A Dragon's Journey

Chapters

All Aboard
Manehattan and Beyond
Through the Sea to Distant Shores
From East to West and Back Again
A Spreignish Rose
Garden Fever
Packing and Trekking
A Captive Audience
Rage and Reward
Sounds of Music and Future
A Familiar Face in an Unfamiliar Place
Sojourn
Palatial Party
New and Old Problems
An Oasis of Thought and Action
Blood on the Sand
Four's Company
Information and the River
Upstream Conversation
On the Homefront
Of Letters and Friendships
Letters of a Safari
Set Sail
A Well-Deserved Honeymoon Interlude
The Games We Play
The Coming Storm
A Lull in the Storm
Full-Blown Gale
Arabian Arrival
Heartbreaker, Matchmaker
Getting to Know You
Meeting the Sword
A Harsh Truth and a Harsher Lesson
A Promising Compromise
Ma'a Salama
Homefront Again
Center of Learning
Along the River
It Hits the Fan
Many Revelations, Many Plans
A Breach in Protocol
Prison Break
Guilt
A Warning of Danger
Ghosts of the Past
Bonding
A Thief in the Night
For the Greater Good
A Kingly Gift
Across the Way
A First for a Dragon
Cordial Invitation
A Different Kind of Court
Fists of Fury
A Promise for the Future
Once More, A Peaceful Departure
Heating Up
The Host, the War, and the Night
Scald and Soothe
These Complications
Under Watchful Eyes
The Court of Conquerors
Prelude to a Journey
Ballroom Blitz and a Special Night
Ruins and Dangerous Company
Carriage Reflections
The Council of the Rus
Turmoil both Internal and External

All Aboard

Chapter Two

All Aboard

Suitable to say, the Mane Six were shocked by Spike’s revelation. Well, shocked may be an understatement, judging from their immediate reactions. Rarity had fainted dead away upon the news that Spike was royalty, while the ever-excitable Pinkie had literally almost exploded when Spike said he was leaving and wanted a going-away party. Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash wished him the best of luck, though Fluttershy seemed a bit awed and jealous by the number of things he had to do and see, including all the wildlife he would undoubtedly encounter. Applejack also wished him the best of luck, though she was concerned about how he was traveling, and so far from home as well. He had been very helpful on the farm when Big Mac had been sick the year before and she didn't like to see so helpful a dragon leave. it was hard pulling the plow by herself and even with Applebloom's help, it was a tiring chore more so than it would seem.

Twilight was not only the most shocked by his revelations, but was stunned by his so-called "royal duty", as he had put it. Well of course she would be stunned: to suddenly be royalty and have to marry so soon, especially before her, likely made the mare feel a bit overwhelmed. “So you have to find at least three mares to be your brides in this time, and if given the chance you’ll be taking more than that?” she had asked him several times over. She had especially focused on the "more than three" aspect the princesses had left so delightfully vague. "Genetically speaking, Equestria could use some new blood, but why in the name the princesses would they choose you to go, Spike? Is this some sort of test?" Still, Spike wasn't going to explain that part any more than he was going to try and explain the reasoning behind the decision-making of the princesses.

“Yes, Twilight, I must take on at least three wives” Spike said with a tone of exasperation, ignoring the test quip. It was always about tests with he, it seemed. “The princesses believed it was time for me to do this, and they seem to have the utmost confidence in me. This journey is not just for me, but for the betterment of all of Equestria. You of all ponies should know just how much weight that can carry.” Never mind that this trip could take years if he was unlucky enough, and at least they didn't send him when he was old enough to have pseudo aches and pains, even though he'd outlive many of his friends.

Twilight finally seemed a bit more relaxed, or at least "settled down" when the party finally began, but she refused to leave Spike’s side the whole time. Frankly, it was a bit embarrassing: it was like she was the over-protective older sister and he was just a baby dragon again. “Just make sure you’ll be in contact with us all the time,” she told him several times during the night. "I don't want to wake up one morning and find you've been hurt or worse." Seriously, she would not let the topic slide, not even for a minute: it was aggravating to say the least, but at least she showed she cared, if a bit too much.

