Thorax let out a hiss of a yawn. He stretched out his limbs one by one, as he always did when he woke up from a good night's sleep in his soft bed. Only now his bed didn't feel so soft. Now it felt hard and rocky. Like he was back in the Hive.
He jumped, and instantly regretted getting up so fast, with the awkward weight of his antlers throwing him off balance.
What the... antlers?
He reached up to feel them. Yup, he had antlers, or something similar. They didn't branch out like antlers, but they had the same hard, smooth texture. And as if that wasn't strange enough, he now had growths on his neck that looked like pearls or diamonds. He was taller than he remembered, too, and decidedly more colourful. His neck and limbs had turned yellow at the edges, moving to a more reddish shade as they neared his now red-rimmed blue carapace and green torso. All in all, he wasn't sure he liked it very much. He tried turning into his old shape, that of a simple changeling infiltrator, about a head shorter than his current form and sporting holes in his limbs.
As he shifted back, noting the vague sense of other-ness that old black form now held, the memories came pouring back in. He shook his head to clear it from his post-shapeshifting amnesia, like a phantom pain from an amputated identity. Yes, he was back in the Hive. That comfy bed he had in the Crystal Empire, his little room underground, near the dungeons, was empty now. He'd asked to be placed there himself, preferring to be sheltered and underground, so as not to disturb the locals too much. Today was Thursday, board game night for the Fifth Regiment. Thorax would have to decline the invitation now, and every day from now on.
Yes, yesterday had happened, and he'd caused quite the ruckus.
He'd ascended thanks to the friendships he'd made, and in doing so he had to abandon said friendships in favour of duty.
Still, thinking on it, things were looking up for Thorax: no more having to beg for love, no more getting told how useless he was, no more getting made fun of for his lack of violent tendencies, he was King now. He nodded to no one in particular and took a deep breath. Stretching out one last time to make sure everything worked, and admiring his new gossamer wings for just long enough, he went out to greet the new day with a spring in his step.
The Hive was in disarray, but that was to be expected, and his fellow changelings were already trying to mend it, buzzing this way and that, shouting orders at one another.
Busy as bees.
A group of workers, five changelings trying to patch up a hole that, unlike most holes in the Hive, wasn't meant to be there, turned to face him.
For a second, he hesitated. The old feelings of inadequacy, the frustrated groans of his superiors, everything about his old life still haunted him. He had half a mind to pack up and move back the Crystal Empire right then and there. Then the changelings did something very unusual: they smiled and nodded in greeting.
Guess things are different when you're King.
He bade his recently changed subjects a good day as he passed them by, as expected of a proper monarch, and strode confidently into the throne room.
The throne room where he'd ascended to his new form by vomiting out excess love, as opposed to the regular love his subjects used to vomit out for the Hive.
The throne room where the throne had been destroyed, making it less of a throne room and more of a regular room.
The throne room where the walls had been destroyed, making it less of a room and more of a balcony, really.
He looked around idly. His first royal decree would be to find a new name for this place. No matter, he could work all that out with his subjects. By now, the change in colour and distinct reduction in the number of cavities in their anatomy would have settled in, and the shock of it all would have subsided, along with any memory loss.
Thorax still didn't understand how it happened, all things considered. One moment, he was a normal changeling, about to smitten by his Queen for treachery, the next he'd purged himself, and become this new... thing-ling, more resembling a colourful deer beetle than the black menace his kind used to be. Mere moments later, the whole Hive had followed his lead.
He wondered if they were happy now. Doubtful, considering changelings weren't used to happiness, as Thorax could attest to. The organs responsible for even registering happiness as a concept were atrophied, and would take some time to become functional again.
Still, he'd done it, so could they. He was ready for his first day as King.
The throne room had taken the brunt of the explosion, and as such there were a few dozen changelings flitting about aimlessly. He smiled when he saw all the colours: reds, blues, oranges. He hadn't noticed it before, but some of them even lacked horns, or had the same pearly growths on their necks, or had some fancy horn shape. It would make it so much easier to tell everyone apart.
They were individuals now, and it was thanks to him, he realised.
"All hail the King!" one changeling called out.
He chuckled. "Oh, really, there's no need-"
"All hail King Coleopter!"
"Wait, what?"
Looking where the Black Throne used to stand, Thorax found not a throng of his adoring subjects, but a colourful 'ling like himself being waited on by smaller 'lings. Getting closer, he realised this other changeling was bigger than him, too, unlike most of the Hive, who stood a head smaller than him.
Coleopter. One of Chrysalis's finest specialist infiltrators, as well as one of her better fighters. Usually those two functions didn't mix, but when an infiltrator specialised in replacing sports stars and managed to feed on the admiration of dozens of fooled fans, the results could be terrifying. This was doubly true if the sports in question were violent ones, which they usually were, in Coleopter's case. As a regular changeling, he'd been a burly beetle type with a penchant for using the holes in his legs as hooks. His carapace was rounder, too, more of a hard shield than the soft leathery forms his less athletic kinslings sported.
