Why do changelings need to feed on love? how did they come about? The young son of Queen Chrysalis will discover the secrets and history of his people, and how not all changlings think the same despite being in a hive.
When Hemlock the son of Wicker and Chrysalis is caught emulating Thorax, the sworn enemy of all true changelings, his parents and caretakers decide to tell him the truth behind the changeling race, their history and their secrets. Under the teachings of Mandrake, the head of changeling intelligence, Hemlock discovers the origins of his people and why traitors like Thorax are heretics to be despised and destroyed...
But how did the changelings come to be...how did they become the way they were, and why would any changeling not embrace their nature?
There is no shame in being a true changeling, there is no shame in being a monster
“Hemlock, you come here right now young grub,” spouted an almost exhausted Wicker. The changeling desperately was flaying his hooves to try and catch the small bundle of wings and scales zipping just out of his reach. Whoever said that parenthood was something blissful, needed to maybe jump in a very cold lake. “You know very well you need to take a bath.”
The particular bundle in question only gave a buzzing laugh of mirth as it easily dodged the older changelings grasp, flicking its long tongue out at Wicker with playful hisses.
“But dad I just learned how to fly, what’s the use of having these wings if I can’t ever stretch them out?” the small changeling replied, now hovering just above Wicker. Like his father he had a mane of dark grey just starting to show across his neck and back, with a pair of cute cropped ears. Where he truly differed from Wicker was his flowing green colored tail, emerald studded eyes, and rippling purple scales across his back and sides.
“Besides, I’m not that dirty,” further reasoned the young changeling. “Juniper dared me that the pit was wet and I said it was dry, so of course I had to prove her wrong.” Hemlock gave a proud smile at the memory of this afternoon, his playtime with his best find Juniper was always the highlight of his daily routines. He had also been right, the mud pit had been dried out, which lead to him receiving a firm caked layer of brown dirt residue over his scales. But it was nothing compared to how dirty he usually got.
Hemlock was about to take off again when he suddenly stopped, a tingling of fear moving though him as he felt the familiar presence of another entering his room. He quickly recognized the scent and feel of his only other parent.
“Mind your father Hemlock.” He stiffened like a board for no one else could ever reach that same commanding tone as his mother, Chrysalis. The changeling queen had entered his private cavern as usual with the grace and atmosphere of a ruler. Even as young as he was Hemlock instinctively knew to respect her and not just because she was his mother. She quickly flashed him that same no-nonsense look of hers that always shut down his fun, making him seize up and nearly plummet out of the air.
Hemlock admirably recovered however, and timidly flashed her back one of his sheepish smiles, his fangs glinting in the light of the caves illumination crystals. He began to lower himself as he watched his mother take her place beside Wicker. Now both of his parents were looking up at him. He shuddered as he couldn’t help but feel that sometimes they could be kind of scary when they got this serious.
Chrysalis tapped her front hooves impatiently while she stared down her young son. Her displeasure with how he was dragging his hooves more than evident. “Come along honey-seed,” she cooed at him, hiding her frustration. “You want to be nice and ready for your uncle Mandrake when he arrives right?” she added winking to Wicker out of the corner of her eye. Her mate gave her a return wink in acknowledgement.
“She’s right son, uncle Mandrake expects a clean and presentable young prince, not a dirty little rapscallion,” chuckled Wicker. His front leg subtly began to nudge forward a small wooden tub of steaming water.
Hemlock froze in the air as he digested their words. Uncle Mandrake was coming! Then they were right, he needed to be cleaned, dried and presentable immediately. Mandrake did not tolerate sloppiness and Hemlock couldn’t stand to disappoint him, not with how much the old changeling praised him as the future of their race.
“Okay okay,” he muttered as he flew down to his parents, dropping onto the cold ground in a cloud of dust in front of them. As he began to make his way forward towards the tub, Chrysalis leaned down to nuzzle affectionately at his cheek, giving him a soft lick.
“There’s my good handsome boy,” she paused her praise only to lick his other cheek. “It won’t be so bad: Remember how regal you stand out after being cleaned?” she spoke softly, giving him a gentle hug. She suddenly gave a neigh of content as she felt the young changeling pushing back into her embrace giving her own cheek an affectionate lick.
“Yes mum,” he replied, pulling away from her. Turning his gaze the young colt looked over at his still stern looking father sheepishly. “Sorry I gave you such trouble da,” he spoke gently.
Wicker gave his son a few more seconds of his look before that stern frown slipped into a knowledgeable smile. Leaning forward he rubbed his own cheek gently across the young colt’s being careful to mind that young twisted horn poking into his eyes. “It’s alright my son. I know flying can be overly exciting when you first learn how.”
Leaning down Wicker gripped his son about the neck with his teeth, lifting the young foal off the ground. Hemlock was familiar enough with this position to curl up, all the while nuzzling his face against the tip of his father’s nostrils as the older changeling led him over to the tub. Dropping Hemlock with a soft plop and splash into the warm mixture, Wicker brought his horn to light as he used it to pick up the nearest bar of soap.
Just across from them Chrysalis made herself comfortable, lying down as she watched her mate bathe their son. ‘ So glad it’s his turn to wash Hemlock, ’ thought the changeling queen to herself. ‘That child practically lives in the dirt and dust. ’
Hemlock spluttered water as he was doused under the waterline. He felt the rough soap bar scratch over his skin, the bubble and squeak dripping down his dark scales and wetting his grey mane. Wicker sat above him chirping along as he washed the dirt and grime off his son’s scales, paying extra attention to that mane. It would indeed be a long one once it had fully grown in.
