from the point here, either! No relenting. I don’t give her any time to answer beyond the widening of her eyes and, I suspect, the quickening in her heartbeat. “Replie told me that night all that time ago what role you played during the siege on Canterlot. I-.”

“D-Don’t-. Don’t talk about that!” Somewhere in my brain a wire must have been crossed or something, because at first I hear those words in Reflection’s voice until something else catches up and corrects the mistake, and I realize it’s Replie yelling into my arm. “Why do you have to bring… that up… again! Leave it alone… in the past where it belongs!” Finally, she pulls away slightly so she can at least look at me. “Why does it matter, anyway? If we weren’t… here-. I don’t want to think about it!”

Right. If Twin hadn’t been there that first day, I might not have realized the border guards were coming towards me until it was too late, and they would’ve… “I’m not asking about ‘what if,’ I’m asking about ‘why.’ Why Equestria, given your… ‘history’ here?” I wait, but no answer comes. Twin and Reflection look at each other, then turn their eyes down, while Replie buries her face into my shoulder again. Eventually, I sigh. “Never mind. I think I understand. This whole time, you haven’t cut me off like you, Reflection, did that first day. You listened. You argued against what I said instead of just saying that it’s impossible, or that you don’t care what happens between Equestria and Hasharstan. So-” I snort and shake my head at the revelation, “what happened… on that day in Canterlot is important to you in a different way. At first, maybe it was just about redeeming yourselves, but now you honestly care about ponies for their sake instead of your own… However, you don’t know what to do-. You don’t know what you can do, but you’ve never stopped looking for some kind of opening. Now, here is: you can let me go.”

Nothing.

No argument.

Reflection has closed her eyes softly and calmly, and her breathing has slowed… all as if in meditation. Twin is biting his lip so hard it’s not just his fangs that are drawing blood, but he’s created a long cut across his entire bottom lip, and I imagine he’s also bleeding into his mouth, if his periodic swallowing is any indication. Replie, meanwhile, has gone completely stiff, so much so I can barely feel her shallow breathing as her ribs rhythmically and almost imperceptibly rub against my leg. I believe this is what they’d call “hitting the nail on the head”…

“I’ll go with you.” Replie breaks the silence of unknown time, and she finally moves, pulling herself completely away from me, sitting back; her whole face is matted and wet from having rubbed her tears into my shoulder—looking, in fewer words, utterly miserable… except her eyes, now burning away the tears with fiery determination. “You-… Everyone this war would affect could use all the help you can get to try to stop it. I can-.”

“No.” When I cut her off, she just stares at me. Before going on to explain, I pull her back against me in another hug. “Replie, I don’t-… Anything you could help me with, any argument you could provide against Celestia, I can do and say alone. There’s no reason to risk your life, too… Besides, Reflection and Twin could really use your help after Silverglass hatches. You’re part of her hive now, and she cou-.” I just start saying whatever comes to my mind, hoping some of it sticks to Replie and holds her here—keeps her from trying to follow me after I leave.

“I am not a… queen!” Reflection juts in, half-leaping forward, stomping her forehooves onto the table between us, and buzzing her wings—something she very rarely does, even when agitated—but even as she does this, her love doesn’t change; it never has since I started doing my share as Wood Work—neither has Twin’s changed, and Replie’s has only even grown stronger.

Yet even besides that, her new position only helps to show off how wrong she is. “Reflection,” I shake me head, “stop lying to yourself. Look at your stomach!” I point to those fleshy, furless bands all Changelings have, but which on Reflection has been slowly turning green since about three weeks ago; hers are still a much darker green that Chrysalis’s, but then her first egg has yet to hatch. “Look at your mane and tail!” I point to each in turn, which, to my surprise when I had first noticed it, is now an extremely grayed-out purple. “Your horn is growing longer. Your Wings are growing larger. You are growing taller. As much as you say you’re not a queen, I don’t think your body cares.” With each thing I point out, Reflection shrinks back a little until she’s sitting back, and with that last sentence, she tilts her head until it’s leaning against Twin; I turn to him next. “Twin… you most likely saved my life that day. I was in such shock from everything that had happened that I’m sure, now, I wouldn’t’ve been able to make it on my own. I don’t want to make you feel like your efforts that day were wasted, but I-.”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head with a smile that seems halfway a smirk. “So I saved your life? I didn’t ask for anything in return, and I never will. I’m not going to hold that or anything else over you. I keep forgetting-… I guess you wouldn’t know that’s not how Changelings do things.” He looks away from me then, and his smile turns to the side of whimsy, and I remember how he had been one of two who didn’t look revolted when I had asked the Manehatten Changelings about ponies. “Maybe-?… Who’s to say it’s impossible? Out of all nukapish, I’d bet you know more about Celestia than any other. So…-” He turns his eyes back to me with that smile striving for a dream still on his muzzle. “-… I trust you.”