He'd gotten even bigger through the change. Thorax had assumed he'd be the only one with antlers, but Coleopter more than compensated with a double horn, clearly modelled after a rhinoceros beetle. It made Thorax wonder if that design was intentional or not, and how one would even be able to tell. "What is going on here?"
"We're just getting our new King ready for his first day of work," one changeling replied. "Will you be wearing regal purple robes or gold, my liege?"
Coleopter shrugged. "Eh, purple is fine. Just chew on some grapes before you spit out the fabric and it's all good."
"Hold on a second," Thorax objected. "Since when are you King of this Hive?"
"Since this morning," the black and blue brute replied.
All the smaller changelings in the room nodded.
"But I'm supposed to be King!" Thorax shouted.
"Really?"
"I didn't vote for you," one of Coleopter's supporters blurted out.
Not-King Thorax groaned. "Well, of course not, that's the whole point of a King! You don't vote for them."
The throng of supporters chittered among themselves, before another one spoke up. "That seems kind of silly, seeing as we just got rid of a Queen. Don't you think we should get a choice in who rules over us?"
"Well, yes, but..."
Coleopter smiled. "There you go, then. The Hive picks me. You are excused, Thorax. You can go back to whining in the nursery with the rest of the babies."
Thorax gritted his teeth. Coleopter always had been a bully. It came with the territory, really: he'd been replacing little jocks since he was old enough to steal lunch money. Thorax felt his body shake, but he couldn't just stand down, not now, not after everything that had happened. "But, but... you can't do this! I'm the one who freed the Hive!"
Coleopter's ears flicked in annoyance. "Yes, and how did you do that, exactly? By puking out love? Because we have a few unchanged infiltrators who've tried that, and it's not working."
A webful of black and holed changelings came into the room, attracted by the noise, no doubt. Here, much to his dismay, Maybe-King Thorax had to concede the point. "Okay, I don't know how it happened, exactly, but it worked for the rest of you. I'm the one responsible for that."
"I agree. Which is why I'm giving you a royal decree to go to the nursery. You know, to take care of the babies who now have to figure out how to spend their entire lives on empty stomachs. You're responsible for... whatever this magic is that lets you live without needing to feed on love. Teach it to the babies, I'll take care of the regular food, and we're good to go."
"I can't just teach babies how to do it, all I did was live in the Crystal Empire and eject the love I got from there."
Coleopter shrugged. "We'll just have to get some crystals, then. Royal secretary, make a note that we're installing crystals."
Thorax didn't know the names of many changelings, mostly because a majority didn't have names in the first place, but the secretary was another one he remembered: Secretary Libel, a thin-limbed creature with big eyes and a set of lenses grown over his face that made it look like he was wearing a permanent set of safety goggles. The change had been kind to him, it seemed, leaving his body a faded shade of blue that was decidedly less offensive than the pastels most of his kind had been saddled with. Libel had served as the Hive's memory before, taking charge of the stolen archives underground.
Thorax felt his hearts sink. They still had stolen goods in their Hive. Oh, that was going to take some explaining. As if that wasn’t enough to worry about, he'd hoped Libel would side with him. Libel was, after all, that rarest and most dangerous of creatures: a clever changeling. Apparently the smart thing to do was to side with the bigger 'ling. Couldn't blame the guy, really.
"I shall remind you next Tuesday, Your Highness," Libel said.
Coleopter smiled, then tapped his chin. "Which day is Tuesday, again?"
"The second one."
"Perfect. Now, then, Thorax, if you don't mind, I have a kingdom to run."
The crowd of changelings ignored Thorax. He let out a curt huff and thrust his chest forward in defiance. "No."
"What?"
"No. I am King, the throne is mine by right."
"He's right, Thorax should be King!" One of the changelings in the back shouted.
Thorax smiled. At least some of the Hive liked him.
"Why?" another voice asked.
"I don't know, a Princess said so!"
Not quite the praise he'd hoped for, but he was drawing a blank for any better arguments himself.
Coleopter shook his head. "Look, it's simple maths: I'm bigger than you, so I should be King."
"We're shapeshifters! Size doesn't exactly factor into these things!" Thorax protested.
Behind him, the growing swarm of supporters murmured and nodded. Whispers of "Good point" and "Well said" came through, along with the occasional "He always was good at whining" and “He does have food, right?”
"It does now. The King says so," one of Coleopter's supporters offered.
Thorax growled. "No, I don't, and I am King, so it's not a factor."
Coleopter snickered. "Why? Because you accidentally beat the last Queen? With help from foreigners, I might add?"
Thorax looked behind him. No one supporting him objected to the argument. "Yes. And because Princess Celestia said so. The ponies expect me to rule. They know me."