Hemlock closed his eyes to keep the soap out of them; listening as his father hummed along and his mother gave groans of relaxation. His parents were always trying to keep him clean and tidy. When it wasn’t his dad it was his mother. The young changeling had even memorized his mother’s rant about a clean prince being a respected prince and other such formalities that made a young colt feel trapped and small. His father was way cooler and easier going though. Hemlock could get away with a lot more mischief and fun with Wicker around, however even his dad could turn serious and foreboding.
The only changeling the young colt knew who was open and the same at all times was his uncle Mandrake. Of course Hemlock was no fool, he may be young but he understood quite well that Mandrake was not really his uncle; his half brother Crescendo was an identical copy of the older changeling, just with more limbs. He tried not to focus too much on his mother’s social life however, after all he still wanted to have a life and thinking about what she got up to in the grown-upsense could make him throw himself into a frenzied Maulwurf pit.
That being said, the young prince-ling loved Mandrake as much as he did his own parents. The imposing changeling never had a condescending tone or undeserved word of malice when they talked. Mandrake treated him like a grown up, respected him, and made Hemlock feel like a true prince. His parents as parents go, were great and all, but they often swamped him with what was expected of him. With Mandrake he was allowed to learn for himself what those responsibilities were. The old changeling would take him on walks and mass exodus’s around the Hive letting the young colt explore and ask questions as he saw fit, it was one of the more interesting activities he endured in his training to be King.
“Do you think uncle Mandrake will teach me another lesson today?” asked Hemlock curiously. With his uncle he never knew what their goal for the day would be until they were already about it. Sometimes he would learn a lesson, other times they would just walk around and talk.
“Hmm, I can never tell,” answered Chrysalis dreamily, watching Wicker’s shaking rear end as he moved around the tub. “That old grump doesn’t tell me anything about what you two do together, says I should keep my big nose out if it Mrphh…the nerve.” The changeling queen growled before she took the moment to stretch herself with a fierce yawn. Now lying stretched out even further. Her eyesight perfectly situated to watch Wicker’s back muscles clench as he began to once more scrub the remaining dredges of dirt from Hemlock. ‘Oh yes, queeny likes the view, ’ she thought gleefully, chirping out-loud by accident.
Wicker just rolled his eyes, his wife’s attention having not gone unnoticed. He finished scrubbing his sons’ scales and picked the colt out of the tub. Setting him to the side Wicker nudged the foal onto his back, picking up a towel with his magic. The towel was soft against Hemlock’s scales and he chirped as his father dried him off, nudging him once more to get on all fours as the larger changeling brought out a smooth bone comb from a side shelf.
Pressing the comb to his son’s messy growing mane, Wicker carefully stroked the fur back into place with swift strokes. One hoof on his shoulder holding him steady, the other hoof playfully tickling his son’s now gleaming scales, smiling at the giggle he got in return. “Oh yes there we go, now you look like a prince my boy,” swooned Wicker, trying to make sure his combing wasn’t pulling the young lads hair too hard.
Hemlock beamed as his dad praised him, the swift but elegant comb thrusts through his mane feeling divine. Wicker always was so gentle with him when it came to grooming, while his mother was more intimate. She loved to cuddle him the entire time she would groom his mane, always ready with a soft lick and a friendly nuzzle that put a wonderful full feeling deep inside him. It was slightly unnerving given her usual stoic and imposing demeanour, but at the same time he would never trade it for the world.
“Just a few more minutes Hem and then you will be ready to go,” assured Wicker feeling his sons’ impatience.
“Why do I have to be so clean anyways?” replied the young changeling trying to shake himself dry of the remaining water still clinging to his body.
“Because you want your subjects to respect you as their future king do you not?” followed up Chrysalis admiring his now shinny scales and well brushed mane.
“Why should they think any different...?” answered a cold voice from behind the three changelings, Chrysalis and Wicker’s eyes flashing with surprise, while Hemlocks blazed with excitement.
Standing behind them was an older looking changeling, dark black with a flowing mane, several strands of white and silver contrasted by the flow of grey. He was taller than Wicker but not as tall as Chrysalis, but like the queen he was terribly imposing. The stranger held himself with a fierce grace despite several sickly looking holes in his legs. Even situated in the shadows as he was, the armored breast plate across his chest still glinted from the cavern’s light. A decorated helmet adorned his head, his horn poking out of the open section at the top. Just below the helmet flashed a gold encrusted ruby stud, embedded in his left ear, while his right sported another earring fitted with a blue scale fastened to a single griffin’s feather.
He made quite the sight as he simply stood there in the cavern’s opening, staring down the royal family. Furthermore what appeared most haunting about this elder were his eyes. They were a bright and impacting shade of ice blue...entrancing and glaring all at once. His pupils like etched black pits in deep wells of frozen ice and cold. They were the kind of eyes you feared to look into for long least-ways you drown in them.
“Uncle Mandrake!” cried Hemlock as he raced towards the tall changeling, pressing himself against the elder’s leg. His eyes stared up at Mandrake adoringly while the other changeling gave him a smile of appreciation.
“Once again Mandrake you manage to make quite the entrance,” hissed Chrysalis annoyed with that disappear and reappear act of his. “Nearly scared us out of our wits!” she growled.
“If you recall my queen, it is the nature of my duty to sneak up on others,” replied the elder changeling stoically. He brought one of his hooves to rest on top of Hemlock’s head tussling his mane. “Are you ready for our meeting young prince?”
“Yes sir, I just got finished cleaning up for you,” answered Hemlock with a hint of distaste in his tone. “Mum and dad think I need to be clean to get the hives respect.”
