Home Is Where The Hive Is

by TwistedPretzel


Revelations

Revelations

Winter wrap up might have officially occurred five weeks ago, but the temperature was still quite brisk, especially this late at night . . . or, well, this early in the morning, depending upon a pony's perspective, that is.

The time was just two hours past of midnight, and it was incredibly dark at the location in question, that particular point being roughly halfway between Ponyville and the Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle, and upon the path —well, avenue (by now) possibly more of an accurate description— connecting the two.

Overhead the cloud cover was heavy, the sky almost completely concealed behind the thick, quilted puffballs that lazily drifted in the gentle breeze. The Weather Patrol would, of course, need to catch up with them come the morn, to chivvy them back to their starting points once more, grumbling the entire time about the required, specified breezes that necessitated such repetition. Adding to that kvetching, of course, was that the proximity to the Everfree Forest virtually guaranteed that some of those clouds would become independent-minded, and go wandering off on their very own, leaving the crew with the task of requisitioning additional clouds to make up the slack.

Not even Luna's moon could penetrate that obscuration, although now and then a shaft of dazzling argent lanced through the infrequent, and completely random, overhead breaks in the cloud cover. Even more infrequently did they illumine the crystalline construction of the Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle itself. Of course, when that did happen, scintillations dappled the exterior, twinkling and sparkling with a seeming life of their own.

Down at ground level, the light breath of air coasting the clouds high above was a barely-felt zephyr, which did nothing at all to disperse the thick, heavy scents of rich earth, recently-mown lawn, and abundant flowers of all types, colors, and descriptions. Granted, the majority of those blooms were tightly budded up for their night-time slumber, but their intense fragrance still permeated the air about them.

Unless the target of a shafted lancet of moonlight, Friendship Rainbow Kingdom Castle was completely dark, simply an enormous looming sable structure against an even deeper, darker backdrop of nighttime gloom. Off in the distance, where the winding, linking avenue terminated, was the sprawling, cosmopolitan, large village —or small town, take your pick; although, since the appearance of Princess Twilight Sparkle's Castle, “town” was quite likely to be an inaccurate description in the not-so-distant future— of Ponyville. It, too, appeared as a (mostly) dark blot on the landscape, albeit one that clung to the ground rather than lunge upwards towards the heavens as the castle did. Scattered about where the occasional lantern or lamp, or even a gleaming window backlit by drawn curtains or shades. But those sources were few and far between and, more importantly, at such a distance as to have absolutely no impact on the deep, deep darkness at that aforementioned spot along the path between village and castle.

High overhead, it seemed as if one of the clouds had shivered and, in the process, shed itself of several pieces of its blackness. Down, down, down those small segments descended, not lazily as one might expect from, for example, drifting snowflakes or falling leaves (or discarded cloud fragments, for that matter), but with seeming intent and purpose . . . had anypony been awake to have noticed said descent and, having then done so, pondered the matter with the gravity such a happenstance deserved.

However, since there was nopony present (as all sensible ponies were sound asleep, snug in their beds) those black-upon-black blots continued their slow, stately descent in complete and utter silence and nonobservance.

Within a few minutes, those barely-detectable splotches against their parent clouds resolved as six quite distinct —albeit still formless— shadows. Another minute or two longer, and those formless shadows were formless no longer. Before a definite recognizance could be formulated or speculated, those six shadows had landed, the light yet distinctive buzzing of their wings ceasing as perforated limbs gently flexed as they absorbed the landing impact.

Six changelings now stood upon the path, their black chitin barely visible against the pitch of night that surrounded them. Six pair of light blue, compound eyes softly gleamed in the night, but only for a moment, as once all six were securely settled with their landing each of them carefully hunkered down, limbs folded beneath their bodies, as they then closed their eyes, at which point they simply became six black blots upon the path.

[everyling remembers the plan, correct?]

{check}

|check|

\check\

<check>

There was silence . . . which made sense, because none of the six was actually vocalizing. Several long seconds passed, then there was a soft, audible, not-a-throat-clearing cough.

[everyling?]

>oops! sorry; I thought we'd all be dead by this part of the plan. so . . . what comes next, again?<

There came a light 'ching', as if a hammer had smartly rapped a hollow metal jug.

>ow<

The other four softly chuckled a moment, their understandable tenseness lightening a bit from the badinage of their companion.

[now . . . we wait. I'll take first watch]


For all that she resented the necessity for sleeping —seeing as that subtracted from time better used for study and research— Princess Twilight Sparkle was not a morning pony. As much as she loved her (former) teacher and (still-current) mentor, Princess Celestia, Twilight cringed at the thought of having to be cheery and wide-awake at the depraved brink of dawn. And imagining being responsible for actually raising the sun —and, thusly, creating said dawn . . . and, therefore, being required to be awake and conscious for aforementioned raising— was enough to give her the screaming meemies.