“Yes, Twilight, I’ll keep in contact with the princesses and you,” Spike said for the final time shortly before they all went to bed. Still, his sleep was anything but restful, as his body had changed so much from when he was younger; he was still discovering just what he could do. Not that any of the others were any help, least of all Twilight. He loved them all, but sometimes he thought they were just clueless: why, he had no idea. Maybe being one of the bearers of the Elements of Harmony wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Then again, they had stressful lives, more-so than most ponies: cutting them some slack would probably do them some good.

So it was with a still groggy mind that he left early the next morning, giving his friends one last wave of goodbye from the train platform. Of course they had offered to help him pack and said he shouldn't leave without more supplies, but the princesses had been clear on all he needed, and had suitably prepared him for what lied ahead. Applejack was a bit unhappy she couldn't shove any pies or fritters in his pack, but she got over it when some ponies at the station offered to buy them from her. He took one long last look out at Canterlot and Ponyville far below it: he would not return for what seemed like an age. Soon enough he rounded a corner and lost sight of the magnificent castle and the fields below it. Settling into his seat, he watched as the scenery flew by the window, alone in his compartment, with only his pack and few supplies to keep him company. He debated what to do, but he realized he couldn't start writing any sort of a journal now: he had barely left home. Later, when he was suitably farther than most ponies had ever gone, would he begin his travel log.

Quietly he began musing over the things the others had wanted him to do in his spare time all over the world. Rainbow Dash had wanted pictures of old military stuff, like helmets and armor: as to why, she remained a bit cryptic, stating it was a hobby of hers. Fluttershy had wanted descriptions and pictures of various sorts of exotic creatures, though it had taken nearly all day for her to ask Spike for this favor. Applejack had asked for any new kinds of apples and their seeds, so she could expand Sweet Apple Acres with new products. Pinkie had simply asked for balloon designs from exotic places: when asked why, she simply said she wanted to make "super fantastic parties even better!" Rarity had been perhaps the most challenging: designs of any kind from around the world and any fabrics he came across. Spike could already tell she would not be satisfied unless he brought back a metric ton of the stuff, and even then that might not be enough. Twilight had been last, and hers was simple: in addition to keeping in contact with them, he'd bring back any manuscripts, texts or descriptions of spells he happened to find on his way across the world. "For studying purposes", she had said, but Spike secretly believed she wanted to expand the Royal Canterlot Library so much it would include a wing designated by herself. So hours passed as he sat alone and did nothing, partly out of boredom and partly because he was so wrapped in thought.

That was, until a voice spoke at the open door. It wasn't that of the trolley mare, who had passed by awhile back with some delicious sweets: it was somepony else.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken? All of the other cabins are full.”

Spike looked up to see a light-blue unicorn standing there with a pack of her own, her white mane falling to her shoulders. Her white skirt and blouse complimented her fur nicely, but the earrings seemed a bit tacky: too showy for one such as herself. She seemed awfully familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe she was related to someone down in Ponyville or back in Canterlot? There were always relatives from around Equestria visiting families in these parts.

“No,” Spike said, moving his legs so the unicorn could sit down. Placing her pack next to the window, she looked out at the scenery, and then at Spike.

“So where are you headed?” she asked in a casual manner, taking off her gloves and placing them in her pack. They were the kind that fit tightly on one's hands, and judging from her polished red fingernails, she only wore them when she moved around, so as not to damage or weather the gloss.

“Manehattan for now, then to Equineland, and then off across the world,” Spike said, still trying to figure out where he had seen this unicorn before. "Part of a mission by the princesses for me to do this. I'm Spike, by the way." They shook hands, with Spike noticing how smooth hers felt.

The unicorn’s eyes widened at this as her hand dropped. “You’re going around the world?” she asked, grinning at the thought of seeing so much. “Sounds like quite an adventure, handsome. You must really be in the good graces of the rulers of Equestria to be provided with such an opportunity.”