The magic word. They’re done. We lay in place for a long while, the only movement being Twin slowly embracing Reflection, and the two of them turning to stare at their egg. “Listen…” I eventually say to catch their attention. “I don’t know when I’ll be leaving. -maybe tomorrow. -maybe the next day or the day after…” I don’t know what else to say after that, but then Replie looks up at me, pleading in her eyes and her love—I know instantly what she wants and why; even I know I might not live. Almost instinctively, I look up at Reflection, recognizing her authority over, if nothing else, at least this. There’s no need for words; she shrugs permissively.

Replie and I barely sleep that night as, instead, we slowly share our bodies, exploring a passion that even a Changeling’s emotion sharing cannot touch. I do take one, and only one, precaution, though; no matter what I’ve told myself, I don’t think I’m ready to be a Changeling’s father yet.

Maybe next time… once this is all over.

- - - -

The next day, I explain in as much detail as I have my plans for leaving Apploosa, and Twin, before he leaves for the day, promises to get an itinerary from Trixie. After last night, and with our love swirling stronger than ever (strange, how not even two months ago such a turn of phrase would have been more than a little incomprehensible to me, before I became a Changeling and felt how love between Changelings feels), I’m not surprised in the slightest when I don’t feel even the tiniest twitch in emotion or body from Replie—as we lean against each other—that might indicate some jealousy or other fear. As much as she might hate my (for want of a more accurate word) plan, I know I’ve now proven myself to her of my determination to succeed… and my determination to return to her. When did I become so attached, and to a Changeling, of all things?! I only have to again focus on the love energy surging back and forth between us for my answer: It doesn’t matter.

Almost the whole day I spend simply attached, in one way or another, to Replie, and as evening arrives, I debate with myself about attending Trixie’s show, but not for long—a tiny shift of Replie’s, her fur brushing mine, convinces me to remain with her until it’s time to leave Apploosa altogether. That time, as Twin informs me, is to be tomorrow at noon; supposedly, Braeburn has a much stronger influence over the town than either I or Trixie expected, and her performance tonight had barely managed to garner enough bits to cover the cost of traveling to and from the very-out-of-the-way settlement.

That night, I feel like I should barely be able to sleep, but after last night’s activities and the frequent shows of intimacy throughout the day leave me drained, and I fall sleep easily with Replie and I entwined as close as can be. Similarly, I expect my dreams to be haunted by images of Celestia, standing tall and mighty and angry, piercing my chest with her horn before stepping aside to show me the torn bodies of Twin, Reflection, and Replie… or something like that, but instead, if I do dream, I don’t remember them when I wake, and I feel not even the vaguest sense of fear.

Leaving is simple. I have no possessions to call my own, though I had, before seeing Trixie, been thinking of buying a new spellbook, having gone trough all two spellbooks in those underground bookcases, but now that’s not going to happen. They offer me a bag of bits (“Just in case,” Reflection insists), and I decide to take it without fuss, sensing they’ll just keep arguing until I give in. My goodbyes with Reflection and Twin are simple and short, not because their love has decreased in any way, but because of what they expect: indeed, I leave Replie for last, and we hug for some untold time until Trixie arrives. Twin takes on the form of Wood Work and leads Trixie down to us, where she casts an illusion to make me “unseeable” (“-which is different from being invisible,” Trixie insists) after one last kiss with Replie. Then… I leave. Trixie leads me into her wagon, which she’d parked just outside, before hooking herself back up to the harness and heading out of town beside the railroad tracks, as there are no real roads out of Apploosa—a sign of just how far we have to travel before reaching civilization again.

From then on, I don’t have to worry about disguises, but I do work on the one I’ll need for working with Trixie, at her direction: an Earth pony mare, with a build nearly identical to Trixie herself, with a Cutie Mark of theater masks—in other words, with a talent in acting. Some things are left to my discretion, such as her light rose coat, teal eyes, electric purple mane, and her name: Amethyst Act. With my new disguise, I can make a good guess at what Trixie will be having me do once we reach the next town, and, indeed, I’m mostly correct. During shows, Trixie will provide a fake horn for me to wear, “Just in case,” since I can, of course, make my own—and from there I only have to perform a series of acrobatics after Trixie “creates a twin of herself” (in actuality casting an illusion to make me look like her), who then attacks her to prove which Trixie is more great and more powerful—I won’t be using any actual magic myself, as Trixie will be conducting both our “attacks” at the same time. It actually, in my opinion, makes for quite the gripping finale to her magic show.

A week after we leave Apploosa—during which I’ve informed Trixie of quite a lot about what I’ve been through since I’ve arrived in Equestria (edited to fit the story I told Reflection, Replie, and Twin, of course)—and after we’ve stopped for the night, I ask a question that leaves me feeling most stupid after I hear the answer. “Trixie?” I ask to get her attention as she pours over a scroll; I in my Amethyst disguise. “Why should I be an Earth pony? Wouldn’t the act be less stressing on your magic if I transform into you and handle my own attacks?”