“Like with any substance of value, it is how you gain respect that matters, not what you look like,” hissed Mandrake.
Chrysalis only growled at that. “Appearances are everything Mandrake, if one wants to be a ruler they must look the part,” she finished.
“And sometimes appearances can be deceiving Chrissie, we of all species should know that more than others,” answered the other.
Wicker who till this moment had been silent, made the decision to interject just then. “Well we do really appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule Lord Mandrake,” he nervously stated. As a captain Wicker had substantial rank, but Mandrake was higher up in the alpha food chain then he was. One thing that he had learned as a soldier, flattery of the top brass couldn’t hurt to ease tension. “Hemlock is very excited to be going with you again.”
“As he should, a colt’s desire to learn and experience must be nurtured not avoided,” mentioned Mandrake. “It is no trouble captain, the future of the Hive is the responsibility of all alphas and your son is our future.” Mandrake nudged the young colt hugging his leg to let go before he directed him towards the entrance of the cavern that was Hemlock’s private chamber.
“Make sure you watch out for him Mandrake,” warned Chrysalis a bit of worry clear in her eyes.
“He will be fine dear,” answered Wicker, nodding to Mandrake. Wicker had never been fully trusting of Mandrake, but he knew that the commander of the Insidian Order was devoted to his son and preserving the hive. Like with all alphas his biological imperative was the safety of the race. Thus nothing was more important to Mandrake or the hive then the crown prince.
“Yeah I’ll be fine mom,” followed Hemlock darting between the tall legs of the older changeling who only rolled his eyes.
Chrysalis only gave a small grunt as she resumed her place on her stomach. She gave a swift wave to Mandrake and her son, indicating her blessing. As the elder and youngster left together she watched as Wicker turned back to her, his focus all on his mate. Walking over to Chrysalis he stood above her and gently placed his fore hooves across her shoulders.
“You know they will be fine dear, you worry way too much,” he said as he gently began kneading the tight muscles of her back, grinning as could feel the ripples of her back muscles clenching as she felt the pleasure of his touch.
“I just want him to be safe,” she muttered groaning suddenly as Wicker’s talented hooves found a rather sore spot upon her right shoulder. “He’s the first alpha I’ve had to raise in nearly six years, the last changeling born in our...old home.” Her voice faltered for a minute as she was forced to remember her old hive. Her corrupted, repossessed, and usurped hive.
“Mandrake would rather lose his wings then allow something happen to his prince,” reasoned Wicker. Shifting a bit more weight into his hooves hoping to relax his uptight mate some more before she blew a blood vessel.
“If anything happens to our son, I’ll hold him to that fate.” Chrysalis could only growl, even as Wicker melted the tension and stress from her scales and bones.
Mandrake and Hemlock made their way through the tunnels and chambers of Citadel Tor, the elder changeling lunging forward with great stride, while the younger pranced around his legs like an excited rabbit. It was not unusual for them to take these kinds of walks, Mandrake showing the young prince-ling his kingdom and his subjects. The crystals embedded in the sides and roof of the tunnel systems cascaded their illumination upon the two changelings.
Tonight Mandrake was in one of his more sombre moods; a phase Hemlock had seen him endure many times. Despite his cold demeanor however, Mandrake always made time for Hemlock, showing greater patience at times then his own parents. It was one reason the young prince felt more comfortable around the elder, and saw him as more of a confidant.
“So Hemlock, why were you so dirty that you needed to be bathed so...thoroughly?” asked Mandrake his ice blue eyes focusing on the youngsters dapper green. They were in the middle of one of the larger causeways connecting the Hive, below them a deep connecting hole full of tunnels, bridges and platforms. Changelings could just be seen going about their business, their blue and red eyes glowing in the dark.
Hemlock gave a brief smile as the memories of his playtime flooded back to him. “Oh well me and Juniper were playing near the old mud pit in the lower catacombs. I jumped in to prove it was dry and win our bet” explained the young changeling.
“Was being right more important than being clean?” wondered out loud the elder, never taking is gaze of the young prince. Lifting a hoof he stroked across the forming beard under his chin. “Dirtying yourself for a simple bet could be thought of as a foolish act of pride my prince.” He stated flatly.
Hemlock groaned as he turned away from Mandrake’s glare, putting his hooves over his face in clear dejection. “Argghh not you too Mandrake, I’m fine with the dirt. Really!” he squeaked. Taking the opportunity the young changeling tried to peer over the ledge of the pathway.
“Besides Juniper and I wanted to finish our match of who was better, Thorax or mom,” he peeped, nudging himself almost clear over the edge of the bridge-way.
A strong hoof lashed out and caught him before he could fall pulling him back until he was pressed against the chest of a glaring Mandrake. “And just what do you mean by that ?” snarled the elder, his usual patience thrown to the wind.
“Oh-well, j-just that we were playing: I was mom and Juniper was Thorax, and we, we were just trying to see who the better fighter was.” Hemlock only stared back at the snarling changeling with his wide eyes, the icy blue making him uncomfortable. “Juniper wanted us to fall into the pit as part of the role play, but she we didn’t know if there was any mud to break our fall.” He whimpered the last bit, the elder’s grasp starting to hurt him.
Mandrake seemed to sense that he was being too much for the prince, and quickly released him. “Forgive me my prince but you should know by now, Thorax is not a changeling to emulate...at all!” the hiss Mandrake released at that last bit chilled Hemlock to the bone.
“B-But he’s my h-half brother,” whimpered Hemlock. “He still sends me gifts and letters. Mom says they’re just to butter me up, but they really do seem genuine.”
Mandrake looked away from Hemlock and the young prince could swear he almost saw a tear in the old changeling’s eye.