Coleopter groaned. "A foreign ruler can't tell us who's King, you idiot. What do you think we are, Belgians?"
Libel rolled his eyes. "Well, there's our lovely trenches, our infrastructure's impossible to navigate if you're not a native, and we do have some odd communication issues... I think the only thing we're really missing is waffles at this point."
"Yes, Secretary Libel, we're all aware of the joke, thank you, no need to spell it out." Coleopter got off what remained of the Black Throne and strode towards the usurper. "You honestly think you have what it takes to be King?"
Thorax clenched his jaw. "Yes."
"Please, you know that's not true. All you do is whine and whinge about how bad life is for you. That's it, that's all you're good for. Your sole purpose in life is to find someone who's just as whiney and whingey as you, someone who gets showered with attention they don't deserve, and to take their place. A changeling like that can't be King."
Thorax shivered, but he didn't buckle. It was all true, of course, Thorax had indeed only ever been assigned one role, that of a whiner. He remembered trapping little rich foals and calves, or tricking them into running away from home so he could harvest the love that was so undeservedly lavished upon the little brats. It was a foul way of collecting love, but it got the job done. And much like Coleopter, Thorax was stuck in a role, he had to admit. Or rather, he had been. "That's not who I am, Coleopter, not anymore. I've changed. And I'm not backing down."
"Oh, come off it. You're bluffing, or lying to yourself, and you know it. You've never done anything on your own that was worth doing, you never make a smart decision, I'm willing to bet you couldn't even make friends with ponies without having to make them feel sorry for you. So why should you be King, huh?"
Thorax closed his eyes. He tried to think of a reason, a good reason. He wanted there to be a reason, so desperately, but none came. He wasn't the strongest changeling, he wasn't the smartest one, he wasn't the best at anything. He had no business laying claim to the title. "I'll fight you for it."
"Wha..." Coleopter's ears perked. It took him a good two seconds to fully realise what Thorax was suggesting. "Are you sick in the head or something? I'll crush you in one blow. I'm stronger than you. Anyone can see it."
Thorax looked him up and down. "Maybe. But in case you hadn't noticed, things have changed. What if I am stronger than you, and you just can't see it?"
"Take him down, King Thorax!" One changeling yelled.
"Squash him, King Coleopter!" Another replied.
More cries erupted as the two stood face to face, glaring at each other. The crowd started buzzing their wings in an infernal din. The roar of "Fight! Fight! Fight!" echoed through the battered stronghold.
"Quiet!"
Deathly silence fell.
"Now look here, you two." Libel stepped in between them. "I'm all for settling the matter of leadership the old-fashioned way, but we can't afford this. Our Hive is in shambles, we've lost our main defence with the Throne in pieces, and we have no idea of how our magic works now or how we're going to adapt. So we are not going to get caught up in a fight that'll only weaken us more."
"What do you suggest, then?" Coleopter asked.
"Well, we've made enough enemies to warrant a strong leader, which, begging your pardon, you are not, Thorax."
Coleopter smirked.
"However, Thorax still has a point." Libel turned to Coleopter. "He, more than any of us, knows how ponies live, how they share their love, how they organise their lives. And as much as you want to belittle him for being a whiner, that experience taught him how the higher classes live, how the ruling class is expected to act. If we are to survive, we will need a King who knows these things."
"Why don't we let the Hive decide?" Thorax asked.
The secretary shook his head. "A vote? In a changeling Hive? We'd have a civil war before lunch, and an uncivil one around dinnertime. Besides, not everyone is accounted for yet, so it wouldn't be a fair vote. No, one of you needs to cede your claim, openly, and the other needs to make sure no questions are raised."
"Why don't you rule?" Coleopter asked. "You're the smartest changeling we have."
Libel chuckled. "I would gladly lead. But then I'll be needing someone to take over moving our stolen archives. Or returning them, as the situation demands. Not to mention sealing the ones that are leaking."
Coleopter sighed. "Yeah, we can't spare you, then, unfortunately."
"Unless you want to risk those Caneighdian grimoires opening up again, now that the Black Throne isn't holding back that magic," Libel said with a shudder. "The last thing this place needs is another flood of maple syrup."
"Right, so Libel is on containment. Then it's between you and me. Unless anyone else wants to get their say in?" Thorax asked.
Coleopter looked around and, as far as Thorax could guess, looked pleased to find no one else felt suicidal enough to challenge the brute. "Doesn't look there's any more volunteers. Okay, you heard him: withdraw your claim."
"No, you withdraw your claim," Thorax replied. "I have a legitimate right to it."
"Someone else gave you permission to call yourself King. We didn't."
Libel grumbled. "Right. War it is, then?"
Another changeling, a bright green one with red eyes, came fluttering in. "Excuse me? Is this a bad time?"
"No," Coleopter said. "No, it's a perfect time. What news of the outside world?"
The scout fidgeted with its front paws. "Umm, the outside world is... making its way in."
