The Truth in Forgery

---2 weeks prior---

Changelings had a truly remarkable ecology. They were on average faster both physically and mentally, stronger, and more charismatic than an average pony. And unlike the lesser species, they needed only a sip of water every few days to survive; along with a small heap of emotional nutrition, of course. Lessers instead needed to kill to gain sustenance. Some more noble lessers could consume one large animal, perhaps a pony or a zebra, and feed off it for weeks. Others, like the ponies themselves, killed constantly, tearing life from the ground, or ripping it from trees, and masticated it while it was still living. Carrots didn't talk much, but they grew; they must be alive. A horrifying species, ponies, even if they did so to far lower-order organisms than even themselves. And in their wake, they left strong and powerful emotions.

Emotions were real, tangible physical forces of the world. They could effect magic, were given off by all living things, and were edible to plenty of upper-level organisms, from even far distances. Even as far away as the hive, the changelings could feel the emotions writhing through them a year ago from that land known as Equestria. Hate was not a good emotion. The windigos, respected even by the Queen, seemed to enjoy the taste, and gained a way to consume it even when it wasn't directed at them, but to the changelings it was like eating diet stale bread. But so much of it appeared, hating all life and even existence in general, that they ate it anyways, or else would have drowned in it. It took only two days... Well, "nights" would be more appropriate, for the suffocating emotive feed to be washed away with the tart filling sweetness of friendship, even if only for the briefest moment.

---Present day---

'I would even be willing to kill for a taste of pity at this point, even if it is comparable to saltwater.' A lone changeling thought as it trekked through an empty dirt road in an empty forest. There weren't even any animals to feed from their primitive fight-or-flight instincts. What sort of forest had no animals? Were they quarantined somewhere far away, or was it merely bad luck that none passed his sharp gaze? It had been days since his last meal, and though a river ran nearby, the lack of food was making him dizzy and weak. His wings had long decided to stop flapping, the hummingbird-speed appendages needing far too much energy to consider anything but walking. His chitinous body clacked with each step, every misstep, every missed pothole causing the plates to click together painfully, errors he never would have made were he hale and fed. He would have taken the form of a pony, their solid, non-segmented legs and softer hooves would make the trek easier, but he had only ever seen pictures of them, and in only maybe one textbook, and his memory was failing him of even their general image at this point.

It was really turning out to be a terrible idea. Why did he ever think to do it?

---2 weeks prior---

That wave of hate and friendship a year back was what inspired the Queen to look into a new land. One ripe with strong emotions, of all kinds. Scouts were sent out, examining, probing, testing, tasting. It was a rich, fertile land, full of active and thinking life. The drones impersonated loved ones of the ponies, consuming the care and compassion, and keeping the feeling of love in their hearts and minds. When at risk of discovery, they would come back to the queen, and empathically transfer the feeling of love to her that they had experienced. Love was absolutely, intoxicatingly, mind-numbingly, deliciously, awe-inspiringly amazing. The changelings still had taste buds, to better emulate lesser species during impersonation, an evolutionary throwback, but nothing had a taste as good as love. And it was for the Queen alone. So much of it, too. She grew powerful from it, far more powerful than before, and though they ate not as well as the most plentiful in their history, the hive still had seemingly perpetually reliable and steady food, unlike ever before. They began to thrive.

But with less miserable population came more varied viewpoints. Certainly they shared an empathic link with the hive, but each had their own personality as well. Historically, non-team-players died. Their lot in life was as an example to others. But now, even they could gain some nutrition with minimal effort from this overtrusting but aggressive nation of Equestria. Some of the more negative ones began to murmur as the Queen laid out her plans to overthrow a duo of beings that controlled the skies themselves. More and more deviant behavior began to exhibit itself. One very off clutchmate, "Mirror" if he remembered correctly, took to watching the transformation chrysalises, over serving the hive. Deviant and disturbing behavior, she even would talk to them during that very private and personal journey. Others, like a wingless defect gained the attention of the Queen and though even their magic was subpar, got special attention. High warriors Flim and Flam just up and left the hive, never to return. One of the oldest-planted drones in the area noted they came by her village she was feeding from, but the Queen did nothing about it, so consumed she was about getting a perfect plan for her "perfect day". The plan would bring pain and subjugation to the ponies, ruining the food sources. But he couldn't speak against it, the groupthink and peer-pressure were powerful, and he was a courtier class, one of many mates of the Queen, his solidarity kept the hive moving.

But what was the future here? Keep smiling, keep mating, keep feeding, and watch the hive crumble around him, and maybe take him with it...

Or go? The Queen was obsessed. She had not punished the lesser drones for parting. But he couldn't go, he was a true changeling. He was full. Strong. Complete. He wasn't defective. Not like all those others. Several thoughts brushed against his mind, so deeply immersed in his own mind that he had not given out any empathic signal for some time that he was still present. Concern, confusion, curiosity, and... Fear? Fear. The courtier sent back a feeling of cold aloofness, the only emotion he could muster enough of to mask his true thoughts. His stomach turned, and not just because fear wasn't a particularly nice-smelling emotion. The old hive wouldn't have even thought once to check on him. Everyone just did their part. Everyone KNEW they would just do their part. Now? He hadn't laid with his Queen in months, the drones shared some emotion with the courtiers before handing it to her as she cloistered herself to keep them from starving, despite the food some went hungry as She did not share Her portion, and each week one or two more drones simply never came back, though no one noticed because there were always more drones. Well, someone did notice. The end was coming. Maybe not today, maybe not this month, but soon. Something snapped in his mind. He intercepted the neared emotion-laden drone coming into the hive.