Trixie sighs and closes her eyes so much so that I think if I fed off exasperation instead of love I’d be set for the week. Closing the scroll, she sets it back into her trunk (which she’d brought out of her wagon to read its various contents over a fire she’s cooking her dinner on—I’d given up eating physical food, as there is no need for any pazara) before turning to me. “First, your magic would be a dead giveaway—literally. Second, Amethyst Act provides you with a layer of protection from suspicion; when ponies see you walking around with me with that Cutie Mark, they’ll come to their own conclusions when they see you ‘dressed-up’ as me.”

The peculiar sense of stupidity settles over me then. “However-…” I perk up as Trixie taps her chin contemplatively. “What you say about magical exhaustion is true, and Trixie can think of another way, but-! -you must promise her that you will not teach this trick to any other Changeling, no matter who they are, even those ones in Apploosa.” Those words make me blink in disbelief for a moment. Promise? That’s all she wants, and she’ll trust me with this secret of hers? She’s far more trusting of Changelings than your average pony, but this… this is like… how ponies treat each other!

“I promise.” In my head, I have to resist imagining going through the motions of a Pinkie Promise, wondering if Trixie knows what it means (and will therefore think me insane if she doesn’t) and whether she’ll still trust me with this “big secret” of hers if I smile inexplicably.

However, she doesn’t give it so much as a half a second’s thought before she nods. “Excellent, then Trixie will show you the greatest!-… -and only-” she murmurs, “…-spell that the Great and Powerful Trixie has invented!” With that out of the way, she then lifts up the trunk, then one of the very few things concerning magic that I think impossible is performed before my eyes, and in the next second I understand her want to keep this spell from Changelings: the color of her magical aura changes! -shifting from light purple to red to yellow, to green, then back to normal before winking out, dropping the trunk.

Trixie, smirking, allows me a moment to get over my shock—the consequences this spell would have for unicorns, now that everypony knows to look for a green aura-… The impact!—before she tips my frozen self over with a playful hoof. I have to ask her to perform the, as she explains, illusion (what else?) a couple more times before I gain some confidence in attempting it myself. This spell, contrasting with my earlier experiences, takes me almost an hour to gain some competence to the point I barely falter. Holding the illusion while casting another spell is more difficult than I imagine, contrasting with the illusion of keeping my Changeling horn invisible, which comes more naturally.

“Ha!” I exclaim as I hold the trunk aloft in a steady light blue aura, the horn of my currently undisguised self wrapped in same; a second later, my magic winks out as I release the spell with a sigh of satisfied exhaustion—working on such a complicated spell for so long leaves me panting, and I close my eyes and let myself fall against the dusty ground, not caring (at the moment) for the dirt collecting my holes (I hadn’t had any opportunity to learn or ask about the Changeling word for “leg-holes”). “So, you really invented that spell, huh, Trixie?” It’s not really a question; I’ve already reasoned that if anypony else knew of such a spell, it would be a top priority to Queen Chrysalis. Not that I actually know what she is and isn’t after… but the way Trixie asked me to promise her-… I don’t think she has any reason to lie. “You’re-…” I struggle to find some adjective Trixie hasn’t already applied to herself. “-amazing. More so than you think you are, even! -maybe!” I laugh, but, unexpectedly, I don’t hear a single chuckle from Trixie. Wonder if she fell asleep… I peek open an eye, but Trixie is still sitting, eyes open and staring at me with something unreadable on her face, but the sense of her energy flowing into me strengthening (for I had been getting some energy from her since Apploosa, if not very much) gives her away.

I tilt my head at her questioningly, and knowing she’s been ousted by her own emotions, looks away, blushing. That’s strange… I don’t think a simple compliment would provoke that kind of reaction, would it? Not for Trixie, I’d think… Uh-oh… “Trixie’s not-…”—Aaa-and here it comes. -whatever it is.—“Alternate, Trixie-… She-…” She gulps, closes her eyes, then lets out a slow sigh that seems to work at calming her. “I am not at all what I say I am. I’m not great; I’ve done nothing to earn a title like that. I’ve actually done… quite a few things I’m not proud of… -and I’m not powerful; the only thing I’m really good at are illusions, and those aren’t… powerful.”

I can’t help it: I try to hold it in, but I make a noticeable and distinct coughing sound before I burst out laughing at her last statement. I can’t say how she reacts, because the only thing I know is that I’ve fallen on my side, and I’m tearing up, the laughter hurts so much. Before she can question—or before I can actually hear her questions—I regain just enough control to speak. “You’re telling—ha!—a Changeling that—heh… heh—illusions—keck—aren’t ‘powerful’ with—ah… ha ha!—a straight face?” After that, I manage to slowly pull myself back up to all four hooves, then lift one up to wipe at my eyes, getting a little dirt in my eyes, but I’m still tearing up so much I barely notice. “You-… I know you realize what that spell means for Changelings wanting to imponyate unicorns… and alicorns. It may be ‘just’ an illusion, but if Chrysalis-…” I stop with a shake of my head. It probably wouldn’t’ve affected the siege during the wedding, but now, now that everypony is aware-… Focus! This, right now, is about Trixie!