“Thorax is neither brother of yours...nor son of mine,” growled Mandrake coldly. “He’s a traitor, a usurper, and a heretic. He’s a corrupter, who will steal everything that makes you what you are and turn it inside out. He’ll connive you into hating yourself and your kind, hating your mother and father...even hating me.”
Hemlock looked shocked as he squeaked in surprise. “B-But I could never hate mom, or dad, or even you Mandrake... you’re all my family.”
“That does not matter to Thorax,” grunted Mandrake angrily. “If it did he would not have betrayed us and stolen your birthright my prince. You were to be our first King, and he took that from you, just as he took your mother’s throne and my trust.” Mandrake hissed loudly as he suddenly started to walk forward, nudging Hemlock with the tip of his snout to follow. “Follow me little one, I have something for you to see” he whispered, just loud enough for Hemlock to make it out.
The young prince followed briskly beside Mandrake, keeping quiet as he let the last few minutes play back in his head. Normally he didn’t talk about his half-brother, the whole situation being very tense for his mom and many others. For a second he had forgotten the need for secrecy, his time with Mandrake usually where he could talk about things he couldn’t elsewhere. He had been such a fool to realize this was not one of those things.
They walked together, the young and old, barley talking at all. Hemlock padded silently beside the elder changeling watching with envy how Mandrake seemed to make his long strides look as regal as possible. The young prince’s small hops and scurrying now looked far less impressive in comparison.
The two changelings passed up several long winding stairways and over a few more bridges until Hemlock noticed a change in the air. He could smell the fragrance of the outside world more clearly than before, as well as hear the soft whistle of a breeze blowing through the catacomb of tunnels. They were nearing the surface.
Mandrake directed them up one last set of stairs, carved out of the very rock of the mound that was Citadel Tor. As they reached the top Hemlock could now feel the breeze blowing across his scales, the cool air a change from the heat of the underground. Just in front of them lay what appeared to be a balcony gazing out of the main tower of the Hive mound.
As they exited the hive and stepped onto the balcony Hemlock had to jump up on his back legs to see over the balcony rail. The cold air of the brisk night washed over him as he stared up at the stars. Hemlock always loved the night, the starlight entrancing and the moon just a sight to behold.
The colt didn’t know much about how his parents had gotten together, but he had overheard enough gossip to know they had come together by moonlight. Since then he was fascinated by the moon and the power it held. However, tonight the moon was shielded behind several dark clouds. Its power and majesty imprisoned at least until the next night.
Peering from the top of the tower Hemlock gasped as he found he could see nothing but desert and wasteland for as far as his keen eyes could see. His Changeling night vision was terrible effective and acute at night. Off in the very far distance, just on the horizon he could make out the glowing jewel like presence of the old central hive. His mother’s old hive and seat of power...which was now Thorax’s, him and his new changeling order.
“Tell me young prince, what you see,” asked Mandrake stoically, his own gaze not leaving the sight of glowing mound on the horizon.
“Indeed...wasteland as far as you can see. But did you know little one that it didn’t always use to be that way?” inquired the elder changeling. Coming to rest and stand directly beside Hemlock.
“Really, so you mean it wasn’t always such a...dump?” asked the prince.
The older adult merely chuckled as he turned his head from gazing upon Hemlock and stared out across the desert below them. Mandrake’s dark hooves scraped along the compacted dirt floor until he rested on his back legs, his front raped over the edge of the balcony.
“No my boy, this land used to be nothing but lush forest, deep lakes, and fine green brush as far as the eyes could ever see.” The elder changeling’s voice was filled with reverence and longing, his gaze unwavering upon the cactus infested sea of dunes. “Do you know where our species came from Hemlock?” he inquired blatantly. The alpha’s dark gaze and ice blue eyes swiveled down to peer at the young changeling.
Hemlock looked up curiously at the elder, his gaze caught once again in those deep icy pools. His parents had always refrained from teaching him too much of their past, insisting that he would better understand such things when he was older. Personally he had viewed that particular excuse to be quite condescending. He didn’t like the idea of being kept in the dark because he was too young. It just felt like the type of excuse you give a kid when you can’t be bothered to tell them the truth.
“I can’t say I do sir. My parents told me I was too young.” Hemlock couldn’t avoid the disgusted scoff from the older changeling, making him shrink himself down. He didn’t want to badmouth his own parents but the young prince shared that same distaste for their silence.
“I can’t truly blame them,” began Mandrake coldly. “However, given the circumstances I believe you should know where we come from, why we feed off of love…and why we have no hearts.” The elder dropped from the balcony and peered down upon Hemlock. His horn suddenly began to light up with bright green plasma and energy.
A small blob of magic bloomed in front of the two changelings slowly morphing and melting until it expanded into a large ball. The center of the ball was crystal clear like a mirror while the outer frame was cascaded in burning green flame.
Hemlock’s eyes were fixated on the expert magic in front of him. Pangs of jealousy and intrigue sparked inside of him as he watched Mandrake shape his magic. The young changeling could only hope one day he could wield such power as beautifully as the old master.
Mandrake closed his eyes as he prepared himself mentally to speak. This particular brand of visual spell required a great deal of mental concentration. All magic had a price, and that was the cost of projecting the memories and knowledge from your mind into the scrying sphere.
“As you know, our race and our civilization was not the first…the first civilization was born in the land that we now call Equestria.” As Mandrake spoke the sphere glowed and sparked with shapes and pictures beginning to form in the center. Hemlock watched in awe as a series of rolling hills, bright lush forests, and farmland took form, as if from an artist’s brush flowing over a blank canvas. Mandrake continued while his horn shook as several new forms took shape inside the sphere. A four legged creature erupted from the ground, a very familiar looking creature. One that Hemlock could only describe as resembling closely a changeling without wings. “These creatures who inherited this lush Eden were called...ponies.”