Spike nodded, feeling she didn’t need to know about the whole “finding-wives” bit, or the royal attachments. That could prove most awkward, and from her slightly shifting body language, that wasn't a good thing to say. “Yes, I’m sure it will be quite something indeed,” Spike said, glancing at the clock. “So tell me about yourself: I told you about what I'm off to do, after all.”

The unicorn blushed slightly: whether out of embarrassment or something else, he didn't know. “Well, I’m in the entertainment business, you might say,” she said. “A performer of sorts, traveling from place to place, performing all sorts of tricks for ponies. I've been doing for some time, but only within the last few years has it proven a rather successful venture. Getting booked for performances now is like a dream come true: ponies flock to the stage to see me. Its rather flattering, to be honest.”

As she continued, Spike’s eyes casually roamed over her figure. She was shorter than he, with curves in all the right places. Nothing too large or small: average, if not ever-so-slightly above. Overall, very attractive for one who had no rings on a finger: single, perhaps? Wait, how had his mind progressed to this train of thought? Maybe Celestia’s talk of brides was spurring some sort of mental maturity? He knew dragons progressed differently in life than other creatures, both mentally and physically: all it needed was a trigger.

Spike came back to the conversation, just as the unicorn finished a question. “Mmm, sorry, could you repeat that?” he asked. "I was lost in thought."

“Are you seeing anyone, mister?” she asked, her eyes also going over his body. Wow, it seemed they were experiencing the same trains of thought. It must be Spike’s magnetism: all the mares had crooned over him as a baby, so now they crooned over him as an adult: different kind, of course.

“No, not currently,” Spike replied, thankful the princesses had taught him manners of the more... personal degree. Nothing hands-on, of course, but all the essentials had been covered: had they been preparing him for things like this without him even noticing? They were sly indeed: no wonder none of her subjects thought about a different form of government. The princesses were too good and cared for their kingdom with so much whole-hearted enthusiasm that simply nopony ever dreamed of a different kind of leadership. “Are you?”

“Not currently,” she replied, leaning a bit closer. “My career doesn’t often permit long-lasting relationships, and more often than not stallions don’t feel like traveling all over the country with me. Most can't handle the stress of never staying in once place too long, or leaving friends and family behind. I don't blame them: it is a rather difficult life to get used to." She was silent for a moment. "At the risk of seeming to forward, I must say you are a most handsome dragon indeed.” Well, he was likely the only dragon she had seen, but a compliment was still a compliment.

Spike felt his temperature, well, spike, to say the least. Quick: he had to say something, preferably charming. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he replied, watching as her horn glowed. To him it sounded rather corny, but it must have done the trick: perhaps this whole “relationship building” thing wasn’t as difficult as he had imagined. Within a second, the door locked and drapes were drawn, leaving them in the soft light of the outside setting sun.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not looking for a solid relationship right now anyway,” she said, leaning closer. “I’m just looking for a good lay, and frankly, mister dragon, you’d fill the bill nicely.” Her lips were oh so close, her eyes becoming lidded with lust. This was it: they were entering the danger zone.

“I’m would be glad to help you, miss,” Spike said, his voice an octave lower than before. He had passed the threshold through which there was no foreseeable return. “In any way I can.”

And then she struck, pouncing on Spike while smashing her lips down onto his. It was sudden, unexpected, and really, really... hot.

Spike fell backwards in his seat, his arms naturally reaching up to grab the unicorn so as to stabilize themselves. One hand found the middle of her lower back, while the other gripped a rather firm ass cheek. She moaned delightfully into his mouth as their tongues danced and battled for supremacy. Spike was a virgin: of that he was completely sure. This was his first kiss, for crying out loud, but he had learned well under his teachers and from all the books he had read. His free time had consisted of manners and etiquette, both in public and in a more... private manner. As such, when the unicorn came up for air, she was gasping in a delighted manner.