“As for being great, and what you’ve done: I was there, in Ponyville, both times. The first time, I saw—and heard—everything.” I ignore whatever reaction Trixie may be having to this; I’m doing a lot of that lately… but I have to forge on! “You said, in no uncertain terms or tone of voice, that you thought it impossible to vanquish an ursa ‘major,’ yet you still tried—or did you? Because what I think is you didn’t try to vanquish it so much as distract it. -and good thing, too! Who knows what the ursa might’ve done unchecked while Twilight Sparkle’s friends were giving her a pep talk. They might not have even been able to talk her into… ‘showing off.’” I grin and chuckle at that, but what I hope for—Trixie at least smiling a little with me—doesn’t happen. Onward, then, and hopefully upward—for Trixie!

“The second time-”—Trixie flinches so hard she bangs into the trunk beside her—“-I got trapped outside, but it’s what happened afterward that’s important, especially given the effects of that amulet.” Another flinch, but not so strong. “The way you went up to Twilight Sparkle then… asking for forgiveness after doing something so horrible, not sure you’re going to get it, and probably much more certain that you’ll be punished instead… That’s bravery-”—at least I hope it is!—“-and that alone makes you more great and powerful than most ponies will ever be.” With that, I sit up, smiling proudly for about… four seconds.

Trixie simply stares at me, looking slightly bewildered, for about two of those seconds, then looks away, grimaces, closes her eyes, and finishes with three painful words, “I’m not brave…” I barely am able to register myself deflating in emotion and body before the second bombshell. “I’m not even Trixie.”After this admission, she slumps against the trunk as if suddenly inflicted with a horrible wound draining her before she can even realize it. Not Trixie?! Is she saying?!… No, she simply can’t be a Changeling. I know I care about her, yet I feel no draining! Then… what is she saying? “I… am-…”—Come on, Trixie, or whoever you are! You are brave! Don’t wimp out here and leave my words for nothing: Tell the truth!—“My real name… is… Tricky Glamour.” She whimpers and pulls away from me, pressing herself against the (rather heavy) trunk hard enough to push it an inch or so. I can only tilt my head at her until my mind registers a few things and puts them together. Wait a minute… that reaction and her tone of voice. Is it just me, or does she expect me to know this name?… -to know it, and something, or somethings, negative related to this Tricky Glamour? Is this somehow connected to her illusion sensing ability, and why she’s ashamed of it?… Manure… I should have seen something like this coming, and not just because ‘Trixie’ is a rather odd name for a pony when I actually stop to think about it… but the one, simple fact this reveals is that I have no idea what this means!

“Trixie… or Tricky Glamour, it doesn’t matter what your name is-.” I try to pull the conversation back onto ground where I feel surehooved, but at this Tricky Glamour quickly looks up, abandoning her fear for bewilderment. Great. That cinches it: she did expect me to know—and probably hate—Tricky Glamour. -but why? Maybe she’ll give up the answer if I keep pressing… “It doesn’t matter what your name is or who you are—it doesn’t even matter what you’ve done! What matters is what results from what you’ve done, and how you feel about it. It’s not your fault the ursa attacked Ponyville, and it’s not your fault you were corrupted by the amulet; Ponyville didn’t suffer from any permanent, crippling consequences, but you still feel bad about what you did… As for whatever Tricky Glamour did? It looks to me like you’ve already beaten yourself up enough for that, too.”

Slowly and gently, in a matter that might suggest she’s been wounded if I didn’t know better, Tricky Glamour pulls herself up from the ground and away from the trunk, sitting where she had been before; a niggling worry, yet to be defined, worms its way into me as she does this. “What Tricky Glamour-… What I did…” She stares into the fire as she speaks. “I can never… ato-.” Suddenly, she cuts herself off with a jerking motion as if she’d just been jolted by electricity. Uh-oh… A second later, Tricky looks up at me with a smile that’s trying too hard and is more than a bit pleading. “I- Forget Trixie said anything. She shouldn’t be bothering you with her troubles when she knows you must have plenty of your own if you want to go to Canterlot!” Damn it! I was so close! -but I don’t think I’ll be able to get anything out of her until I find out about Tricky Glamour… and what she did that’s so horrible she thinks she can’t atone for it, and would make her leave that identity behind. “Trixie has to ask, though, that… you please never tell anypony- anyone what she said about Tricky Glamour?”

I nod, still somewhat lost in thought. The fact remains that she did entrust some information to me… and her love towards me did grow as she did, and it hasn’t decreased, so she knows I only tried to pry out of care and worry for her… Still, I think it’s obvious I don’t have any option but to leave this alone for now. Also, she’s quite right about me having more pressing troubles, but I can’t do anything about those at the moment, either! “Alright… Trixie.” I sigh, and inwardly shake my head, deciding to go back to our original topic. “This… uhm, magic-color changing spell… can it make the aura invisible? So no one knows when you’re using magic?”