Hemlock looked upon the ponies in the sphere and was confused by their appearance. He had never before seen a non changeling. They had no hard bodies of scales, no mandibles, no horns, or even wings upon their backs. They shared similar anatomy with changelings but were far different then he had heard and assumed. “B-But Mandrake they have no wings or horns, mom said they had horns and wings,” the princeling’s curious nature overtaking his manners. He didn’t even realize he had just interrupted the elder.
Mandrake stood still with his eyes remaining closed as he grinned at the youngsters words. “I was just getting to that my prince, for you see back then the land was much different then it is now. Ancient and filled with power.” Mandrake’s horn spluttered a shower of sparks as the shapes shook and the figures inside the ball faded away. Then the shapes flickered in one last flash before they blobbed together, changing shape once again. The various shapes swarmed into a giant mass until they had formed together into one single figure. The figure was a tall and strong looking pony, flanked by a pair of large wings and sporting a sparkling horn upon its forehead.
“Under the leadership of Allomane the first alicorn and the prince of life, the pony civilization flourished.” stated Mandrake. The sphere gurgled before the figure of Allomane exploded into small miniature shapes, individual ponies arranged in three separate groups who suddenly began walking in different directions. Mandrake cleared his throat as he prepared to continue.
Unknown to Hemlock the strain of the mental concentration was beginning to show on Mandrake. Still the elder pushed on: “As the ponies ventured further and further into the unknown land they began to absorb and encounter the deep and powerful magic’s ingrained in our primordial world,” As he spoke the ponies began to radiate with bright colors. “And thus were born the three prime races.”
As he spoke the radiating figures melted once again before reconstituting themselves into three larger pony forms. It reminded Hemlock of how the royal sculptures manipulated dark clay. Suddenly around the first of the pony figures sprouted several tree like shapes. The lead pony turned around and then brought their back hooves crashing into the trees which collapsed into oblivion.
“The first race was the earth pony, builders, farmers, in touch with the land and the power of the earth,” grunted Mandrake. The earth ponies suddenly changed, two large pillow-like wings spurting from their back as they left the ground and took to the bright blue sky. “The second race was the pegasai, masters of flight and caretakers of the sky.” Mandrakes blue eyes opened as the glowing sphere took a dark shade of blue instead of its flaming green. The pegasus pony then convulsed before its wings shriveled and blew away, the sky faded and the newly grounded figure sprouted a large horn from its forehead. “Finally there was the last race, the unicorn...our ancestors. The race most attuned to using and manipulating the magic and deep powers of the world”
Hemlock was entranced with the pony; of all of the equestrians he had seen this one had the closest appearance to his changeling race. Without the horn the unicorn was clearly no different than the earth pony. But it was surprising how one single appendage could change your entire impression of some-pony.
“How did we come from that?” he questioned, his green eyes staring unblinking at the image of the unicorn. Mandrake chuckled beside him lifting a hoof to scratch the prince’s ear gently.
“Well you see my prince, over the years the unicorns of Equestria ventured further than the other races, their thirst to master and uncover the limits magic was unquenchable,” the images of the unicorns changed locations from rivers and streams to large forests and grass plains.
Mandrake rolled his shoulders as he grimaced from the strain of concentration. “As the unicorns expanded their borders they began to encounter all manner of beasts: Griffons, diamond dogs, hydras, monsters and then...the Chamealoid.”
As he finished, the image of a strange looking insect, with jagged wings, hard scales, sharp mandibles and a long tail with a pointed end took shape in the sphere. Its eyes looked almost like the changelings; in fact this insect looked eerily familiar to Hemlock who gasped at the realization.
“T-That is us?” he whispered. Mandrake only shook his head his grey mane spilling over his tensed shoulders.
“No, but it is the key to our origin. An insect that like us could change shape to blend in and avoid enemies, who required the feeding of energy to live,” Mandrake turned his head as the sphere suddenly turned dark blue. “At the time it only required magical energy to absorb.”
“How did we come from that then?” Hemlock recoiled from the sphere. “D-did it feed on the unicorns?”
Mandrake smiled at the prince’s astuteness. “Yes, the unicorns were a perfect source of magical energy, and over the ages the unicorns began to absorb the traits of the creature that fed off of them.” Mandrake flashed his horn as the sphere flickered. The unicorn slowly began to blossom and grow until it took the shape of a long gangling form of bright colors. A form that was completely different from the one Hemlock shared.
“But, but we don’t look like that!” cried Hemlock shocked by how beautiful and strange the butterfly like changelings looked.
“Back then we did, a new race was born from the combination of two...the changeling.” Mandrake’s voice shook with pride as he continued on. “Our race settled in the rain-forests that once perpetuated this land, a land of green, of fresh pools and rivers, plenty and beauty. Together we created the hive link and coordinated our efforts and built a grand civilization to rival that of our pony cousins to the north.” The elder changeling spoke the last line with a great passion Hemlock only ever heard him use in his speeches and reports to his mother.
The prince’s eyes widened as he saw the streams, rivers and mass rain-forest spread out across the land, the sphere itself barely able to contain it all. Then Hemlock thought of something, something that had slipped his mind.
“W-what happened then?” the young prince noting Mandrake’s shoulders tensed at his question. The elder changeling seemed to appear much older and more downtrodden in the fading moon light.