"Mimic, Her Majesty Chrysalis is deep in planning. She will need more sustenance than you offer. Relinquish it to me, and head back to gain more, I shall deliver this." The drone nodded and infused the courtier with love and hope, the receiver nearly doubling over at the filling sensation within him. The drone Mimic quickly left to gain more. And unseen behind him, a minute later after finding his hooves, fresh love powering well-practiced magics, a larger invisibility-coated changeling followed.

---Present Day---

The mere memory of that hit of love made him quiver, then made his stomach growl in protest. To make it worse, he seemed to be walking at a pretty steep incline recently, the extra effort to climb upwards tiring him even faster. Things weren't looking good, then he walked straight into a wall with a thud.

"Owwww..." He complained, but sudden hope flared from within him, its fire burning away even hunger to allow him clear thought. A wall meant life. Unless these were ruins. But it was at practically the top of a mountain, looking back the way he came. Somepony would be living there, they must. Mustering the last bits of his energy, he flapped his bug-like wings, bringing them to a solid hum, and not so much flew rather than vaulted over the wall, landing hard with a resounding and crackling crunch against a grassy floor coated in loose branches.

At the same time, an unknown deep voice yelled something at his direction. Normally, even the most sedentary changeling would tune into that as a very dangerous threat, but with the yell came anger, and suspicion. Raw potatoes, and ghost peppers, to use a similar taste. Completely unpalatable, painful even to consume (for suspicion usually meant to retreat as quickly as possible), but most importantly, at least in theory edible. And starved as he was, instead of running or hiding, he fed.

It lasted only a second. A second of life-gaining painful torture, searing right through his chitin to hit the core of his soft insides, before the owner of the voice came into view. Armor. That was rarely ever a good sign. Clearly this was not the best spot to stop for a snack. The clarity of this sentiment became all the more acute when four more armored ponies came into view. His sight was strong, being of the superior race, but even they would see him clearly within the next few seconds.

His mind spasmed. Hundreds of possibilities fell through it, half his own, half from the hive sensing strong turmoil. They ranged from useless to impossible, and he could not even take the form of a pony. He hadn't a good image of one in his mind before this very instant, they were unknowns to him, conceptual things learned from the drones. And he couldn't take the guards' own form, not with a combat troupe right in front of him. Empathic hints from the hive wouldn't help, and he knew instinctively that hostility would be the immediate outcome of their meeting. One voice, not his own, rang into his head, clear like a glass bell. The Queen. The only one to give words and abstract thought along their kin connection. His worry reached even her in the cascade of replies. Her thought was simple, wasting no time, as was proper for the Queen. An image, of an unarmored pony. He clutched it without a second thought and shifted faster than ever he had before.

Five guardponies advanced on the intruder. He was half-sitting, a light purple coated stallion of a somewhat slight frame. Two of the guards were pegasi, three unicorns. Their suspicion slammed into him like a tidal wave of capsaicin. 'But I followed the image my Queen gave perfectly!' The guards didn't seem to agree with his frantic thought, each one examining him from rust-red tail, to lilac body, to horn on the tip of his head. He couldn't see much from his position, but looking up, the horn looked quite like the ones in front of him. While the changeling tried to figure it out, one white unicorn lowered his horn towards the intruder, and two more horns and two spears joined it. This seeming lead unicorn, with electric blue hair, bore in closer and spoke in a deep but deceptively casual tone. The changeling noted a coat of arms as this leader's "cutie mark", something ponies gained to show their station, a workaround for their lack of empathic bonding if he remembered the texts right. Clearly a guardpony, then, of some sort, and speaking to him.

"It would be great if you could tell us your name, your purpose here in the Royal Canterlot Gardens all alone, and what in the hay you're supposed to be."

The disguised changeling flinched, and fluttered his wings instinctively. 'Wait...' Were it not for the tense situation, he would have facehoofed right there. He may not remember much from the books, but basics were basics. 'Unicorns don't have wings.' His interrogator continued, not a party to his personal life-changing realization.

"You seem a bit short to be an alicorn. Trust me, I'd know." This for some reason merited chuckles from one of the other guards, "I'm friendly right now but I'm late for a playdate with my marefriend, so explain here now or explain in the dungeons tomorrow."

The transformed changeling took measure of the spears and horns pointing at him, the well-kept garden that should have been obviously regal in hindsight, and at the almost hostile mocking cackle coming from his Queen at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was a suitable revenge for his leaving, karmic justice to repay an embarrassment with an embarrassment, but those thoughts were relegated to the "to be reviewed as hindsight" category. There was a much more important fact at hand: 'I can't believe I fell for it.' He sighed deeply and cursed quietly to himself at making light of so many others making critical mistakes. 'Oh Chrys, I'm defective too!'