"Say what?"
The little 'ling pointed out the giant hole in the room. "There's an army marching on the plains. They say they want revenge for what we did to their kind."
"You're going to have to be little more specific than that," Libel remarked. "Which nation is it? The zebras, the elephants?"
All at once, the ground began to shake, and the echoes of war cries filled the air.
Coleopter cringed. Thorax felt a chill run up his spine, and the rest of the changelings shrank in fear. Everyone in the Hive knew those cries all too well, even after so many years.
Libel sighed. "Sounds like they've finally decided to finish the job."
"Who's coming?" A tiny changeling asked, one whose wings hadn't fully developed yet.
"A savage tribe that tried to wipe us out before we got the Throne installed," Libel replied. "You're too young to remember."
Thorax gulped. That high-pitched, savage 'boloolooloo' scream that left naught but dust and blood in its wake, was as iconic as it was terrifying. Only one creature, one fiendish terror born of the infernal pits made that kind of sound.
"Turkeys."
Coleopter beheld the horde in front of him as it ran to the edges of their lair. They were fierce. They were many. They were foulest of the fowl.
They were turkeys: a heavy, imposing bird known to have such unbridled greed and gluttony coursing through their veins that the very skies cast them out and condemned them to life on the ground. Of course, other races blamed that lack of flight on the turkey habit of stuffing themselves with various yams and berries, but most turkeys blamed the skies and, if the subject were to come up in conversation, resorted to more food to cope with the tragic loss.
Their leader stood snarling in front of the Hive, where the changelings had taken the high ground. "Galooloolooloo! Changelings! We have come to enact vengeance for your crimes! Where is your liege, that we may harvest his head!"
"I'll go," Thorax said.
"Why bother? They'll just kill you," Coleopter said. "We should organise a surprise attack."
"Would that even work?" Libel asked.
"They're flightless, remember? We get five infiltrators and a dozen spitters to burrow under them, get the leader pinned. Once he's gone, we can swoop down with a meteor shower attack and wipe them out. We've got the numbers, easy peasy."
"Sounds like a plan," Libel said.
"Sure, until the next army shows up, with more firepower," Thorax remarked. "You can do what you want. Princess Celestia made me King. They'll accept my head."
Libel rolled his eyes. "Very funny. You sit this one out, me and Coleopter can-wait, where did he go?"
"He went down to face them," Coleopter replied.
Libel turned around to check all the changelings present. "But he's alone. We didn't put any ambushers down there, did we?"
"No."
"Did he set anything up?"
"He doesn't have the authority for that. Or the sense."
Libel shook his head, looking back and forth to Thorax, then Coleopter, then the rest of the Hive. Coleopter saw it, but he didn't believe it either: Thorax was going down, no one else made a move. Everyone just stood there, no one really knew what was going on. "But, but... they're going to kill him," Libel stammered. "He knows they're going to kill him. They're here specifically to kill him, they just said so. Does he have any new powers now?"
Coleopter groaned. "No, pretty sure he doesn't. Guess he really was sick in the head."
Thorax landed right in front of the leader of the flock: a monster of a rooster with a blood red fleshy bulb draped over his snout, and a glare in his yellow eyes that would put a cockatrice to shame. Then again, given how genetics worked with ponies, Thorax figured this turkey probably had a cockatrice in his ancestry anyhow. The thing stood stably on thin legs that sprouted from plump, muscular thighs, and the feathers were clearly well-maintained.
"Blooloolooloo!" The thing cried out, shaking its head and making the waddles on its snout jiggle in what Thorax presumed was supposed to be a menacing fashion. "So you are King Thorax, then?"
Even with the army in front of him, Thorax had the presence of mind to note that this guy knew his name. That would mean someone sent the turkeys communications, which would mean they knew other nations. If they had some inkling of other nations, there might still be a chance for diplomacy. "Yes. That's me. And you are?"
"I am Glalabaloo the Clean, King of the Free Nation of Turkeys."
"You're called 'the Clean'?"
He wiped his chest and chuckled like a proud peacock. "Blood is hard to wash out of our feathers; it's quite a chore to keep a title such as mine for long."
"Ah. And what is it you want with our Hive?"
The turkey shrugged. "To settle the score, of course, one King to another, in accordance with our traditions. Bring forth the Broadaxe of Retribution!"
Thorax gulped when one of the turkeys dragged the thing to the King. The blade was at least one wing wide on each side, by 'ling standards, and the handle was long enough to fit comfortably in the turkey King's grip. "Now, then, I shall expect a clean and honourable fight from you. You are permitted to use weapons according to our custom, of course, and after you're gone, my roosters will raze your Hive to the ground and my hens will see what we'll be keeping from you. You will not be enslaved, though, and we will not be taking prisoners. We are still a civilised race, you see."
"That's a relief. Um, we don't have weapons here, though."
