I leap back in surprise as a bundle of yellow feathers crashes into the far wall, Fluttershy looking up at me, the stunned look on her face mirroring my own. A rivulet of blood trickles down from her ear, trailing through her mane. She reaches up with a hoof, takes one look at the tiny droplets coating it, and promptly collapses.

Oh God.

Oh my God, what have I done?

“Flutter-butter!” I turn, see Discord sitting up, reaching for her with…with that same motherfucking look, those same crocodile tears motherfucker you’re not getting away with it this time I swear to fuck-

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I scream, bringing my boot down on his outstretched talon. It cracks under my weight with a satisfying crunch, and his shrieks of pain fill me with what can only be described as the most blissful joy. A burnt-orange blur in the corner of my eye catches my attention. Damn, should’ve known they’d get out eventually. Without even thinking, I whip my heel around, catching Applejack in the face. She goes sprawling against the bars, tripping up Pinkie as she stumbles towards me.

“Applejack!” Rarity cries, changeling goop still shimmering in her mane and around her horn, but the earth pony waves her off. “Check on Flutterth!” She yells with a strange lisp as I regain my footing, my eyes locked on Rarity. That’s right, come here you ivory whore, come—

“Now! It has to be now, Dashie!” Twilight’s voice. Oh, you deceitful little cunts what do you think you’re doing now what do you think you’re—

Cyan hooves wrap around me, pinning my arms to my side. They’re followed quickly by a lavender pair. A chin digs into my shoulder.

“The fuck?” I shriek, throwing everything I’ve got against the two pairs of hooves locked around me. “Let go! Now, goddammit!”

“No!” A raspy voice screams into my ear, then in a more composed tone added, “We’re not letting you go off by yourself. Never again.”

“We’re right here, Jason,” Twilight says, her grip tightening. “I know it’s been so long, but we’re here at last, and I swear to you we always will be.”

I wriggle desperately, trying my best to force them off. I can’t quite bring myself to bash them against something, but I figure I can outlast them. I can wait. And then Discord will get his, fuck yeah, Discord will…I’ll...

A pink set of hooves joins the first two. Another of burnt orange follows. I sink to my knees. I look up at Discord, hoping to see something to rekindle the fading fire in my chest. But my view is quickly obscured by a purple mane and a yellow set of feathers.

“We’re right here,” Rarity whispers in my ear.

“And we’re so sorry it took so long,” Fluttershy joins in.

No, no dammit! It’s been too long, there’s been too much! Growling, I manage to force my face through the flurry of feathers and spot Discord, still breathing heavily, still with those crocodile tears. And then he does the most curious thing of all: he doubles in my vision. Then he quadruples. Then they all blur together. It takes a few minutes for me to notice the wetness trickling around my nose, dripping off the tip, and I realize with a start that I’m about to bawl.

"It’s been…so…awful…” I sob, my chest heaving.

“Would you like a friend to share it with?” Pinkie asks, almost on cue.

And that’s when the floodgates finally burst. After five miserable years, they finally…

“Your highness?”

I bolt upright in bed, startling the changeling at my bedside. I let out a long, deep sigh. “Yes, private, what do you need?”

“Sorry to disturb you, your highness, but…” the changeling bites his lip.

“No, I was already up,” I sigh and sit up with a loud grunt. “Okay, what is it?”

“The, er...Duchess wanted you up to revise the feeding schedules,” the changeling replies, quickly sliding into a well-trained business-like attitude, his eyes glancing at the clipboard in his hoof. “She believes we can make the boon we got from the Equestria Venture last longer if we…”

The changeling’s voice fades into the background as I mull the name over in my head. The Equestria Venture, that’s what my changelings call it. Likely, the ponies will soon have their own name cooked up for those days under changeling rule, something along the lines of “The Occupation,” or “The Invasion.” Something nice to turn the whole deal into a tidy little blurb for the history books their foals will be reading ten years from now. None of it will really capture what those days meant to me. None of it will come close to matching the doubt, the triumph, the devastation, the ecstasy, and the guilt of those few days.

He was trying to save her…he gave himself up to save Twilight from me…

Isn’t that what he deserved in the end?

What he deserved and what’s right are different…besides, did Twilight deserve it?

Maybe…

I close my eyes and grimace, ignoring the neverending argument between the two halves of my brain like I’ve been doing since our “triumphant” return to the Badlands. “Private, I will discuss these things with Duchess Chrysalis when we sit down later, alright?”