So having one of her guards come bursting into her bedroom without even a prefatory knock wasn't something enjoyable. And when said guard was yelling in a shockingly loud voice . . .

“Changeling army! There's a changeling army outside!”


The sun had just peeked above the horizon —the moon having just immediately descended— when all six of the changelings abruptly winced, blenching at the sudden, intense waves of panic and outrage emanating from the direction of the castle. Considering the distance was several hundred yards, the intensity of those emanations didn't bode well for the near future.

>oopsie?<

*ching*

[stand fast everyling. we always knew this was a possibility. just hold fast.]

Barely a minute later and the huge, golden double doors flew wide open, as a mob of mostly-armored guards erupted from within, a glowing alicorn leading the charge, her wings spread wide as she half-flew, half-galloped. Several of the pegasus guards peeled off, heading up and out towards Ponyville itself, while the remainder partially fanned out, keeping their princess as the tip of the charging spearhead.

>i think I left the gas on back at the hive<

*ching*



Hooves thundered, wings hummed; Twilight felt her breath growing short and tight as she charged towards the army of changelings threatening Ponyville . . . well, towards the group of them . . . small group . . . extremely small group . . . extremely small group, just standing there . . . well, huddled there, close together . . . tightly huddled, braced now, not at all threatening . . . and holding a standard . . . a standard with a white flag fluttering in the gentle zephyr of dawn.

From run, to gallop . . . to canter, to trot . . . decelerating until finally walking, then stopping several yards away, barrel heaving with both exertion and residual, clinging panic. Twilight folded her wings as she struggled with conflicting emotions, as her guards fanned out and surrounded the six changelings who simply patiently waited, all but one of them hunkered down and resting atop their folded legs.

The single, standing changeling, who was also the one holding the flag standard, finally slowly gazed about, those unnatural, unblinking compound eyes giving Twilight the willies. He —She? It?— silently observed the guards massed about, a third fully armed and armored (those being the ones currently on duty this shift), the remainder in bits and pieces —or none at all— as they'd hastily answered the emergency summons to arms.

It was an unusual group, to be sure, for Princess Twilight's guards haled from the length and breadth of Equestria. There were, of course, earth ponies, as well as pegasus and unicorn ponies. But there were also crystal ponies, personally hoofpicked by Princess Cadance. And there were also thestrals, who had accepted their reassignment here by their personal liege, their Lady of the Night; doing so with mixed feelings, being torn between extreme pride and honor at that selection, yet sorrowed at no longer being her sworn vassals.

The silence was eerie, broken only by the heaving pants of the ponies and the jingle of metal and creak of harness. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Twilight blurted, “Why are you here?” Motioning to the white flag she demanded, “Are you surrendering?”

The standing changeling focused his/her gaze on her. She rocked back, startled, as it spoke, for until now the only changeling she'd ever known to have spoken was Chrysalis.

“We are here to parley, and open negotiations, between Princess Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship, and Refugee Hive.”


The hallways echoed with the clip-clop of multiple bare hooves, and the metallic ringing of shod ones; familiar sounds indeed. It was the jarring, bronze-chiming changeling steps that sent goosebumps rippling along her skin.

Well . . . to be honest —and Twilight always strove to be honest with herself— the way the changelings’ ringing steps echoed and harmonized was actually rather pleasant. Unfortunately, the inescapable fact was that those mellifluous, ringing chimes came with changelings attached.

A small armada sailed along the corridors, as if a majestic galleon headed to port. The changeling negotiators were in the middle, the lead changeling carrying the standard at ease, the wooden staff resting back and over a shoulder. Twilight was still extremely suspicious, Queen Chrysalis’ attack still very vivid and fresh in her mind, even though two years had passed. But there was something about these six, something that troubled her. Yes, they were pacing along, looking proud and assured, but she could also dimly sense strain; fatigue bordering on exhaustion; a fragile, desperate hope barely being buttressed by that pride.

As the group stepped into the throne room, Twilight found herself hoping to keep this meeting a hushed affair for now, at least until she had a better idea as to what was involved. Before she could take her seat, and even as the guards were streaming to the sides, to take (hopefully unnecessary) defensive postures, that hope was dashed.

Literally.

“Say what?” Rainbow Dash screeched as she flew through the doorway, her entire body radiating hostility and battle-readiness. “Changelings? Here? Lemmee at ‘em!”