“You kiss... really well,” she panted, pushing some of her white mane out of her eyes.

“I must be a natural,” Spike said with a grin, his hand giving her buttocks another light squeeze. Her hands flashed up to his chest, undoing the buttons along his shirt at a somewhat frantic pace.

“More,” she said, giving him another deep kiss. “I need more. You've become like a drug, and right now, I'm hooked.” Spike’s hand on her lower back began to undo the zipper of her blouse. Yes, a zipper on a blouse: thankfully it wasn't clasps, or he'd have been there all day.

“Then I’ll give you more, so as to satisfy your cravings,” he muttered back through her mouth as their tongues danced with one another’s. All the while she pulled at his shirt, he could feel something starting to grow down below.

The unicorn’s other hand had made its way to his belted pants while the other pulled off his shirt. Feeling over the area most private to him, she let out a small gasp. “Umm,” she said, breaking off the kiss. “Just... how big are you?” She sounded almost... afraid.

“Big enough to please you, but I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle,” Spike said, pulling her close as her blouse opened up completely in the back. Suddenly, to his surprise, her horn glowed. With a burst of her magic, the unicorn’s clothes disappeared entirely, as did Spike’s.

“I’m too horny, and frankly not patient enough, to keep up this game,” she said, a devilish grin washing over her face. “I’m going to- oh!”

Her words and her grin were cut off by... something rising up between the pair. “Is that... is that your...?” the unicorn was unable to speak, her eyes going wide at the sight of Spike’s second tail.

Well, that’s how any mare would describe it, after all. It was massive, and rather intimidating, to say the least. Spike, being a virgin up to this point, had no idea just how truly different dragon anatomy was from the average stallion. Whereas an average stallion might have a five or six inch penis, and a big one like Big Macintosh might be around eight or so inches, Spike’s was at least ten glorious inches. Knobby and ridged in texture but not overly so, it was the same color as he was: purple. The girth, however, was unlike that of a normal stallion’s: the whole thing was thick to the point of looking painful to even try.

“... wow,” the unicorn said, reaching down slowly with an expression of awe on her face. Spike had a good inkling he was large, judging from her reaction, so he did what all the books had told him to do. Reaching up to her bosom, he removed the hand from her lower back and placed it on one breast, while taking the other one’s nipple in his mouth. Erogenous zones had been finely detailed in some of his private books, but experiencing them firsthand beat any kind of self-tutoring. The nipples were soft and felt tender to his touch, and the pelt covering her breasts was like a fine pillow casing.

The unicorn let out a sudden squeal, soft but more than loud enough to get the point cross: well done, Spike. Spike himself grunted in response to her hand partially wrapping itself around his shaft: nobody had ever done that to him before. She slowly pumped him up and down, her delicate hands maintaining a not-too-delicate grip on him.

“Spike,” she said, her breath fleeting as they continued to fondle one another. “Are you a virgin?" She sounded almost embarrassed to ask, as if his obvious charm had been used to do this before.

"Yes," Spike replied without an ounce of dishonesty. "This is my first time." He didn't ask her to be gentle: why, he didn't know. Maybe it was some subconscious alpha male persona telling him to keep up appearances. Maybe part of him just wanted to rut her senseless.

The blue mare didn't say anything for a while, only grinding into him more and more. "Please," she whispered after what felt like five minutes. "Spike, please."

“Please what?” Spike asked, switching to the other nipple as both hands went down to squeeze the light blue unicorn’s ass cheeks. The wings on his back rustled slightly: luckily for him, they were the complete opposite of fragile and could only feel what others would call great pain. Other than that, they could handle anything normal he threw at them.

“Please!” she moaned, grinding against him: if her tone was any indication, she had not gotten any good sex in a long time. “Put your massive dragon cock inside me!” Ooh, dirty talk: such a turn-on when said right. He could feel her getting wetter from this relatively tame form of foreplay, but he wanted this, and he could tell without a doubt she did too.

