//------------------------------//
// Proving One's Self 
// Story: The Naming of the Queen 
// by LeapingEquine 
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  The overhang in Tunnel Five Hundred Ten was as large and imposing as it had been all those years ago, the day the Queen had been made Queen.
This time though, it was covered in Healers, catatonic except for a few rolling eyes and twitching limbs.
The crowd, also, was different. It was not that it was smaller, although it certainly was; hunger did that to a Hive, but that it was formed differently.
The Queen and the group from the Nursery were directly under the overhang, their flanks still heaving from the effort it had taken to run all the way to the tunnel. The common changelings stood behind them. They were seperate; special.
All eyes were on the Healers.
And they spoke.
The words were images, feelings, ideas, all whispered through the Hive Mind.
The Queen, Unproven, could not hear it. She was not linked to it, had never felt its sensations.
For the rest of the Hive though, it was perfectly clear.
Boldness, danger. A dangerous quietness. No, it was the silence of a stalking changeling. It hunted, and when it could not pounce, it seduced with, sweet, sticky, slimey words.
The surprise was of its unsuspecting prey; pony or griffin or dragon, it did not matter, any race would do, any strange, ugly, foreign race, known only because Scouts had seen them and fed information about them to the Hivemind.
And the Healers showed an image, something trapped inside a cocoon, struggling to get free... no it wasn't struggling anymore, it had submitted to the will of the Hive, and its love-energy poured out of it, feeding the gluttonous changelings.
If it ever emerged from the cocoon alive, it would wear the colors of black and blue, the colors of all changelings. It would be unthinking, a part of the Hive existing only to be drained further, until it was a shriveled corpse.
The Healers were describing a Husk.



The Regent paced the Queen's Chambers frantically, angrily.
The Proving Ceremony, as it was dictated by the whims of Healers, was much less strict than others.
Changelings were free to leave as they wished, in crowds and throngs, or one by one, each rushing back to their place in the Hive, to their stations.
The moment the Healers had announced that the Queen's Proving Task was to make a Husk, the Regent had grabbed the Queen, and made off for the Queen's Chambers.
There he had had the privacy to hiss like a cockroach and bare his fangs at invisible enemies.
All he had wanted, the only thing he had wanted, was to be recognized, to have some meaning in the Hive!
And he had never gotten an opportunity.
Like all changelings, he had many memories of playing in the Nursery, but the first memory that really mattered to him was when the Old Queen had been Chosen.
It was a memory tainted by bitterness, and faded by time, but he could still remember the raging injustice of it all, the chance of power he had lost.
The majority of his life he had been a Shadow, lurking in hidden corners around the Old Queen, hoping for some of her greatness to rub off him.
He had once spent his time plotting rebellions, betrayals. They had come to nothing, because they had never been anything. Simply dreams to comfort hidden shadows.
Even becoming a weak Waiting-Leader would have felt wonderful after being a shadow. 
But he had been thwarted there too. The now-dead Queen had once more gotten lucky, and laid a ridiculously rare Queen Egg right after she realized she'd been a failure, and was about to drop dead.
And so he hadn't become a Waiting-Leader. No, he'd gotten an even worse position. He had become a Regent, a glorified nursemaid to the Queen, trying to teach her everything he knew before she cast him aside.
He had thought, at first, that he could shape the child-Queen to his personality, mold her into a likeness of himself. If he couldn't have fame or glory, a copy of him could.
He had been sure she would bend to his will, and he had become almost fond of her, of his copy-version of her.
And suddenly a few years had passed, and he realized the Queen wasn't anything like him at all. Like a hatchling, she had relied on him. But she had never become him.
Immediately he had soured to her, begun to distance himself from her. The Queen had shattered all his dreams and it was her fault. 
He would no longer even call her "Queen"; wouldn't address her by the title she and her mother had stolen from him.
Not that he had shown his true feelings so obviously. He had learned as a Shadow that emotions were best kept hidden if you wanted to remain in power. And he would cling to his power, his fragile power as Regent.
If nothing else, he would be sure to never be a Shadow again.
And now the whole charade was over. 
To find a creature to turn into a Husk, the "Queen" would have to venture out of the Hive. All his lessons, all his time spent on her, were wasted.
The Scouts and Scout Leaders had told him that The Bright Ones had brought stability to the land, organizing their people, building villages, and even ordering the construction of a capital. But they also told him that the edges of their domain, the area around the Badlands, was still dangerous.
The moment the "Queen" set hoof out of the Hive, she would probably be killed by something.
Her death would send the Hive into political turmoil, and changelings would fight, heavily and bloodily, for any hint of power.
What with the fact that the Scout's love collecting was still faring poorly, the whole thing spelled disaster for the Hive.
There seemed to be no way other. The Hive was doomed. End of story.
Unless...
He had seen in the Nursery those wisps of green. He knew what they meant. He had seen the dust-covered Queen, with the cloak made of slime sack.
He had perfectly comprehended the course of events, although he had judged them insignificant.
But suddenly, everything was turned on its head, and he saw a glimmer of hope. A way to end the nightmare.
The Queen's magic seemed to be activated by strong emotions. Things like hatred, humiliation, pain. 
Those feelings were easy. They were nothing to produce in a changeling. 
He glanced at the Queen. 
She had ignored him since he had brought her back to her chambers, staring at the moths. If he had bothered to pay attention, he would have realized the Queen was staring at them in contempt. 
Flip-flaps weak. Subjects of Burning-Queen. Weaker than her. Not worth bothering about.

He gave her a fanged smile, that she might have noticed if she had bothered to pay attention.
He moved toward her, noiselessly. Like a shadow. That was what he was, wasn't he? No use denying it.
When he was right behind the Queen, he paused. 
She and the Queen before her had torn his dreams apart. But he could still recover them. He could still be remembered in the Hive.
All he would need was a sacrifice.
But he was afraid. Shadows sacrificed others. His fear only lasted for a second.
It would all be worth it.
With a cool, clear mind, a Shadow's mind, he kicked the Queen as hard as he could, hoping to hurt her a little, but not to kill.
He saw her eyes, slitted and angry, furious, burning. 
And then the green surrounded him, a soft warmness, and the air died in his lungs.