Twilight was still in the process of (somewhat successfully) settling the agitated pegasus down when Applejack stormed in, as ready for a fight as Rainbow. Two was certainly not better than one, especially when those two kept agitating each other, with both spoiling for a fight.

She felt ready to cry when, in short order, first Rarity and then Pinkie Pie trotted in, albeit more sedately than Applejack and Rainbow Dash had. “Quiet!” she called out; well, yelled, to be accurate, which startled both her friends and her guards.

The changelings, however, simply stood there, facing Twilight’s throne, resembling onyx statues.

“Sit!” she commanded, angrily thrusting a forehoof at her friends and then at their seats. “Now!”

“Sheesh Twilight,” Rainbow grumbled, “You don’t hafta yell, yanno!”

“So . . . whut’s the deal Twi?” Applejack asked, once she’d taken her seat.

“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “Except that they seem to be ambassadors of some sort; from somewhere called “Refugee Hive”. At least that’s all I know for now.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow derisively snorted. “Ri-iiiight. Sure they are!” she mockingly winked. “Spies are more like it. Preparing the way for another invasion.”

A headache was starting to throb deep in her head. The problem, at the moment, was that while Twilight couldn’t at all disagree with anything Rainbow was either saying, or feeling, Twilight was now also the Princess of Friendship. So, unless and until they were proven otherwise, she was obligated to, at the very least, listen to them as impartially, as objectively, as she possibly could.

The changelings never moved, simply remained standing there.

Twilight glared Rainbow into surly silence, then shifted her gaze to the silently-standing changelings. “You stated that you are here to parley, and open negotiations, between myself, and Refugee Hive; correct?”

The standard-bearer spoke up, with that peculiar dissonance Twilight had heard once before, from their evil Queen. “Yes, your Highness, that is correct. We have been——“

“So where’s this ‘Refugee Hive’?” Rainbow aggressively blurted out in interruption. Twilight felt like gritting her teeth, and was seriously contemplating having the hostile pegasus escorted out, but a quick, furtive glance around the room showed that Rainbow Dash was only asking what virtually everypony else was thinking.

“Rainbow Dash,” Twilight quietly spoke. Once she had her attention, Twilight pleaded, “Please. I beg of you. Please wait until I get answers? Please.”

Huffily ruffling her pinions, Rainbow subsided, although pink eyes continued aggressively glittering.

Returning her gaze back to the changelings, Twilight courteously addressed the standard-bearer again. “Please. Continue.”

As if there had been no interruption, “We have been selected to negotiate on behalf of our Queen——“

“Queen??”

This time it wasn’t Rainbow Dash. Or, more accurately, it wasn’t just Rainbow Dash, for both Rarity and Applejack blurted out in surprise and consternation.

Twilight’s stomach was starting to churn. Her day had started with being jolted wide-awake, rapidly rousing from peaceful slumber into a state of combat-ready panic. She hadn’t any coffee, her head was painfully throbbing, she was (so far, anyway) throttling down her dread and dismay of facing changelings again, and finally the fear that, perhaps, yes, as Rainbow Dash was accusing, this was just a trick, a ploy, of Queen Chrysalis.

“Our Majesty, Queen Tabula Rasa,” the spokesling continued, “is desirous of having a peaceful, mutually accommodating, relationship with Equestria.” Ignoring Rainbow’s derisive snort the spokeslink went on, “She is hopeful that Her Hive may be peacefully integrated into Your Kingdom; if not as an allied nation, then as citizens.”

Rainbow choked back a retort as Twilight threw up a hoof at her. “Tell me more about your Queen, and this Refugee Hive.”

There was an almost imperceptible pause; Twilight tensed, expecting prevarication. But her eyes rounded in shock at what was actually said.

“To begin with, Your Highness,” the spokesling began, “we wish there to be no misunderstandings. No unfounded assumptions. Queen Tabula Rasa has commanded us to hide nothing, and to reveal everything. So, to start, Refugee Hive consists of those changelings that were too injured, too wounded, too weak to have retreated back with Queen Chrysalis. Yes,” the spokesling forged on, ignoring the gasps that susurrated in the throne room, “all of us were part of the attack on Canterlot.”

Twilight struggled to contain the fear, and the fury, that roused in her. How dare they!

As if aware of the emotions that bluntness engendered, the spokesling just stood there, again resembling a statue.

“An’ did ye do thet willingly?” Heads turned, surprised eyes looking at Applejack. The farm mare was just . . . looking . . . at the changelings, a very intense, focused look at that.

“Willingly?” the spokesling thoughtfully repeated. “That . . . is an interesting question. Although changeling subjects of a Hive Queen do have free will in most things, when it comes to a direct command from a Hive Queen, free will plays little to no part. One just obeys.”