Raising her up over his skyward-facing shaft with his powerful arms, he slowly lowered her onto it, her tight confines gripping him as he went in. “Ooh, ooh,” she moaned, her voice growing louder with every passing inch. “So big! So... good! Gah!”

Spike drew in a sharp breathe: this was simply amazing! She squeezed him from all directions, it seemed, and she was softer than he could have dreamed. Her juices coated his member, giving him extra lubrication of a natural kind: the best kind.

Finally, after seeming like an hour of agonizingly slow penetration, the unicorn swallowed up his whole shaft in her private confines. They both sat there, simply breathing and taking in this new feeling. The blue unicorn had never been filled like this before, and Spike had never experienced something like this. Her body continued to produce copious amounts of fluid to lubricate the massive thing inside her.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, Spike began to pump the blue mare up and down his aching shaft, feeling an all-too-early release beginning to build. He had to finish her off quick, or else he’d be incredibly embarrassed for finishing so soon. Even for his first time, he wanted to feel like his partner had been done before he was.

“Oh my!” the mare said, breathing quickly as Spike pumped her up and down on his shaft. He was strong: she had to give him that. But this was too slow, even for her. Placing her hands on his chest, she raised herself against his grip and slammed down on him, causing her entire body to shake. In Spike’s surprised face, at any rate, her bosom swayed enticingly in front of him.

Then she did it again, and again, and again, until she had a fast and strong rhythm built up. Spike gave up trying to push her onto him, so instead he grabbed breasts and administered to them, tweaking the nipples while he suckled on and off. If they had been on a bed, it would have been squeaking with the force of their love-making. But seeing as how the train was rocking with or without their help, all they did was make thumping noises.

The unicorn started gasping faster just as Spike felt himself losing control. With a great squeal of satisfaction and completion, the mare leaned back and gave a few hard downward thrusts, clamping down of Spike’s member with surprising force. That sent him over the edge, and with his shaft buried deep within her, he let loose his torrent of dragon seed, like a dam bursting forth.

They sat there for a few moments, Spike in awe of what he had just done, and the unicorn feeling so full and content. Every pulse, every spurt of dragon seed seemed to be amplified by her constricting marehood. Then, the blue mare slumped over onto Spike’s chest, breathing heavily as her lower half twitched from the sheer pleasure of their fornication.

“That... was... heavenly,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I should take the train more often.”

“As should I,” Spike replied, locking lips with her as he pulled her up towards him a bit more. As they lay there, covered in sweat and other bodily fluids, the unicorn gave a small squeak.

“Is it... is it possible?” she asked, looking down between them. Spike was no longer a virgin, but he was still young. His shaft began to harden once more between the pair, looking ready for another round.

“Again?” Spike asked, the hint of a devious smile gracing his face.

The unicorn smiled and pushed herself upwards off of his chest. “You’re on, stud. Only this time,” she said, getting onto all fours and presenting her backside to him: “take me hard and fast.”

Spike drew up onto his knees, a wide smile on his face. “With pleasure, milady,” he said, lining himself up with her glistening marehood. One deep thrust was all it took for the blue unicorn to nearly scream in ecstasy. Grabbing her waist, Spike pounded into her, his shaft sliding easily into her glistening nether region. The ridge now rubbed up against her, making her feel weak simply from the feelings of pleasure coursing through her body. He could hear her breasts swing up and clap together, and in time with the clapping of his washboard abs against her pleasant rump. That cpled with her moans and soft whinnies, made him all the harder inside of her.

They continued for hours, switching positions and locations in the cabin several times before both were absolutely spent. By the time they were, though, the mare’s womb was almost overflowing with the young dragon’s seed: her belly was even slightly swollen at the sheer amount pumped into her. In her mind she knew she’d have to remove it with magic soon enough: she wasn’t in heat, but it paid to be careful.

“Tell me,” Spike said with a yawn as they settled down to sleep at last. “What’s your name? I never asked.” It wouldn’t do good for his reputation, if she told anyone, that he was a humper and a dumper. He wanted to know just who he was with was all.