“War happened. Allomane, prince of life, the binder of all the great races...fell. In his place rose Deadbane...the alicorn of death.” Mandrake couldn’t help the distaste and venom from seeping into his voice as he thought of the dark prince.
The sphere shifted and a fearsome skeleton pony rose out of the blood red ground, eyes burning with undead passion and brilliance. Hemlock shuddered before closing his eyes, unable to stand the ghoul alicorn’s very sight.
“The newly ascended princesses of Equestria, Allomane’s adopted daughters fought Deadbane in a brutal civil war,” continued Mandrake. The sphere flashed before the fiery Skeleton alicorn was engaged with the bright glowing figures of two others, one with along flowing rainbow mane the other with a dark bluish mane like night. Powerful energy blasts flew back and forth between all three.
Mandrake paused to regroup his strength.“Deadbane called forth all to his side: ponies with dark hearts, griffons, diamond dogs, dragons! It was an army for which to burn all of Equestria and the world to ash...to bring death to us all.”
“Did, did we help?” his wide eyes stared up at the elder, hoping beyond hope that wasn’t the case, despite that sinking feeling in his gut.
“We stayed out of the fight as long as we could,” began Mandrake. “It was not our fight, but Deadbane wanted his soldiers, and so eventually he came to us.” Mandrake growled as the sphere burned bright red; the image of the Skeleton prince standing over the bright changelings flickered and flashed.
“He demanded we join his side, ‘bring to all of Equestira the reckoning it deserved,’ he said,” spat Mandrake harshly. “We refused, no one commands us, no one owns us, and we can choose our own reckoning.”
Hemlock watched as the sphere changed to dark grey, the mages inside evaporating. Hemlock sighed as he brought a hoof to his chest as if he was feeling for something that was not there. “So instead...he cursed us.”
Hemlock watched as the sphere lit up, the image of the changelings suddenly shifting, the wings becoming more jagged, the horns twisting unnaturally, while their bright bodies mutated into hard black scale and chitin.
“He took from us what gave us our power; what made us greater than our unicorn ancestors...he took our hearts.” Mandrake dropped his hoof from his chest his eyes opened starring dead and unblinking into the abyss of nothing.
“O-our hearts?” inquired Hemlock, he had never heard of a heart before. Neither his mother or father ever mentioned it either, but that was not a big surprise at this point. Mandrake turned to stare at the prince making sure the young one’s eyes were fixed to his.
“You see my prince, a changelings heart is his source of energy. Before we did not need to feed off of love to survive, and yet without love of our own...”
He turned away to look at the sphere, the desolate form of the creature inside filled him with loss and anger.
“And so we were devolved, our light dimmed. Our bodies’ rescinded into these withering shells, our souls stained with vicious desire and filled with a hole and hunger that could never be sated or filled.” Mandrake’s voice softened as it dripped with something Hemlock had never heard before...pain.
Hemlock inched towards the older changeling lord. He placed one of his soft hooves on the others leg in sympathy. The prince did not know what Mandrake was feeling, or what he had been through, but he did understand that the elder changeling was quite distraught.
Mandrake suddenly continued without warning: “Without love we cannot sustain our bodies, you’ve seen the holes and the decay in so many of us have you not?” he inquired. Hemlock nodded. He had always wondered about that, but his mother had never brought up why she had so many holes in her legs, while others had far worse...far worse. “That is because of a lack of love, without it our bodies cannibalize themselves to feed our need,” answered Mandrake solemnly.
“But...why?” asked the young prince.
“Deadbane hoped we would suck every last ounce of love and essence out of Equestria, then starve to death...wrapping up loose ends as it were,” muttered the elder changeling.
“He didn’t succeed though, I mean Equestria is still there,” yipped the young one, his eyes darting to the sparkling glow of the other hive on the horizon, and beyond that lay Equestria far from sight.
“That is because of your mother and grandmother. Two of the bravest changelings I’ve ever known.”
“My grandmother?”
“Queen Aurelia...she and your mother stood against Deadbane, when we would do his bidding no more, they stood against the devil and stared him right in the eyes,” growled Mandrake passionately.
“What happened?” asked the price, Hemlock was deeply interested for Chrysalis never talked about other queens or her mother.
“They did what even the princesses of Equestria could not...they drained the monster of his energy and imprisoned his decayed ruin in the very bowls of the earth...forever,” finished Mandrake.
The changeling prince could only stare wide eyed as he imagined what that fight had looked like, what it would have been like to take on that terrifying ghoul. Then another thought occurred to him...why didn’t mother ever talk about queen Aurelia?
“Grandmother didn’t survive...did she?” he asked solemnly. Deep down inside himself, he knew the answer. His mother hadn’t gotten to the way she was for no reason.
Mandrake shared his view as he looked down. “No...It took too much from her to contain Deadbane’s energy...too much death to hold inside oneself.”
“But we were freed from Deadbane right?”
“The damage was already done...” stated Mandrake, his cold eyes darkening in the star light. Hemlock shifted his stance as he came to rest right beside the elder, their flanks so close they touched.
“The Equestirans and other races turned on us for serving Deadbane. It was only through our mastering of our transformation abilities that we were able to escape alive, to flee back here. Only then to find that our hunger would not be stopped,” hissed Mandrake coldly.
The elder lord looked over the balcony at the sea of dead wasteland longing and sadness appearing in his gaze and filling his voice. “Like some sort of plague or a living pestilence we poisoned and ruined everything that was green and lush, until only scorched dessert remained...another prison to contend with...”
Hemlock looked over the balcony as well and felt a deep sadness; he could almost picture the green rain-forest, and blue streams in Mandrake’s memories, only for the crushing depression of reality to come back full force.