Instantly, she perks up, obviously happy about the change of topic, and a moment later turns thoughtful—thoughtful with a hum and a much more honest smile—for a little while before answering. “Invisible? Trixie doesn’t think so. Unseeable, maybe. Trixie hasn’t really tried, you know, since it’s actually a rather useless spell outside of-…” Another moment of thought with Trixie tilting her head back and forth. “Before Twilight Sparkle pointed out that all Changelings have a green magic aura, nopony has ever really paid attention to what color a unicorn’s magic is. However, Trixie thinks-.”

“Wait.” I cut her off with a raised hoof and a shake of my head. “You’re saying you invented a useless spell, fully knowing that it was, indeed, useless?” That definitely doesn’t make sense. Trixie doesn’t seem the type to waste anything, time or energy, given how her lifestyle forces her to work and travel constantly. Also, she doesn’t seem the type to simply invent a spell for scholarly pursuits, like Twilight might—the mustache-growing spell being a case in point… unless she decided she might actually need that spell after the event with the sea serpent during Nightmare Moon’s-. Getting off track!

“It wasn’t-.” Trixie speaks two whole words with confidence before biting her lip. “Ah… Changelings… well, Trixie knows you have always known that your magic auras could give you away-”—I think I know where this is going now…—“-so I invented this spell for… one particular Changeling who traveled with me for longer than any other, and became one of… Tricky Glamour’s best friends.” Tears come to her eyes when she uses her real name—the kind of tears that come with remembering happiness that cannot come back. “I don’t know where she is now, but she’s-… I’m sure- absolutely certain she’s alive!”

I contemplate going around the fire to comfort her, but I shake the idea off; she sounds just certain as her words, with no manifestation of any worry for this other Changeling, so I decide to leave that topic for something else that pokes at my curiosity. “Another thing…” I say to get her attention, and quickly enough she comes out of what I suspect are sweet memories. “I wanted to ask about this before, but forgot: You said something before about invisibility and being unseeable being different, but just what is the difference?”

“Ah!” Trixie exclaims in understanding before laughing a laugh that might sound belittling to one who can’t feel love. “Oh, yes! Trixie knows this confuses most who don’t study much into illusion magic. She thinks it will be easier to explain starting with unseeable… Yes…” Trixie pauses a moment to gather her thoughts and wipe her too-wide smile away. “Unseeable is like the aura-color-changing spell Trixie just taught you (which is why Trixie thinks the spell might be able to make the aura unseeable, too), only it changes a thing’s color to… a ‘color’ that ponies can’t see, so it becomes… unseeable. Obviously, this isn’t optimal, but suitable for deception at a distance or for a very short time. Invisibility is much more difficult. It makes light simply pass through something, so it doesn’t have any color at all, like… glass, but without any of the distortion of light that glass makes. This also works for other senses, like silencing and unhearable spells.” I just nod as I take in all this information—I don’t know what to say about it, or anything else; our conversation falls into nothingness as she doesn’t say anything else, either.

I decide to leave my practicing that night, and lay down to sleep; I don’t hear Trixie do the same before I fall into my dreams.

- - - -

Three days later, we arrive in the village of Buckley. By unspoken agreement, I never bring up Tricky Glamour again, though now we’re in an area with other ponies about, I know I’ll have to be more careful about accidentally letting the name slip. As much as I would like to find out more, with Trixie so close by I also know I can’t risk asking around incase somepony recognizes her or even just makes the connection that Trixie sounds an awful lot like Tricky; though I suppose since Trixie has been using the name for quite a while now, nopony—using thinking very much similar to the way ponies largely ignore the threat of Changelings, it seems to me—has made the connection for so many years, but I would still hate to be the one to ruin that streak.

Buckley itself seems hardly distinguishable from Ponyville, except for the distinct lack of forests or any kind of trees, as it’s so close to the edge of the Sorraia Desert. Well, that, plus its even more distinct lack of any Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, baby dragons (or any dragons), and Cutie Mark Crusaders! I chuckle at the thought when it comes to me—no doubt this place is much more quiet!—as Trixie and I are walking through town, hoofing out flyers for Trixie’s show (featuring me!) tomorrow. It’s an uneventful afternoon, for Buckley, having neither a Braeburn nor any Apple family at all (no apple trees here), is much more welcoming. As it turns to evening, we visit a restaurant for dinner—here there’s no avoiding eating without becoming suspicious, so I join Trixie, but all the same I somehow draw the unwanted attention of one lone unicorn stallion.