The blue unicorn was silent for a moment. “Trixie,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing happily. Her soft snores soon filled the room, which her magic had thankfully locked before their romp.

Spike’s eyes widened slightly at the revelation, but he was too tired to care that he already knew her from long ago. Snuggling up next to her, he too soon fell asleep, his natural body heat keeping them both warm for the night.

Trixie

Author's Note

One lemon down... untold numbers to go. Only the second one I've ever written, too. Well, practice makes perfect, I suppose.

Manehattan and Beyond

Chapter Three

Manehattan and Beyond

Of all the nights Spike had spent away from home, this had been by far the best ever. Still, his sleep had been almost as good as his... time with Trixie. Still, there was always more to come, it seemed. Spike awoke the next morning to a rather pleasurable feeling building somewhere below his waistline. Truth be told, he hadn't really ever woken up to such pleasurable feelings, so this one was somewhat of a first for him. It was as though he had never stopped having sex from the night before, and that blue unicorn mare was still grinding on him.

Oh wait: she was. Opening his eyes, Spike saw Trixie grinding her firm rear end against his morning erection as they lay together, his arms still wrapped protectively around her. He couldn't see her face, but he had a feeling her lips were curved upwards into a sly grin. He still remembered the way she was back when her days of bragging had led her to problems, but now that he was older and she herself was on the right path, he couldn't help but notice her inner beauty. Some could say beauty was only skin deep, but Spike had yet to see anything to back this up: he could see the inner fire within this mare, as he had with all of his friends.

“You woke up before me, didn’t you?” he asked quietly into her ear, his hands reaching up and groping her breasts: they were deliciously firm and perky. He even flicked both of the nipples, which were hard already: didn't take much to get this mare aroused, it seemed.

“Yes indeed,” she moaned, turning her head and catching his tongue in a good-morning kiss. “I know we’re in a hurry, but are you up for a quickie? We've only got about twenty minutes before we arrive at the station. I know we've only met, but-,”

She gasped as he pushed all the way inside her, her words dying in her throat. “Then let’s hurry,” Spike replied, cutting her off and beginning to slowly pump his hips. Soon enough her soft cries filled their cabin, along with Spike's grunts. Pumping into her and squeezing her breasts brought the unicorn to a quicker release than he had thought it would: maybe he had gotten better after only a few trysts.

Twenty minutes later, Spike got off the train with his pack, waving goodbye to Trixie as she went down a different street. Well, waving after he had given her a deep kiss at the train station, that is. She had slipped him her phone number, asking him to call her up whenever he got back to Equestria. Home phone, by the looks of it, but seeing as she traveled all the time, it must be the phone to her mobile house. No, not a mobile home: being a unicorn meant she could actually move around an actual house. She had said something about him visitng her after a show and maybe they could go out and have some fun. That did sound nice, buy he hadn’t the heart to tell her he’d be married by the time he got back: if he got back, that is. There was still a massive world to explore, after all, and he was on a mission to do so.

Following Princess Luna’s instructions, he made his way through the winding streets, the old cobblestone alleys cleaner than he thought they would be. The hardened soles of his feet made almost no noise against the surface, while the hooves of passing ponies made a rather common clopping sound upon the clean stone A big city, after all, usually is described as being rather filthy in many areas. Not so with Manehattan: while there was dirt patches here and there, garbage wasn't exactly lying in the middle of the street.

Still, it paid to watch where you stepped, as some places were designated drop-offs for trash and, well...

“Ugh,” Spike said, pinching his nose as he walked past a recycling plant. New paper was processed there from old paper, and frankly, the smell was borderline criminal, even with the obvious smell-deflecting spells placed all over the airspace. Why they didn't try and use magic to make old paper knew, Spike didn't know. Maybe it had already been tried and failed: not even magic could solve every problem. So he continued to walk, making sure to not breathe as much. Others who passed his way seemed to bhe doing the same thing: a few were even wearing something akin to a gas mask, though how it repelled odors along with gas was beyond Spike's comprehension.