Mandrake slumped as his horn suddenly gave out, the magical sphere spluttering before splashing onto the cold stone ground like a large drop of water. The energy pool glowed brightly for a few seconds before finally dissipating into the air.
The young prince was at a loss for words, but he felt he needed to manage at least something. “That’s why my parents never told me. They didn’t want me to be ashamed of myself.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of boy,” whispered Mandrake. “We bear this curse because we would not bow down to others. It has not been easy but we have rebuilt our civilization, we are a proud race once more...and we should not apologize for any of it!”
Hemlock stood back as Mandrake stood to his full stature, towering above the young foal. “You should never be ashamed of what you are my prince, for you are changeling and that...is an honor.” The prince could only nod while his head filled with thoughts and feelings he couldn’t begin to sort or understand.
Mandrake seemed to suddenly take stock of where they were. He stared up towards the night sky blossoming with bright stars and the moon still hidden behind several dark ribbons of cloud smoke. “I believe we shall call an end to this lesson Hemlock...it is late and young princes need their rest...come along.”
Hemlock filed in behind the elder as they made their way back down through the hive structure, his questions and his inner struggle twisting inside of him. He was too afraid to bring it up with Mandrake, not after all that. The elder was probably just as exhausted as him, but could he trust his parents to answer his questions?
Could he count on them or did they fear that he might turn out to hate them, resent their very species...Were they afraid he might become like...Thorax?
Mandrake brought Hemlock back to his chambers just as Chrysalis and Wicker were finishing up their own relaxation time. The queen nuzzled her young son affectionately while Wicker saluted the elder changeling who returned the gesture swiftly.
Mandrake was not one to stay in one place long, his duties and the needs of the hive were never over. As he turned to leave Chrysalis approached the older changeling and they whispered to one another.
As they conversed silently Hemlock bumped into Wicker’s leg. Wicker peered down to see how tired his son clearly was. The poor thing was swiveling back and forth on shaky legs, his eyes half closed.
“Alright Hem why we don’t get you to bed,” leaning his neck down he gently gave the young prince a nudge with his snout. Hemlock didn’t even bother to complain, he was too sleepy and his head was full of too many conflicting thoughts.
“So, what did you and Mandrake discuss tonight Hem?” inquired Wicker, his interest piqued with how quiet Hemlock was being. Normally the little sprite was a handful to put to bed, and yet he was quiet as a mute right now.
“Oh um Mandrake just kind of told me, where we come from...and why we have no hearts.” The young changeling looked almost downtrodden as he crawled slowly towards his hammock.
“Oh,” began Wicker, a bit taken by surprise at that. “Why would he possibly do that for? You’re way too young to know that yet.” Hemlock could only stare uneasy at him, guilt and worry splashed across his young face. His bright green eyes hardly flashed once.
“I kind of told him how Juniper and I were pretending to be Thorax vs. mom,” he said dejectedly.
Wicker gave a grimace. “Oh yeah, that would do it alright,” he gently stroked his hoof across Hemlock’s top mane.
“Mom and Mandrake really hate Thorax don’t they?” whispered Hemlock pushing into his father’s hoof. Leaning his body against the older changelings leg for the comfort and support the limb provided.
“Yes they do,” stated Wicker holding his son close. “They both feel a lot of anger and betrayal towards him.” Wicker himself had seen Chrysalis fume for days just by mentioning Thorax’s name, her rants and destructive mood swings often frightened the entire hive.
“But I don’t hate him,” squeaked Hemlock. The young prince was overly conflicted by his feelings toward Thorax, his half brother. The attitudes of his mother and Mandrake towards his brother also greatly conflicted how he should feel. It felt like he was being forced to pick sides he didn’t want to pick. To him they were all family, and having one set of members hating the other only made Hemlock feel like he was being caught in the middle.
“Of course not Hem, there’s no hatred in you...I’d like to think those are my genes honestly, given your mother,” whimpered Wicker. The captain knew all too well that his mate had a very... conflicting personality , even at the best of times. “Your mother feels angry and betrayed by Thorax stealing her throne and her subjects, while Mandrake...Mandrake feels betrayed by his son and angry at the natural order of things being flipped upside down.” Wicker continued his stroking of Hemlock’s mane soothingly. He could sense through their hive mind the feelings of uncertainty and unhappiness still deep in the young princeling.
“Mandrake said Thorax and the others were trying to corrupt me, to turn me against the hive...against you and mom,” whimpered Hemlock fearfully, the old elder’s words coming back to him. “He said that Thorax and his new order were not changelings like us, that they were ashamed of being changeling and they’d make me ashamed of being changeling too.” Tears began to swell in his eyes as the young prince hugged his father’s leg even tighter.”I don’t want to hate myself, or my family dad. I don’t want to hate you.”
Wicker gently pulled his son from his leg, bringing his head down to stare into the young one’s eyes. “That’s a load of milkweed my son, no one could ever make one with strength like yours do anything you didn’t want to...I can vouch for that.” Wicker shuddered as he briefly thought of the numerous times he had been injured and or broken something trying to get Hemlock to stay in line.
“But Mandrake said Thorax was a her-her-heretic,” he squeaked. “That he and the others were not like us and are ashamed to be changelings.”
“Nonsense Hemlock,” Wicker hefted himself into the cocoon hammock dangling his hooves over the side. With a flash of green energy he ignited his horn and lifted Hemlock with his magic until the young colt was sitting on his lap, looking up at him with wide eyes. Hemlock had yet to master levitation but his father was a pro at it. Just a result of having to use it almost every day with Hemlock on his hooves while his mother ruled the Hive. “Just because Thorax and the others look different from us, act different and yes--even have different values, it does not mean they are any less changeling than you or I.”