“And if your Queen Tabula Rasa commanded you to lie? To lie about your true intentions?” Twilight quietly asked.

For an instant, six sets of membranous wings disharmoniously buzzed. “Then we would lie,” the spokesling admitted.

Rainbow yelped, slamming a hoof down. “I told you they can’t be trusted!”

“Simmer down Sally,” Applejack chided. “It’s kinda stupid t’ admit thet when lyin’ ‘bout it would work better fer ye.”

The outraged pegasus was about to argue that when she paused, considering with whom she was speaking: Applejack, the Representation of Honesty. Huffing, she sat down again, forelegs crossed in silent aggression.

“We were scattered to the winds,” the spokesling continued. “with no idea what had happened. One moment, it seemed, and Queen Chrysalis was broadcasting victory and triumph, commanding us to feast, to satiate our hunger . . . and the next?”

“We had no idea where we were, or what had happened, or how to return home. Our connection to the Hive, to Queen Chrysalis, was gone. Just . . . gone.” Twilight’s eyes rounded at the anguish, the despair, the pain, she heard in that simple word. “A changeling . . . is nothing without Queen and Hive. Nothing. When that happens, death is usually swift and sure.”

“So . . . why didn’t it?” Rarity softly asked. “Happen, that is. How have you managed to live?”

“There were ninety-two of us eight months ago,” came the quiet words. “Now we are fifty-eight. Fifty-eight changelings who were fortunate enough —or cursed— to have supped on pony love before disaster overtook us.”

Sharp inhales and hisses echoed in the chamber at that. The spokesling continued, his tone firmer. “We should all be dead by now. But although we are all starving, we have so far survived —not because of the energy of pony love fuel . . . but because of the hope and promise which that awakened and aroused.

“And because of that promise, that hope, Queen Tabula Rasa and her subjects have no desire to reestablish ourselves as subjects of Queen Chrysalis again. Not that we could,” the spokesling admitted. “For since we have been lost to Queen Chrysalis —She no longer knows us— she would have us killed rather than reclaiming us.”

“So it’s ‘any port in a storm’, huh?” Rainbow Dash sneered. “You can’t go home, so you’ll take what you can get? Oh, and that’s assuming this isn’t some pity-party story designed to snooker us as you play scout and spy for Chrysalis!”

Voices began stridently clangoring, bickering and arguing back and forth, with Rainbow Dash’s accusations overriding all. “C’mon Twilight!” she pleaded. “This is just another sneaky trick! They’re just trying to invade us again!”

A sudden buzzing of membranous wings, sounding like an angry hive of hornets, cut though the clangor and brought everypony to a halt. Although the changelings hadn’t moved a whisker, there was something about their posture that felt . . . coldly angry.

“Invade you?” a different changeling spoke up, the discordant rasp of voice sounding . . . contemptible and derisive. “Invade you,” was repeated. “An interesting word choice,” was contemptuously declared.

The new speaker turned to face Twilight, and, as that changeling moved, so did the remaining five, forming a geometrically-perfect pentagram centered on the replacement.

“Princess Twilight Sparkle,” the new spokesling addressed, “we understand that you are a lover of knowledge. Therefore, we are offering you a priceless opportunity —that of changeling history and culture— that noling such as yourself has ever been privy to learn. As such, it would behoove you to take good notes . . . and to keep others quiet, for we shall not repeat this again.”

The guards were already tense when the changelings had shifted position, and now this changeling’s speech was bristling everypony, for it was clearly contemptuous in its tone. Yet, one look at the Princess of Friendship’s expression, and everypony instinctively knew that mumbling a single word, even under the breath, would draw fury down on that unfortunate’s head.

“Many hundreds —nay, several thousand— years ago,” began the tale, “Changelings lived in Hives of one Queen and perhaps twenty to thirty subjects. There were thousands of Hives, and each and every one was devoted to survival. At that time we changelings were true predators,” at that the narrator hugely yawned, and there was no missing the display of long, curved fangs. “And our fangs were no mere decoration. We did not harvest love . . . we drained life. We were ambush hunters then, and our prey was anything alive.

“As the centuries marched on, hunting became more difficult. No few of our prey learned to recognize changeling hunters, and quite often we became the hunted instead. Our prey —instead of roving about, being nomadic and thus more easily ensnared— started forming groups. Small at first, but, as they evolved, larger and larger. And there was cooperation both within groups and amongst them. Cooperation, however, was not the changeling way: competition was.

“Two thousand years ago, the Changeling race was almost extinct. Between internecine struggles and the growing civilization of our most nutritious prey, we were a dying breed.