The changeling looks up and blinks, startled. “Err…of course, sir. I just thought you would want a briefing before meeting with the Duchess yourself.”

I paste on the smallest of smiles for him. “You do realize the point of a briefing is to be brief, right?”

“I…of course sir, terribly sorry, I will…”

“That was meant to be a joke, private.” I sigh, running my hand over my face.

“Oh,” comes the reply. A few seconds later, a robotic “Ha. HehehHA. HAHA! HA!” follows.

“Now, will that be all?” I interrupt.

The weird, robotic changeling laughter cuts off as he goes back to studying his clipboard. “For now, sir, but don’t worry, I’m sure your day will fill right up!”

“Perfect,” I reply dryly, standing to begin my morning routine. “I’ll need a half-hour, if we have it.”

“It’s already cleared on your schedule, sir!”

“Thanks.” I head into the bathroom and close the door, grateful for the one decent thing I’ve gotten back since my return to the Badlands: the custom, human-sized washroom I had built just for me. Let it be known that living in a palace is fine until you have to shower in a stall meant for a horse-goddess. Thing had plenty of elbow room, but I was still crouching down to get under the spray.

The rest of my routine is perfectly standard, starting with a shower that has me cracking a window to let the steam out, fogging up the custom-made mirror. Then it’s a quick shave, followed by “brushing” my teeth by letting a couple maggots pick the food out from between them.

Hey, it got my gingivitis under control.

Finally, I pull on my tunic and button it high. When I step back into my bedroom for my boots, I’ve still got ten minutes to spare. Sighing contentedly, I lace up the cracked leather of the boots and tighten them around my feet, shifting my weight on the bed as I switch from one foot to the other.

There’s a loud clatter, and a scrape of metal on rock. I sigh and close my eyes. Stupid. So damn stupid. Forgot I had the musket on my bed. Been sleeping with it since we got back. Unloaded, of course, but it’s still a heavy club even without any shot in it. Just hasn’t felt right being too far away from it these days.

I reach across my bed and pick the weapon up, pulling it onto my lap. I start by inspecting every nook and cranny of its polished wood surface, turning it over and seeing how the light falls over it. The metal flintlock mechanism still looks right. I thumb it back and forth a few times, holding it to my ear, listening for any squeak of metal on metal or a rattle from a loose bit inside. Satisfied that the mechanism is okay, I hold the hammer back, check to make sure there isn’t a shot of gunpowder inside (you can never be too careful), and, satisfied that it’s safe, hold the musket up to the light and stare down the barrel, checking the bore to make sure the light falls through the hammer mechanism just right, looking for any tiny…imperfections…that might…

One quick squeeze.

It wouldn’t do anything, but I could just imagine, one quick squeeze ending it all at last. I mean, what’s really left for me here? Justice is served. The wrongdoers are punished. The promise I made by the side of that road two years ago has been fulfilled. What’s really left for me here? Sure there’s a nation to run, but do I really want to do that? I mean, what have I really accomplished? Spreading that pain around an entire nation, only to wind up back here? With blood on my hands, no less? Not the most innocent blood, granted, but it’s not like it’s made me feel any better.

Instead of continuing past the bore, I find myself wrapping a hand around the stock, the barrel pressed up under the shelf of my chin. Imagine…just imagine…one quick flick of the trigger. A feeling of relief washes over me, just like that feeling from two years ago, when I felt the loose threads of the rope first closing over my throat. There’s…there’s not much left for me here…the promise is fulfilled…why wait?

Imagine.

ust imagine.

“Sir?” A voice through the door. “Sir, Duchess Chrysalis is waiting…”

“M’comin’, I’m comin’,” I grunt, releasing the musket and strapping it across my back. My hands shake, my breath quivers, but I turn and stride towards the door leading out into the hallway.

The changeling is waiting for me, looking up into my face, the clipboard still clenched in his hole-filled hoof. “Sir?” He asks, concern clouding his eyes. “Is something the matter?”

I feel tired as I look him over, so very tired. “What happens when you’ve beaten all the demons and the only ones left are the ones inside your head?” I mumble.

“Sir?”

“Nothing, private,” I reply, striding alongside him towards the cavalcade of meetings awaiting us. “Nothing at all.”

The first thing that hits you when you enter a changeling conference is how quiet things are. Changelings aren’t much for conversation, so despite the fact that I have a solid dozen changelings gathered around a nicely-sized oaken table, you could hear a pin drop. My arrival feels less like a regal politician stepping into a room and more like a college student trying to sneak into a lecture hall fifteen minutes late. Still, the changelings are all focused on me, and I do my best to slide into my seat with some amount of stoic dignity, flanked by my personal bodyguards.