"Pity. I'd let you borrow one of ours, but..." he pointed to Thorax's limbs. "Well, our technology isn't adapted to your kind, tragically. Unless you wish to adopt a more favourable form."
"That's fine, I'll go unarmed."
"Dying with honour, then. I like that. Scribe, make a note of that. Scribe? Kortenek?" He turned back.
A secretary bird came waddling in between them. He was shorter than his turkey friends, but longer in the legs, and more slender all over. He didn't have the same savage air about him, either, looking more like an intellectual with his black head feathers combed back, and his eyes focused on his papers. "Ready for your orders, Sire."
"Ah, good. If you'd be so kind, the changeling King here has opted to fight unarmed. Let it be known he wishes to die with honour."
The secretary bird quickly started scribbling something. "Dying... with... honour. Splendid choice, Sire. Any preference on the method of disposal? Burial, cremation? We found some wonderful incenses in the dragon nest we raided last week, very broad range of aromas, perfect for a memorial."
Thorax chuckled nervously. At least he wouldn't leave a mess. "Err, do I get to appeal this fight at all?"
"Naturally," Glalabaloo said, "though I don't think you have much chance to do so."
"You said there were traditions you're respecting? Which ones? Any rules to the fight?"
The scribe flipped through his documents. "The Geneighva Convention stipulates that the rules of war are to be maintained for all races who signed the treaty. We fight by turkey rules, though amended with some of the international code. Leaders fight one on one, last one standing wins."
"As I said, we are a civilised race, after all," said Glalabaloo. "Now, about the disposal of your remains?"
Thorax held up a hoof. "Hold on. You signed a treaty? You're not just raiding? Then what gives you the right to attack us?"
"Right of retribution," came the reply. "You attacked our cities, infiltrated our realm with the intent of sabotage."
Thorax grumbled. There wasn't much room for objection to that. He didn't have any options, except...
Maybe he could whine his way out of it? If he blamed it all on Chrysalis, if he could just make the turkeys understand how hard things were for changelings, he could get out of it.
And he'd be proving Coleopter right.
No. I can't get out from under this. If I want to be King, I have to take responsibility.
"Alright, then." Thorax took a deep breath through his mouth, only noticing now he didn't have any nostrils. Strange how he never noticed these things. Oh well, no sense in adding any now. "What other rules are there to the fight? Is magic allowed?"
"Oh, I'll allow it, and encourage it, even." Glalabaloo grinned, grabbed his axe in both wings and readied for a swing. "I haven't had a good magic duel since that lich came down from Yakyakistan."
The scribe groaned. "Really, Sire, you're not going to repeat that incident, are you?"
"That'll all depend on how sturdy his neck is and if I happen to be swinging downwind. Besides, there's no nurseries around for miles, is there?"
"No, Sire, but let it be on the record that I still advise against this fight."
"Fine, Kortenek, write it down, you spoilsport. Now, can we get started, please?"
The turkeys started pounding the ground and chanting their "Loolooloo!" battle cry.
"Just one thing," Thorax said. "What if I want my Hive to remain unharmed? Is there any rule I can use for that?"
Glalabaloo raised an eyebrow. "Hmm? Oh, you could get out of being killed, but then your Hive would become my property and… well, there’s only so much I can do with real estate like this, if you catch my drift. Are you surrendering to me, King of changelings?"
"No. I'll never surrender, not for nothing. The Hive is mine, I'm protecting it. If you want my head, if that'll settle it, then... that's fine. But if you intend to harm my Hive, I will fight you, until I am dead." Thorax lowered his body, readying his horn. "And beyond that, if I must."
"Oh, this is going to be a repeat of the lich thing," the scribe said, shaking his head.
"But I don't want to fight if I don't have to," Thorax continued. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."
"You should have thought of that before you went after the ponies."
Thorax saw his life flash before his eyes. Fortunately, most of that was pretty boring, so it didn't take long before he managed to react to the axe swing. The blow hit thin air, and Thorax idly wondered if he was even in any danger, against such a large and clumsy opponent.
He quickly thought the better of it. The turkey was bottom heavy, sure, and swinging a large weapon, but he was also quick on the recovery. Thorax managed to duck under the second swing and sidestep the follow-through, a vertical hack that made the ground quake.
He had to fly up to stay far enough away, but he didn’t want to risk looking like he’d abandoned the fight. Besides that, he wanted to stay within earshot of the turkeys. "Ponies? You mean the wedding thing?"
"Don't waste your breath trying to reason with me, you know what I'm talking about. The failed coup that forced your Queen to retreat and left you on her accursed throne! Now die, insect!"
Another swing easily dodged, and Thorax saw his opportunity. "Hold on, we didn't organise the coup against the ponies."