Upon entering the relatively empty establishment (for it is a bit late for dinner now), there is a gasp from one corner where the said stallion sits, and sea-blue eyes lock onto me with shock. I just raise an eyebrow at him before turning away, wondering who this stallion is and whether he’s confused me—or rather, Amethyst Act—for somepony else, but I still glance occasionally at him, catching him staring each time. Trixie notices as well, and eventually, after casting a spell I suspect is to hide her voice from all but me, whispers, “Changeling friend of yours?” After recalling how she can detect illusions, I shake my head, and she shrugs at that before releasing the spell. The stallion—Changeling—only gets up when we get up, and follows us out; Trixie smirks before whispering again. “I’ll leave you to admirer, my little lovethief.” Her “nickname” earns a glare, and she looks appropriately sorry before galloping off to disappear around a building.

I turn back around to the gawker with another quirked eyebrow and turned up muzzle. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you. What do you want?” I ask in my best imitation of an offended mare, which greatly helped along by my inherent Changeling abilities, naturally.

He (or she) stops some five or so pony-lengths away from me and after a moment of continuous staring, finally says, “It would… be easier to speak in private.” I shrug at this, noticing out of the corner of my eye a signal of purple-pink magic from a now-invisible Trixie; I have to stop myself from smirking, and when the stallion turns around to begin leading the way, I give a quick motion to indicate she should accompany me, just in case. I doubt this Changeling wants to hurt me—why would he or she?—but if he or she does want to…

Soon enough we come to an hotel, and when he holds open the door, I purposely slow down just a bit both to be barely noticeable and to give Trixie time to rush ahead of me. The stallion steps in behind me, and with expected green magic casts some spell which lights up the whole room for a second—a spell which I suspect is to prevent any sound from leaving the room. With that, he releases his disguise (it is a he) and immediately afterward I follow his lead and drop Amethyst. Then, he begins by instantly confusing me by bowing on one foreleg and saying, “Doctor Samsa, it is good to know you are still alive, even under the current circumstances.”

With my mind suddenly turned blank, I can do nothing but blink dazedly for what feels like quite a few moments before I find my voice. “Ah… What? Doctor… excuse me, who, again? -and what circumstances are you talking about? I think you have the wrong… Changeling…” Just a moment ago I didn’t think it would be possible to be more confused, but the other Changeling shakes his head halfway through my last sentence, smiling knowingly.

“No, I’m definitely not mistaken, given the unique signal of your tracer, even if it now only works at close range because of-…” He slows, volume dropping, until he falls into mumbling incoherence; he also gets a far off look in his eyes, apparently suddenly considering something to make him rethink saying whatever he had been about to say. Just as I’m about to speak up to ask about this “tracer” that’s apparently on me, he jolts out of the almost trance-like state and smiles something fake. “Ah, it’ll probably be easier to start at the beginning, since there are quite a lot of things I have to speak with you about. My designation, as I’m guessing you don’t remember, is IA-38.” ‘Designation’? ‘IA-38’? This is… I know Changelings don’t use random strings of letters and numbers as ‘names’… at least Chrysalis’s Changelings don’t, anyway. Need to remember: assumptions are dangerous—I’ve never found or encountered anything to suggest other Changeling ‘hives’ don’t work this way…

“Does that… stir anything in your memory?” He asks after a couple silent moments as I digest this; he looks more than just crestfallen when I shake my head. “You can’t even remember the designation of one of your closest friends? The one who went through GA and IA training with you, and accompanied you to SA training purely for the sake of accompanying you? Can you not even remember you were the one who started this? How you went on and on about your precious love mine even as the tower was still being built?… Oooh…” he moans as if about to be sick, looking away with a pitying grimace when he sees me still shaking my head. “… This is… way worse than even she thought you’d be…” I perk up slightly at “she,” but something tells me he isn’t going to divulge who he’s referring to. Again he gets a far off look in his eyes, but quickly enough blinks his thoughts away; then he looks up with sudden determination. “Listen: you need to know that BT has ordered that if and when you were found, and that your condition was deemed unrecoverable, you’re to be… killed.”

“What?!” I cry out, but I can only suppose he expected my outburst by how he doesn’t even flinch. “Why? Who is BT? What’s this training and ‘tracer’ and tower you were just talking about? … -and-… -and why would-…?” I can’t finish the question, and I shake my head yet again and look down at my holed forelegs—legs I had come to accept as my own, wholly and completely, not all that long ago, and now I learn I’m being hunted down by this BT person? I don’t want to believe it, but why would this IA-38 lie?

In contrast, he looks progressively horrorstruck as I ask each question. “You don’t remember… any of that? Dr. Samsa, please…” He pauses, waiting for me to look up, for only then does he continue. “Please, I need you to think very hard: do you remember anything—anything—that happened before you woke up in the Everfree Forest?” As he asks this, he steps forward, staring intently into my eyes, looking- hoping for something.

At first, the question sounds easy. “Of course I-…” but as I try to think of something specific—some kind of proof that I’m not this Doctor Samsa—I falter. “… Of course I… don’t…?” Then it hits me. It hits me so hard I fall to the ground and the pain of understanding it brings tears to my eyes. I thought I had convinced myself to leave my past humanity behind. I thought I had convinced myself that it was unrecoverable; in a way I had been right, but not the way I had thought. It’s not that I had shoved my human self behind me, but that I had, somehow, forgotten it, and my partial recognition of that fact—my act of putting it away consciously when I had in reality forgotten it… forgotten it separate from my will!—had been a mental defense that IA-38 had just torn down with one question. “What… does this… mean?” from the floor I beg in such a pitiful way I’d never heard before, nor even imagined could come from my own throat.