Chrysalis is first to speak up, keeping a silence from descending over the room. “Your Majesty,” she intones with a slight incline of her head. “I hope you had a restful sleep.”

I sit ramrod straight in my chair, unmoving except for a slight twitch at the corner of my mouth. “Restful enough,” I reply. “Now, shall we get right along?”

The next couple of hours are as expected. We shuffle through the internal affairs with our Domestic Advisor, increasing rations enough to keep the boon going for a good long time, but not enough to drain our impressive stores too quickly, followed by reports from the Infiltration Advisor on new sources of love being explored amidst the chaos that came with burning most of Equestria’s paperwork being used to track us.

Yes, I did actually do that; that much was not a bluff.

Finally, our Foreign Affairs Minister pulls out a series of manila envelopes, with labels like “Griffons,” “Minotaurs,” and “Reindeer.” She upends their contents on the table in sequence as she moves along. “First off, a letter from the Griffon Ambassador demanding we relinquish claims in the Southern Badlands to—”

“Denied,” I interrupt. “Next.”

“A request for food aid to bolster the relief effort in…”

This goes on for another couple hours, going through letters, missives, telegrams, demands, requests for aid, demands for this territory or that concession, one or two letters begging for the release of a foreign prisoner, and the pile shrinks.

“Almost done!” The minister chirps, and a sigh of relief makes its way around the room.

“Alright people,” I announce, standing up and stretching my arms out. “What’ve we got left?”

“Just one country, sir,” she replies with a smile on her fangs, holding up a manila folder. “Ooh, and it’s a thin one!”

“From?”

“From…” her smile fades in an instant. Her eyes blink once, twice. “From…the ponies, sir.”

The room falls dead silent. All eyes turn to me. Chrysalis sits up from where she’s been slouching in her seat. Underneath the table, my hand forms into a fist so tight my nails almost break the skin of my calloused palms.

“Open it.” I hiss.

The changeling nods and, with shaking hooves, upends the folder, just like all the others. One thing skids out, sliding across the table and coming to a halt just a little short of the center, still visible enough for everyone to see: an envelope, no larger than a party invitation, with my name written in a golden, elegant script, as practiced by its creator as the raising of the sun.

I bolt to my feet in an instant. “Out! Now!” I bark. The changelings don’t need to be told twice. They rocket out of their seats, swooping over my head as I twist out of my seat and bolt for the exit, my guards shoving the doors open as more guards gather outside, forming a clot of bodies. In the space of ten seconds, the room is emptied, and three guards immediately rush inside, closing the doors behind them.

We all wait, watching the doors with bated breath. Seconds crawl by. I can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude that the only clock in this whole section of the Hive is on a wall inside the room we just evacuated. I can’t imagine how maddening this sort of waiting would be if we had a giant clock ticking away in the background.

After an eternity, the doors creak open. A pair of guards shove them aside, revealing one soldier with the envelope in his hoof. “Sir!” He said. “It’s clear.”

For a moment, none of us can move. For just a moment. Then I step forward. Each step I take seems to boom in the hallway, echoing around us like a thunderclap. I reach out a hand. The lone guard holds out the letter. It seems to weigh a ton or two, based on the way his hoof shakes with the effort of holding it up. I take the letter in my hand, the parchment-quality envelope feeling like sandpaper to my skin. My hand lowers, pinching it by one corner. “This meeting is concluded,” I rasp. “You are all dismissed.”

“Sir?” The Guard in front of me asks. “Sir, what if—”

“I said you are all dismissed!” I bark.

That cinches it. The changelings all take off, the sound of a dozen wingbeats filling the air as black bodies dart in every other direction. When the last sound of buzzing wings fades away, I strut into the conference room, slam the doors behind me, and drop into my chair again, dropping the envelope on the table in front of me.

Alone, I let the full emotional weight of what’s sitting in front of me slam down on my shoulders. My jaw clenches. I feel a vein pulse on my neck. My knees suddenly weaken and I drop into my chair. The envelope still sits there, a foreign object that should not be, not here, not ever. The panicked realization that she knew the Hive’s exact location flashes in my head, but I dismiss it. Too many safeguards. This was carried here by changeling hooves. How the owner of these hooves thought just dropping something from Equestria of all places into a folder being carried to a room filled with some of the most important changelings in the Badlands would be a topic for a vigorous conversation I would be having with some of my commanders.