"Galoolooloo!" The turkey sped up and let the momentum of his swings carry him forward. Every hack and cut that hit thin air made his motions harder to predict, and every attack landed closer and closer. Thorax felt the air getting cut, no doubt some magic on the axe. He counted his blessings the thing didn't have a ranged attack, but at the rate this was going it wouldn't matter. The axe started moving on its own, it seemed, the massive bird going into a war dance that cleaved and hacked all around him, filling the air with a whistling sound.
Great. He's a walking blender, probably in a berserker rage and everything. I can't reason with him like this, if he can even hear me. I should have listened to Libel and- that's it!
"Kortenek, was it? Scribe! What is it you know about the coup, exactly?" Thorax darted away from the turkey, buzzing his wings to create some distance.
"Well, we got word of your victims, who else?"
"The ponies sent you?" Thorax managed to ask before getting the tip of his horn clipped by that axe. He ducked too late. Pain washed over him. Spots appeared in his vision. He faltered.
"You're quick as a gnat, I'll give you that much. A pony would have fallen by now," Glalabaloo said as Thorax stumbled back. "But you are too soft, and neglect your counter attacks. I'll make sure history remembers your efforts, as ill-advised as they may have been."
The titan turkey swept up with his massive axe and, as much as Thorax wondered how it was even possible, rode the upward momentum into a great leap to wind up a groundsplitter strike.
No flight. He can't dodge in the air.
Thorax spat at the turkey King and made himself scarce. His guess proved correct, as the axe blow caused a fissure in the ground that almost reached the Hive walls.
If we'd tried to tunnel under that, we'd be goners.
Glalabaloo did not care one bit about the green goop he now found himself in. "Ah! Finally something noteworthy for the record. Scribe?"
"On it, Sire." The secretary bird scribbled down some more notes. "Shall we call this 'sneaky' or 'valliant'?"
"I'm feeling charitable, let's call it valliant, but in vain." With a full spin, he broke out of the slime prison Thorax had cast in a hurry.
"Wait, Scribe, I have to ask: who told you about the coup, specifically?"
The bird shrugged. "The Crystal Empire, of course; they're closest to us. There had been a failed coup on the pony princesses, the message said. In the chaos that followed, Chrysalis was dethroned and you were made steward to her throne. So, as you can imagine, given that we are staunch defenders and allies to ponies, we're taking the liberty of disposing of any and all threats to them, and to ourselves."
The penny finally dropped. "Well, then, this is all a big misunderstanding. I mean, the coup did happen, but I was helping the ponies. The ponies didn't beat Chrysalis, technically, I did. Or, well, I guess we did. We kicked her out." Thorax thought for a second. "Chrysalis tried to coup the ponies, we ended up coup-ing her, basically."
Glalabaloo chuckled. "Gloo? And I'm supposed to believe your word over an official communication from the Crystal Empire?"
The scribe reluctantly nodded, before rolling his eyes. "To be fair, Sire, the Crystal ponies do have trouble communicating in writing. They were gone for a thousand years, after all, they weren't around for most of the changes in common parlance. Their runic script is fine, of course, but their syntax is simply atrocious."
Glalabaloo snorted. "So you're not a steward of Chrysalis's throne, then? You're a backstabbing traitor and a usurper?"
Thorax gulped. "Well, when you put it like that... yes, I guess I am. Though I want it on record the stabbing didn't happen in the back. She tried to kill me, in front of the whole Hive. I defended myself, and she fell because of it. Then the rest rallied behind me. If you want to settle the score by taking out whoever sits on the throne now, fine. That's me, and only me. But the others have nothing to do with this."
The turkey grumbled and muttered, and the mob behind him gobbled and shrugged. When the exchange was done, Glalabaloo leaned in to speak with his scribe. "Scribe, what does the Geneighva convention say about individuals such as these?"
"Let me find the papers, sire... ah, yes, I believe this changeling now qualifies err... King Chest, was it?"
"Thorax, yes."
"I'd get that changed if I were you; it is a silly name. But yes, Thorax is, under Turkey law and in accordance with the Geneighva Convention, considered a, umm, 'benevolent usurper to a foreign throne.'"
King Glalabaloo scratched his head for a good ten seconds. "What, like Neighpoleon?"
"Give or take a few razed cities and a wedding cake, yes."
"But Neighpoleon was an ally. At least to us."
"Indeed, sire. So is King Thorax, I'm afraid. Until further notice, at least. And if you'll pardon my saying so, I told you we should have waited for word from Canterlot. The Crystal ponies are going to get someone killed with their archaic correspondence one of these days. I mean, really, is it that hard to switch from runic to glyphic?"
Now it was the King's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes, I know, Kortenek, you're the smart one, for pity's sake. Oh, well, we've come all this way, we might as well make the most of it. A peace treaty it is, then, to be sealed as our ancestors did it! Stow away the Broadaxe of Retribution!"
The turkey mob cried out in triumph “Peace! Peace! Peace!”
Thorax breathed a sigh of relief.
Then the King raised his wings and called out "Bring forth the Meat Tenderiser of Peace!"