“B-b-but Mandrake...” began Hemlock shakily, his words catching due to the sobs in his throat.
“Mandrake and you’re mother are wrong son,” stated Wicker firmly. “Mandrake is...old school. To him there is only one way changelings must look and act, same with your mother. They both hold to a system and hierarchy that has lasted centuries, one they helped to establish.” Wicker paused a moment to sigh, realizing he had finally become the lesson delivering father cliché he had often mocked when he was Hemlock’s age. It was funny how life could go full circle like that sometimes.
“Yeah but dad, that is...that is really stupid,” mocked Hemlock his eyes lighting up with a green glow as he looked up at Wicker. “I mean that is really childish right?” Wicker could only grin as he chuckled slowly. Right out of the mouth of foals as it were.
“Yes my son it is, but they have their reasons as well,” says Wicker. “Remember you and I were born into this civilization. For us, it is all we know, but your mom and Mandrake—“Wicker trailed off as his eyes closed, searching in his mind for the best way to explain this to a young colt “—they grew up in a different world, and had to watch it collapse around them.”
Hemlock perked up at that his eyes wide as he digested his father’s words. “R-really?”
“Yes, your mom and Mandrake watched everything they knew, their entire civilization fall, and then they had to build everything anew.” Wicker adjusted his stance on the hammock as he prepared to continue.
“They had to do many distasteful things to survive Hem, to protect their people.” Wicker looked away from his son, the memories of his own horrific actions stabbing into his heart. “We all have.” He had stopped crying over the memories a long time ago, but that didn’t mean the urge to cry had ever truly left him. “One way we rationalize it, is by justifying our actions by our nature.”
“Why?”was the prince’s innocent reply. It was amazing how such a simple statement could make Wicker seize up with tension.
“Because, otherwise my son...all you are left with is nightmares and guilt,” grunted his father dejectedly.
Below him Hemlock could feel his father’s conflicting emotions through their bond, the hive link stronger with their close proximity. He could feel darkness and sadness and guilt mingling together in a ball of angst and worry. His father was hurting and he couldn’t understand why.
Wicker however, was ready to continue on his own as he breathed deep before starting. “It shames Mandrake and your mother about what they have done, and so they cling to our nature to excuse their guilt away.”
“Mandrake told me that we should be what we are and there is no shame in that,” stated Hemlock replaying the elder’s words back in his head.
“He’s half right son. You should never be ashamed of what you are, or who you are—“ Wicker nodded while he stroked his hoof across the young princes cheek, “—But that doesn’t mean what you are will be who you are.”
“I don’t understand dad.”
“It means Hemlock that while you are a changeling; you don’t have to let that be your only identity. You are a prince, an alpha...you are more than a mindless ravenous love eater.” Wicker saw he was getting somewhere when he noticed the intense look of concentration on Hem’s face.
Hemlock was indeed lost in thought, his father’s words making sense to him. It was sort of how he liked to jump into mud and be dirty despite his parents always telling him he had to be clean...or how he liked being with Juniper, a changeling who was seen as lesser than him, because she was merely a drone. He may be a prince but that didn’t mean he wasn’t any less a changeling right?
“Neither our biology nor nature defines who we are and what we do; only our choices show our true selves...”continued Wicker proudly. “ Don’t let someone tell you how you must act or behave my son, even here in the hive...individuality is not a curse, it is a gift. Such gifts are to be cherished.”
“Even if it angers those closest to you?” asked Hemlock thinking back to Mandrake and his mother. They could get pretty nasty when they were angry.
“Part of being a king and a mature stallion is standing up for what you believe is right, even if others don’t agree,” finished Wicker.
Hemlock thought on his words for minute before he smiled pushing himself onto Wicker to give him a big hug. “How’d you get so wise dad?” he inquired.
“Just life my son,” Wicker grinned as he hopped off the hammock allowing Hemlock to have the sling all for himself. Gripping the gryphon feathered pillow he brought it under the prince’s head while his magic levitated the knitted leaf blanket up around hemlock’s shoulder. “When you spend a few years being a follower you start to appreciate the idea of self choice.”
A thought flew into Hemlock’s mind as he remembered the sadness and guilt in his father’s mind. “Umm dad?” he began shortly, waiting until he saw his father’s attention focused on him alone. “Have you ever done bad things, like mom and Mandrake?”
The question would have made a younger Wicker just turn away from his son. However, he had grown since then. The changeling captain no longer feared or hid from his past, instead he embraced it. It would always be a part of his life, but only as something to learn from and to better himself.
“I have son yes...and not a day goes by that I don’t regret them.” His gaze remained firm as he stared into the youngsters eyes. “I have done many terrible things, but I have also done some good things, and that is a solace I can fall back on when I need to.”
“What kind of good things” wonder aloud Hemlock tucking himself into the feather pillow while he let the leaf blanket be perfectly content with the warmth it provided him.
“Well if I had to pick my greatest...it would be you,” smiled Wicker, leaning down to kiss Hemlock on the forehead.
“Goodnight son,” he whispered into his ears.
Hemlock pressed his muzzle to his dad’s as he gave him a lick across the cheek.
“Goodnight dad.”
Wicker flicked his horn to turn down the illumination crystals in the walls, the light dimming until it was barely noticeable, darkness permeating the sleeping cubby. Giving a final smile Wicker left Hemlock to his sleep, wondering what his own father would think if he could see him now.
In his bed Hemlock rolled onto his side smiling in his sleep as his dreams were filled with bright colored changelings, chasing one another through the sky...right before jumping into some mud.