Still, the thing was here. In front of me. Mocking me with its mere existence. I bite my lip, and finally pick it up, running a finger through the seam to break it and pulling out another parchment, again written with the same impossibly elegant cursive script:

Emperor Wright,

I hope this message finds you well. In fact, I hope this message finds you at all. You have made yourself a hard man to find; I can only hope this eventually falls into hooves that will understand its significance and prove able to carry it to its final destination.

Emperor Wright,Jason, you have suffered greatly. You have endured far more than anypony, or anyone, in my kingdom should ever have to endure. I promised you safety and peace, and instead you received a world where you had to survive by the skin of your teeth, barely subsisting a miserable existence in a cold, hard cave. I acknowledge this. However, I do not think this justice for the things you have done here. You have murdered. You have destroyed lives. You have traumatized countless ponies. I am not trying to imply what you have done is any worse than what has been done to you; I am merely informing you that there are ponies in Equestria right now calling for your head.

But the cycle has to stop somewhere.

Jason, the bottom of this note contains all the legalese required for a full pardon. It is a legally binding document hereby pardoning you of all wrongdoing during these last couple weeks. You are not a criminal here. You are as welcome as anyone else should be in my lands. Now, there is one last thing I am askibegging for you to do: I am giving you a second chance.

Please take it.

Please do not just sit behind your walls in your Empire, wallowing away the days, perhaps gathering up for another retaliatory strike.

Please see us and what we can be.

You have seen us at our worst, now come see us at our best. The dual nature of humanity is something my sister and I have long been interested in from the myths about your race. Surely, you understand that ponykind is also capable of both good and evil? That we can be the harmonious race we portray ourselves to be? That it is not just all a façade?

Jason, please, in return for this document, this chance, all I ask is that you reply in kind. We do not deserve another chance, I am well aware, but please—allow us one anyway. Let us show you that we are more than our base instincts.

I await your reply.

Sincerely,

Princess Celestia Solaris, Equestria, 1007 Anno Luna

My hands shake as they grip the parchment. My breath heaves. Welp, she signed and dated it, so it’s certainly legally binding…heh…

…

This…

…This is…

Oh little Tia, you just had to take the high fuckin’ road, didn’t you?

“You fucking cunt!” I scream, crinkling up the parchment and pitching it into a corner. “You whore! You fucking piece of shit! You think you can take the high road here? You think you can…”

Something else drifts out of the crumpled envelope, slipping out of my hand and floating to the table just as the parchment skitters into the corner. I eye it curiously, bending just a bit to smooth it out over the table. This is not the expensive, high quality paper I just threw into a corner: this is the cheap stuff cards in party stores are made of.

Across the top, in pink, curlicue script, are the words “YOU’RE INVITED” sprawled out nice and large. Each line is a separate detail about a time, a place, a date, and finally a request for an RSVP, followed by a tiny caricature of a small pink horse. I look the little cartoon over. The little pink pony looks back at me with massive blue eyes with a little speech bubble stating: “Plz come.”

Oh my God.

A party invite.

For a “Welcome to Ponyville” party.

Thrown by Pinkie Pie.

After five years.

My hands clench around the invite, wrinkling its corners. She dares. She dares do this to me, what did she think this would accomplish? Did she think I was stupid? Did she think this made the last five years right? Did she think this would come even close to repairing the damage we’ve done? That this would make me forgive and forget? “That little cunt,” I scream, grasping the invite by its upper corners, ready to tear it in half. “I should…”

Discord looks up at me, blood pouring out his muzzle.

“…should…”

”It’s alright, Jason,” he wheezed. “Had it…had it…com-“

I set the invite down. A small tear has appeared in its center, cutting the apostrophe in “YOU’RE” right in half. “…should…stop pretending I’m the only victim,” I whisper.

I look down at the invitation. My instincts and gut reactions scream at me to tear it up, stomp it, use it as kindling in the fireplace. But all that talk about ponies being able to rise up above their instincts makes it feel wrong, even if I can’t place exactly why.

I lay the invite out on the table. It’s crinkled. I don’t smooth it out. I fall back in my seat. A hand goes to my mouth. A tear leaks out of my eye.

“Sir?”

I spring up in my seat. “Captain?”

The changeling captain rounds the chair, coming up on my side. His spear is balanced on his shoulder as he salutes with a free hoof, just like he was trained. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry, we would normally give you all the time you need, but there have been reports of dragon migrations following different patterns from what we predicted. Many of our patrols along the southern borders might be threatened, but the lieutenants are waiting for your orders before…”

“Of course, duty calls,” I sigh, leaning forward in my seat. A few bones pop in my neck, and I cringe as cramps run up my back. Old…when did I get so old?