"Uh oh."
Everything hurt. The turkeys had smashed his body with their meat tenderiser in some bizarre ritual that Thorax could only guess was meant to cement peace by letting him know what would happen if he broke it. Either that, or they simply assumed he would break it eventually and preferred to cut to the chase of breaking him first.
His right arm clicked every time he moved it. His wings were dented. He couldn't quite open his left eye, and his face felt swollen, but that was going down now. He didn't bother trying to use any healing magic to speed up his recovery.
There wasn't any point.
A noise to his right disturbed his pondering. "Coleopter, Libel," he greeted.
"How are you feeling?" Coleopter asked.
"About as painful as I look. They pounded me black and blue. I'm starting to wish we didn't get rid of the black coats. At least with those holes in our bodies, there was less to hurt."
Libel nodded, then prodded the larger changeling.
Coleopter reluctantly took the hint. "Look, about the whole King thing..."
"You were right," Thorax interrupted.
"What?"
Thorax rolled over to stare at the ceiling. "You were right, and you still are, about everything. I'm good for nothing. I can't lead, I can't follow. I couldn't even manage a peace treaty without getting pounded into the ground. I almost got everyone killed, for the second time in two days."
"That you did," Libel said. "And yet here we are."
"I should go." Thorax got up with a cracking in his joints and a groan. "All I can do is whine. I'll be back when I have something to give to the Hive."
"Then stay," Coleopter said.
"Why?"
"You're right: you are good for nothing. But you do have something to give for the Hive."
"What's that?"
Coleopter let his head hang in defeat. "Your life. I wouldn't have done what you did, Libel wouldn't have. No changeling would pick a fight they can't win, not unless they're told to, and no one told you to do it, but you still did it. Queen Chrysalis wouldn't have considered putting her life on the line for us. I mean, why would she? We're not worth that. She never thought we were worth that. But if you think we are, and if you really want to make that kind of sacrifice, for us, then... I respect that. We respect that."
"But I don't have any power. I'm weak."
Libel nodded. "Yes, that's a fair point. But consider for a moment: the ponies are led by a pair of sisters who move the Sun and Moon, and look at how often they get attacked. We had them in our dungeon just yesterday, if you recall. The Crystal Empire was once the greatest nation on this continent, and then it got wiped off the map, literally. Raw power doesn't seem to be all that useful in the hands of a leader, not for the other nations, not for us."
"That doesn't make it okay," Thorax argued. "We should be led by someone who can keep us safe."
"No, we should be led by someone willing to lead, and wanting nothing for himself. If we are going to play the game of politics, you should be the one to do it. You may not be the best at it, but you are the only one who can be trusted with it," Libel said.
"Besides," Coleopter remarked. "You used to whine about it yourself: no one cares about you. No one will miss you if you get killed on the job. And there's no bigger target than a changeling King, except maybe a Queen. If you do it, no one else will have to."
Thorax was at a loss for words. "You really want me to be King? You voted and everything?"
Coleopter nodded. "We didn't vote exactly, but me and the other fighters agree: anyone who'll risk their lives to preserve ours deserves our loyalty. It's not much, but at least we know what we're getting with you. And, umm, I will be staying in charge of any actual fighting, if you don’t mind."
"Of course."
"And I have spoken to our spies," Libel chimed in. "They feel that, given the trends we've seen in other leaders, we're better off under you than under, umm, any normal changeling, really. Or a foreigner, Heavens forbid."
"And the others? All of our infiltrators?"
"You weren't out for long, but we did get a few returns in the meantime. Some remain unaccounted for, but we are recalling them, as discreetly as we can. And the ones still present here, well, they haven't quite gotten the hang of thinking for themselves yet, but they recognise you as the best course for self-preservation. Though we will need to address the issue of our female population soon."
Thorax furrowed his brow. "We have females? Like, more than just the Queen?"
"I know, I was as surprised as you."
"Huh. Well, umm thanks. I promise I'll do my best. And... I'll try to stop whining. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."
"Good, then, my liege," Coleopter joked. "Our soldiers are awaiting your command. We have patrols on our outer borders, and the scouts have patched up the outposts that collapsed when the Throne exploded. That leaves our former away parties for reconstruction. What are we building first?"
Thorax thought long and hard. "As much as I hate to say it, we're still too weak to an attack. So first thing to do is to put the Black Throne back together. It should still react to our magic, and assuming the pieces didn't fly too far, we can set up a new perimeter. Once we have that, we can start thinking about how we want our Hive to look from now on."
"As you say, King Thorax."
Thorax sighed quietly as Coleopter left. King Thorax. He was officially King, again. He never thought royalty came with so much pain.
Once Coleopter was out of earshot, Libel took a sheet of paper from under his wing along with a pen. "So what is the plan?"
Thorax shrugged. "I just said so. Black Throne first, then we look into helping whatever changelings still depend on outside love."