Finally escaping the overpowering odor’s zone without throwing up, Spike found himself looking upon something he had not seen in anything but books: the ocean. More specifically, the Barnlantic Ocean, the ocean across which many ponies and similar creatures came to the lands of Equestria and vice-versa.

However, Spike was doing something radically different from those other ponies. He, first and foremost, was a dragon, not a pony: chalk that up for the first difference. The second difference was that he was not going to Equestria from some distant land: he was going to distant lands from Equestria. So, in order to do so, he needed a reliable mode of transport: namely, a seagoing vessel. One that would fit his needs but not be overly lavish or decorated: this technically wasn’t a cause for royal fanfare and all.

Seagulls called overhead as ships came to and left the harbor. Walking down to the docks and smelling the salty air on the breeze, Spike found what he was looking for. A large frigate-type of ship, complete with sails, masts and all sorts of rigging: carved figure on the front of the ship was none other than a sea-pony. Figures: most ships had such a figure carved onto the front, usually for good luck or as a way to personalize the ship. Ponies of all kinds were climbing aboard, each showing the pass they were required to present in order for safe passage: no stowaways or freeloaders on ships like these. With passages being so long, they could only store so much food aboard and too many mouths meant many would go hungry. Curiously, the hatches were shut all along the ship: either it had no cannons, or they were hidden when in port. Likely the latter, as anyone could throw things into the ship through the hatches and make a grand mess of things.

Rummaging in his pack as he went, Spike found what he was looking for: a slip of magical paper that soon fastened itself to his forearm, the lettering showing up in bright contrast to his darker scales. Celestia herself had enchanted the paper to do this, as normal paper would be too easily lost. Best of all, not only was it painless, but it would change according to the ship or the group he was going to travel with; ingenious, really.

Walking up to the ship’s captain, a rather stout fellow at that, Spike showed his pass to the stallion. Suffice to say the pony was surprised, given the look on his bearded face. Yes, he had a beard: Starswirl of legend wasn't the only pony who could grow one.

“Blimey, if it ain’t the mark o’ Princess Celestia ‘erself,” he said with an oddly thick accent: it was similar to Pip's, if a bit rougher. His arms were thick and furrier than normal and his legs, though short, seemed a bit thicker as well. Well, being stocky would definitely be an advantage on a rocking ship. He made a bowing motion to Spike, sweeping his captain’s hat off his head. “I be the captain, Roan Flankstrom. Welcome aboard the Crowhop, Master...?”

“Just Spike, please,” the young dragon replied, waving off the stallion’s formal greeting. If everyone he met knew he was royalty or what he had to do, he’d be in more trouble than any of this might be worth. Besides, he wouldn't want the captain to think he was some stuck-up snob like that Prince Blueblood, now would he? He let an involuntary shudder run through him at the thought of that pompous unicorn's antics.

“Well, Master Spike, I ‘ope you enjoy your stay with us,” Roan replied with a smile. “The journey to Equineland will take, oh... two or three weeks, weather permittin’. That's of course if we don' experience any problems 'long the way that ain't related to the weather."

"What do you mean not weather related?" Spike asked, a bit perplexed.

"Oh, pirates, sea monsters, the occasional merpony sighting that drives the crew into a wild frenzy... The usual bollocks. Still, the journey'll be two to three weeks at any rate."

Of course the crew would go crazy at the sight of a merpony: even Spike had heard of the legends. Merponies: half dolphin and half pony, with both lungs and oddly, gills, thrown in for good measure. Said to be the most beautiful creatures in the sea, and by far the most snesual, sailors had been known to wreck their ships trying to get to the sirens, even though they never lured them in or anything like that. Many more had wasted their lives trying to find one, for it was told that they easily fell in love with any pony that crossed their fancy: only a few had been reported in history, and there had always been speculation and evidence that they were imagined or exaggerated.