“Sir?”

“Coming, coming…” I trail off as I press the palms of my hands into the small of my back, massaging the muscle before turning to stride out the door with my chest thrust out in all its regal glory. I’ve made it to the door before I realize I’ve left both the letter and the invite just lying around. I pause, twist, almost reach for the invitation.

But I hesitate.

My hand hangs in the air, unsure of what to do.

“Sir?”

"Coming!" I bark as I twist around, bumping my hand against the table and almost knocking the chair over. I hiss, stuffing my hand in my pocket and only releasing my fist when the last of the pain is gone. I grab the door handles, and slowly but deliberately shut the doors. The large, ornamental rock glides closed with a slam that never sounded so deafeningly final before. I stand there a while, my hands still wrapped around the door handles. My teeth bare in a snarl as my jaw clenches and my fists tighten until they start shaking. Despite all my best efforts, those tears make a reappearance.

Silence.

I really wish that soldier would ask for me again.

“Well?” I hiss.

The soldier hesitates for just a moment. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t feel it’d be right to give you an out on this one. I feel you need to do this on your own.”

My grip tightens on the door handles until, finally, I let go. I release a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, then turn and head down the hallway, towards my command bunker deep within the Hive itself. “Dragon migrations, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier responds, keeping pace easily.

“Alright, lighten our forces along the border and ensure any weapons are kept hidden away. We want to look like gawkers, not an army preparing for invasion.”

“Brilliant, sir.”

“And, captain?”

“Yes?”

I sink to one knee and look him in the eye. “If word ever gets out about what you just saw, I will personally find a very deep, dark hole to throw you in, then throw away the hole. Am I clear?”

The ghost of a smile appears on the changeling’s face as he nods and salutes. “Crystal, sir.”

“Great,” I grumble, rumbling along towards the steps. “I will go over the whole plan in detail once the rest of the captains are present.” I prepare to turn a corner, but I pause. For just a second, I linger, turning around to look back at the foreboding doors, leading to what was once one of my sanctums.

The soldier has no compunctions about interrupting this time: “Sir?”

“Send maintenance to the conference room while I’m gone,” I say, turning back down the tunnel and barreling forward. “There’s some garbage in there I want picked up before tonight’s briefing.”

The captain nods. “Of course, sir, do you have any specific instructions for how this garbage is to be handled?”

“Burning.”

“Yes, sir, and, if I may be so forward?”

I cock an eyebrow at him. He pauses, and I follow suit, still watching him. The captain reaches up with a hoof and taps at my pocket, sliding down a corner with a brightly-colored “YOU” just barely visible.

“Ah, thanks captain.” I nod in gratitude.

He beams up at me. “You’re welcome, sir.”

We finally reach the massive doors at the top of the stairs and I push them open. Here, in Chrysalis’s former throne room, changelings mill about, maneuvering little figures across sand tables and maps. In one corner, a group of high generals scream and debate over bundles of papers spread messily across a table, until one of them, a broad changeling in a green jacket covered in badges, spies me. He stands ramrod straight and salutes. The others at the table automatically follow suit, not even pausing to turn and look at who he’s saluting. At his rank, they just know whoever he could salute would have to be so far over their heads that knowing who it is wouldn’t matter. The rest follow suit, each changeling rapidly taking notice and twisting to salute me, the chatter and chittering arguments dying down bit by bit, until finally the room is silent.

I smile, looking over my changelings. “Well,” I rasp. “I’m here.”

Author's Notes:

I'd like to start by saying sorry for the delay, it took some help from TCB, but I realized this ending was missing something and it took awhile to figure out what that was, so yeah...sorry gang :(

I just want to put some special shoutouts out there: To Blitzkrieg for being here for so danged long to give me an ego booster, and definitely to ThatClosetBrony for proofreading the crap out of this chapter. Seriously, this thing wouldn't be the quality it's at without either of these guys, so mad props to them.

I also want to thank you, dear reader, for sticking with me this long. Thanks for still being here. And as for Jason Wright, what's next? Sequel? Maybe. I'm not 100% sure yet, sorry. I have something of an idea for that, but it's nowhere near developed and I have an assload of other ideas to put out there on top of updating "TCB:STR" and "Princess and Her Queen," but hey, who knows?

Just again: thank you all! Here's seeing you in the next one :)