"I don't mean that. I mean what is going to happen to us now? We can't just sit here forever."
"No. We'll need food, and trade. We can probably get some of the smarter changelings to become actors or something. It's not like we don't have the looks for it."
"And then what? Build a bigger Hive, in a more defensible land?"
Thorax stared at his fellow changeling then. Only now did it dawn on him what he was up against, what task he truly had before him. "You... you really don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
Smartest changeling in the Hive, and he doesn't realise. "Nice things. That's what's next. Hot water, pretty paintings, beds that don't come with complimentary termites."
That got a smile out of Libel. "Ah, so it's back to stealing, then, excellent. I'll go tell the infiltrators."
"No! I don't want to steal things, you don't-" Thorax rubbed a throbbing bruise on his head, trying to gather up his thoughts. "You don't understand what I'm saying. I don't want us to take nice things anymore, I want our kind to have nice things, of our own. Haven't you ever been outside the Hive?"
"Plenty of times."
"Then you must know what it's like out there. The Crystal Ponies have these beautiful halls and sculptures that they made. The Equestrian ponies have orchards that they planted."
"Hmm..." Libel rubbed his chin. "I think I see your point."
"Finally."
"We'll need pickaxes, shovels, and a good teleportation spell. How deep are the roots of those trees? Will we be taking their water supply, or are we digging for our own?"
Thorax slapped himself. "We are not stealing trees, Libel. I don't want us to steal anything. I want us to have things. Do you understand the difference?"
"I suppose. What would you have us... have, then?"
"I don't know. But I do know that we can't get nice things by stealing. We have to get our own things, our own culture, our own thing that's just ours. Just one thing, so when they ask what changelings are known for, it's something good. There's always been something we wanted from the other races, but now we need our own thing. Something the other nations would want from us, and that we can share. The best place to start that kind of thing is growing food. Trees, shrubs, potatoes... cactuses for all I care! We set up shop in the desert, but there must be something you can grow here that's not completely terrible."
"Given that we grow here, it's not entirely unthinkable. I'll put that under 'long-term plans,' then." Libel flipped a page and marked another item. "Next on the agenda, we've received some more messages from other nations. The cats and parrots have sent their regards, the pandas are sending an envoy that should be here in a few hours, but I was hoping you'd be up for meeting the Caneighdian deer first. They didn't mention anything about their grimoires, and as secretary I don't think it'd be a good idea to tell them anything."
Thorax groaned. "Yeah, they've probably forgotten we took those in the first place. Okay, I'll meet them first, I just need to cover up all these bruises first."
"Nonono, keep them on. It'll help."
"What?"
"They're sending their Minister of Environmental Affairs, you see. You look perfect to meet her as is."
"I don't get it."
"Well... we've changed, haven't we?" He gestured to himself. "This whole thing is, as far as anyone knows, unprecedented."
"So?"
"So, my, err... my King, as of yesterday we are, technically, a new species. And given your current state, it shouldn't be too hard to act like we're nearly extinct, right? We may not be able to get our own nice things right now, but that doesn't mean we can't accept any gifts, does it? Especially considering what we might learn from it?"
Thorax groaned. So this was what it was going to be like. At every turn, he'd have to correct his fellow changelings. No stealing, no cajoling, just standing on their own four feet.
Then again... "I guess we could accept a jacuzzi, if they're offering."
The End
Author's Note
Major disclaimer: I tend to bingewatch new Seasons, so at the time of writing I had no idea what had been going with Thorax canonically. I knew there was an episode coming up that would deal with this question or something, so I tried to get this done early. Pharynx was, needless to say, a fun revelation for me.
Coleopter is based on the beetle family, Libel is both a media term and the Dutch word for 'dragonfly.' I have seen this word translated literally as 'drakenvlieg,' in a mainstream TV show. This is disgraceful. But I digress. The capitalisation of royal titles is something I prefer to do in fantasy settings, because it implies a title involving magic, like Archmage. If it's not capitalised, then it'd only refer to the leadership position, and not impart any responsibilities regarding duelling and such. Secretary birds are a separate species, for those who don't know, if you've ever seen Bedknobs and Broomsticks you'll know which bird is the secretary bird. Kortenek is pronounced like the Dutch 'short neck,' and is taken from a famous novel from Flanders.
Other than that, most of it is straightforward. I don't like what I've seen of Thorax so far, I find him too whiney for comfort, but it's something I can work with, at least. I wanted to make his whingey self tolerable, and likeable. Give him something to redeem himself with, and something that makes sense. Just a short oneshot based off a conversation in one of the groups. Not entirely happy with how many 'neigh' puns there are in it, but on short notice, couldn't think of more diverse ones. Will keep that in mind for future works.
1/9/2017: edited some little bits of text for clarity. Not much, but big differences in context, I think.
24/8/2020: more editing, minor style tweaks, mostly establishing POV's more consistently throughout the scenes.