“It means exactly… what I said: with you in this state, BT has no choice but to declare you a danger to our mission and get rid of you.” IA-38 steps forward and I cringe, expecting a strike and a fight to break out when Trixie jumps out to defend me… if she wants anything to do with me any more. However, instead he places one forehoof across the back of my neck comfortingly. “I suppose it’s lucky, then, that there are no SAs or other IAs nearby. -or even any GAs. Even if you can’t remember me… I’m still your friend, and I’ll let you go, but you’ll need to leave quickly. -and that mare you were with in the restaurant will be in danger, too, though it’ll probably be better if you don’t tell her everything I’ve told you.” No need to worry about that; you’ve been telling her everything yourself this whole time! … Damn it, Alternate, pull yourself together! This doesn’t change anything! You’ve already decided to leave your humanity behind! You still have a mission of peace to carry out! You have a Changeling mare to return to who loves you more than anything! With a deep breath, I pull myself back to my hooves to face a sorrowful smile on IA-38’s muzzle. “We have a little time, I think, before an SA or two converge on our position, so… I can answer a couple of your questions, as long as they aren’t too complicated.”

I nod seriously, and close my eyes, thinking carefully about what information I might need. Everything about the past I can leave alone; it’s now and the future that’s important! The future of my mission!… “These SAs and IAs, how many are there, and where are they?” I consider for a half a second asking where they aren’t, but I worry that’ll be too easy for this “BT” or someone working for BT to interpret as me asking where it’s safe to go (from IA-38’s actions and warning about SAs converging on Buckley, it’s obvious he’s communicating with someone, somehow, maybe even involuntarily), and I can’t think of any other way to ask this while further encrypting what I’m actually asking. Of course… that voice from so long ago! It could hear me, too! I’m sure of it! I’d forgotten… but then, I haven’t heard from him since encountering Celestia… Those ‘love mine’ and ‘tower’ things… curious, but not important right now! I don’t know what else to ask, so I guess I’ll have to work off a hunch! “And this… trace on me, you said it only works at close range now because of something. What is the trace, and why is it working differently?” There… He said a couple questions, now I guess this is all I can risk getting… No doubt he’ll be hunted now, too, not just for letting me get away, but for helping me!

“There are eleven SAs and-.” he winces as if struck across the side of the head; I can only try to imagine what’s happening in his mind with him going against orders. “-and thirty-nine IAs… or thirty-eight, now, since I-…” I just nod hastily, urging him to go on. “No one working for BT is outside of Equestria, all of the SAs are in the largest cities, and the IAs are spreading out to the frontiers of Equestria. The trace is more than just a trace; it’s also a communications link back to BT and-.” Now he grits his teeth and closes his eyes for a moment before returning rather suddenly to relative normality. “-and it’s a-… a… transmitter of love energy to the tower, which is the reason yours is only working as it is: BT was forced to cut off all connections between you and the tower.” I raise my eyebrows incredulously at this, but quickly remember that, given all he’s already told me, it wouldn’t make sense to lie about this, and if he is lying, it wouldn’t make sense for BT to leave me alone for seven weeks if I’ve been slated for ‘termination’! “No one is really sure what happened, but during your encounter with Princess Celestia… something—we don’t know what—happened with the love energy being received from you; containment unit two was… breached… or something—nothing like what happened to CU2 has ever been seen before, and BT decided to protect the rest of the facility by cutting off the energy being received from you. However, nothing like that situation was ever prepared for, and cutting off the connection to your energy required cutting off everything between you and the tower, so…” With that, he pulls his unicorn disguise back up and bows again. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I think that’s all we can risk; I can’t travel with you, since my trace will make it too easy to find you.”

“Wait!” I cry when he begins to move towards the door. “Doesn’t that mean…? Where will you be going?”

IA-38 chuckles sadly before answering, “Ah, even without your memory, you’re still the same Doctor Samsa that-…” He puts up a hoof to his chest, and though I get his meaning, I’m bewildered by the lack of any energy flowing from him. It doesn’t seem like much of a stretch, though, that something would be done to prevent the loss of love energy if BT is ‘mining’ it… but given my experiences with other Changelings, this love loss prevention must also somehow be connected to this ‘trace’ contraption. “As for me, well, everyone with BT is scared to leave the ‘safety’ of Equestria, so I’ll be leaving these ponies behind… Where, specifically? I don’t know yet.” He waits for me to disguise myself before opening the door, and he turns back one last time. “Leave, and I’m sure I don’t need to beg you of all people, but please don’t forget that mare, or what they’ll do to her… I don’t know and don’t want to imagine.”

Then, he leaves.