“And then came Queen Khrysos.”

All six changelings reverently buzzed at the mention of her name.

“Queens do not hunt. That is what her subjects are for. But her Hive was so depleted, her grubs so starved, that she, herself, left her Hive to hunt. And in doing so became the Savior of all Changelings. For Queen Khrysos somehow discovered the secret to Changeling success: How to shape-shift . . . and how to feed on emotion rather than life.

“No longer did we need to ambush prey and drain them of life. Now we could associate at will, find sources of emotion —love in particular; such a very strong, very nutritious emotion!— and harvest that food, that fuel, and leaving the prey unharmed; none the wiser.

“Within five hundred years we had a thriving civilization. With sufficient food, we, too, learned the benefits of cooperation and camaraderie. There was over two thousand Hives, and, although most of those were quite small, there were six Hives consisting of over eighty thousand changelings each.

“There were more changelings then, than there are ponies in Equestria today.

“There came a time, oh, many, many hundreds of years ago, when Spring arrived after a long, cold winter. Winter is a difficult time for changelings.” Five sets of wings nervously buzzed for several seconds. “For, you see, we do not handle the cold very well. Heat, yes,” the narrator lifted up a foreleg, obviously stressing the many perforations there. “Our bodies are designed for surviving heat. But cold?” There was a small pause. “The colder it gets, the more lethargic we become. And when it is cold enough to freeze water . . . we become paralyzed.”

The speaker turned and gave Rainbow Dash a hard, flat look. “To kill a changeling quickly, you simply need to make it cold.”

Returning back to Princess Twilight, the speaker continued. “Queens are very cautious about sending scouts and harvesters out at the beginning of Spring. Sudden cold snaps are not unheard of. But by the end of winter there is great hunger. Love is not something we can store, not like bees do with honey. And, back then, Hives did not store prey, keeping them as ready food sources. So by Spring the Hives are close to starving, and Queens have difficult decisions to make.

“That Spring, the Hives waited a goodly time, to assure the weather would remain warm. Then the Queens sent out their scouts and harvesters. All of them.”

“Several days later, without warning, with no reason to expect it, a blizzard struck our land. Within an hour there was a foot of snow blanketing the land, with howling winds and blinding sleet. It caught our scouts, our harvesters, away from their Hives, away from shelter. Within minutes they became lethargic. Within an hour they were paralyzed. Awake; conscious, but paralyzed. Fully aware they were dying, and nothing they could do about it.”

The speaker’s voice took on an uglier rasp. “And their Queens could only listen as they died, their mindtouch remaining in contact with their terrified scouts and harvesters, hearing them die . . . feeling them die.”

“Every scout, every harvester, died. The Hives, one and all, starved. Virtually all the Queens went insane, or catatonic, unable to handle the mindtouches of hundreds of their subjects helplessly dying and being powerless to save them. For while it is true that a changeling lives to obey their Queen, it is also true that a Queen exists to serve her subjects and to see to their survival. Within two years there was but a single Hive left.”

It was utterly silent in the throne room, it felt as if everypony was holding their breath. A soft sob at the doorway caught their attention, as Fluttershy, looking horrified and distraught, stood there, tears streaming down her face and muzzle.

A chorus of gasps echoed as the speaker proclaimed, “That Queen . . . was Queen Chrysalis.”

The speaker now turned, fully facing Rainbow Dash. “You ponies celebrate that every year.”

“What!?” the pegasus snorted in derisive laughter. “You’re nuts!”

Twilight, and a few others, however, started getting a sick look to their faces.

“Tell me, Rainbow Dash,” the speaker almost spat, “when you earth ponies, pegasus ponies, and unicorn ponies fought and squabbled and destroyed your original homeland, did any of you bother worrying if your new land was already occupied? I mean, before you started squabbling again and brought an unseasonal blizzard that blanketed everything.”

Rainbow Dash just sat there, frozen, mouth hanging open.

“So, tell me, Rainbow Dash,” the changeling repeated, “Which one of us is the true invader?”

The sudden snap of the parlay standard shocked everypony. “Refugee Hive is located at the far end of Ghastly Gorge. Look for the tree shaped like a dragon’s paw. Partway down the cliff at that point, in the shadow of a huge boulder, is the entrance. You don’t even have to do anything. Everyling, including Queen Tabula Rasa, sacrificed almost all of their energy to us, so that we would have the strength to travel and parlay.”

At that the broken halves of the standard was hurled to the floor, the pieces stopping just before the horrified alicorn.

“This parlay is over.”

Before anypony could say, or do, anything, a wall of lurid green flame shot up around the six changelings . . .

. . . who simply vanished.