I stand there for a moment simply trying to process and file everything I’ve just learned in this shabby hotel room. Who would ever guess it would witness such an important event with so many branching consequences? If walls could talk, indeed… As for Trixie, I guess she’s trying to do the same, but is, perhaps, even more confused than me. I try to shake myself out of it as quickly as possible, though. I can think about this later, after we’ve moved! “Trixie…” To be honest, I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if she had left me, given the danger we now know I pose to her, but with a shimmer of her magic, she appears standing between the bed and wall. “I know… once we get to the next town, you’ll probably want to-.”

“Let Trixie- Let me cut you off there… Samsa.” I bite the corner of my lip at the use of my apparently real name—I don’t know anything about this Samsa person! I’m not him! -not anymore!—but Trixie ignores the sign of distress. “We made a deal: I will get you to Canterlot, and you will perform with me. I see no reason to change this agreement, even if we have to abandon our… show here… in Buckley…” Trixie slows as some thought takes over, and she gains a wicked grin, but by her love flowing into me, I know it’s not directed at me. “Oh… Trixie has an idea to send these ‘BT’ Changelings off the trail!”

“Wha-?!” I exclaim as she rushes past me and out the door.

“Just follow Trixie and trust her!” She shouts over her withers (thank you, Equestrian encyclopedias) as she continues to gallop towards where we had left the wagon. When I run out after her, I take a quick look around, but IA-38 is nowhere in sight. No big surprise, since I don’t know how long we were out of it for… which means we might not even have time to get the wagon!

“Trixie! Trixie!” I call, catching up to her easily thanks to my current Earth pony build; while the night is beginning to creep up, it’s not so late that my shouts would disturb anyone trying to sleep. “Trixie, do you think we really have time for-?”

“All part of the plan.” Trixie cuts me off again, only this time without further explanation. Still, Buckley is not very large nor very populated, so we reach the wagon in minutes. I’m tempted to ask how we’ll escape with such a large and obvious burden, but this time I remember Trixie is a talented illusionist before I can voice my stupidity. Still, that doesn’t seem to qualify as much of a “plan”; all the same, I decide to allow Trixie some time before insisting we need to leave now. Trixie literally jumps into her wagon as she magics open the door, and by the time I’m at the left-open door, she’s pulling out a cardboard box and book out her trunk. “A-hah! With these, Trixie will secure our escape!” I lower my eyebrows doubtfully—exactly what Trixie wants, for she then levitates up a quill and pot of ink. After ripping a page out of the book—which I now suspect is a journal or diary of some kind—she scribbles out this message:

To the Town of Buckley,

Trixie and her assistant are sorry, but they will not be able to perform the promised show, as they must return to Apploosa immediately.

Worry not, for they will return to this fair town sometime when certain uncontrollable events are not so pressing. In the meantime, please enjoy these fireworks as an apology.

Trixie

After reading through the note and smiling at it’s cleverness, I glance at the box, which is indeed full of what can only be fireworks. Before I can ask, Trixie seems to read my mind. “Yes, usually Trixie uses illusions, but on her off days… well, I always carry a backup plan for my shows! -and this will be one of my most important shows of all!” I resist the urge to facehoof, but step out after Trixie, and I hook myself up into the wagon’s harness as she selects a rock heavy enough to hold the note on the box without crushing the fireworks. Just as I thought, Trixie—with a bit more than a little strain—casts a full on invisibility spell on everything (plus us) before climbing back into the wagon. Then I simply, almost too easily, walk out of Buckley in the direction away from Apploosa.

Just like that… crisis averted. -for now. I grimace, knowing that it’s not over, knowing that a new complication has been added to the already monumental problems of Celestia, Luna, Chrysalis, and the coming war, and knowing that that complication is now forcing me to act faster than I would like. Not that I really had much of an option to begin with! Chrysalis could be ready to attack tomorrow, for all I know! I only wanted a little more information… just more incentive, I guess, to move quickly, but Trixie probably won’t like it. I know I said before we can take our time getting to Canterlot, but now… I’ll just have to hope she understands how the situation has changed. No doubt she’s going over everything she just heard, and may just yet come to the same conclusion!

Celestia sets the Sun, but I keep going; I feel like I should be tired, but I keep playing IA-38’s words over and over in my mind—not just his warnings—and they seem to power me; I guess my mind won’t rest until it utterly exhausts itself trying to puzzle everything out. There’s no real need for it, but I let it go on and on as long as it wants- as long as it keep me pulling that wagon as far away from Buckley as I can get it before I tire. No need… Everything that IA-38 said changes nothing about my mission to end the animosity between ponies and Changelings except to make known to me that I have another obstacle, so in a way, it’s better that I ran into him, otherwise I wouldn’t have known about these SAs, then they would’ve…

I gulp, and start to cry silently, but my tears aren’t out of fear, and they don’t stop me from pulling onward.

Next Chapter: "... for a Changeling to trick a Changeling..." Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 32 Minutes
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