Still, two to three weeks? That sure did seem long, but then again any sort of passage over open water wasn’t exactly as quick as a whistle. Spike had never even been on a large sailing vessel before, but then again, there was a first time for everything. He might as well try and learn from the experience, hopefully while not getting seasick. He had an unfortunate habit of throwing up molten bits of whatever he had eaten last, and by molten, he literally meant molten: when he ate rocks, half the time they could come out like magma when he puked. “Which cabin will I be staying in?” Spike asked, hefting his bags to readjust the weight on his shoulders. Assuming there even were cabins, and he wouldn't be forced to share one large room with all the other passengers, He had been in less accomodating positions before: that noisy train ride to Appeloosa, his little basket back in the library... He could handle it.

“Forty-two E, middle deck,” the stallion replied, checking the notes of two other stallions booking passage: lumber-ponies, from the looks of their tools and clothing. “The best I kin offer, as this ship ‘as seen better days. She's not as young as she used to be, but she's still a good ship. I've been meanin' to get her a new set o' copper plates for the bottom hull to stop those barnacles from growin'." Seems the captain sure did care for his ship, judging by the way he looked over her as he talked. It even sounded like he was talking about a beloved house, the way he mentioned weathering and wood rot.

“Well, it should be more than enough: I packed light,” Spike said, giving the captain a small bow of thanks. Following a few more ponies up the ramp, he found himself stepping onto the first part of a voyage that held no clue to its possible ending. Making his way past a few crewponies, Spike walked down into what seemed to be a common room. Turning this way and that, following the door numbers, he wound his way down through the large ship’s hull until he reached his room. Opening it, he walked inside and surveyed it. A wooden door, one small window peering outside, a cot and pillow, and a small desk: frankly, it was better than he had expected.

“Time to settle in,” he thought, making to unpack. He hadn't packed much to begin with, as he planned on buying more supplies if he needed them, when he needed them. First he rolled out his clothes, stacking them back in the pack so they wouldn’t get lost or dirty. Then the notebooks and journals from which he would send his letters came next, placed inside the desk’s drawers so they too wouldn’t be damaged by the rocking of the boat. After that, there wasn’t much else to do, so Spike lay down on the cot, content to stay there until something new happened. The ship gently rocked in the harbor, though this only was because the seas were a bit rougher than normal. Otherwise, with the fastenings of the deck ropes to the harbor docks, the ship wouldn’t have moved at all.

There was a shrill whistle from up top, and Spike, being naturally curious, made his way topside to see what the commotion was all about. Climbing up in time to duck underneath some planks being carried by a pair of stallions, he saw the crew begin to pull in the ropes anchoring the ships to the harbor dock. Their bodies heaved as the heavy ropes were pulled aboard and set up in large bundles.

“We’re casting off!” Roan the captain shouted from the middle of the ship, his voice carrying surprisingly far for a pony of his stature. The crew removed the planks leading up to the ship, signifying no more passengers were coming aboard. “All hands to set sail!”

“Well, this is it,” Spike thought, leaning on a railing as the ship’s sails came to life. “To boldly go where no dragon has gone before.” Of course, there were other dragons that had gone to nearby countries, but as far as Spike knew, he was the first to cross the Barnlantic and intend to see much of the known world. The wind in the sails caused the ship to turn away from the docks and move, picking up a good clip for a ship so large. Spike watched as he drew farther and farther from the docks, and then the city, and then the other ships coming into to port. It was all so surreal, to be going so far from home and yet not feeling all that worried. Surprisingly, he didn't feel worried at all: if anything, he was more than a bit excited. The distance soon created an image similar to a painting Spike had once seen: a coastal city, with ships sailing in and out, all the while seabirds fluttered over the white sails.

Behind Spike, a mare walked by curiously absent of any accompanying luggage, save for a small umbrella in her hand and the cloak she was wearing. Her own luggage had already been deposited down below in her cabin, though nobody had really remembered seeing her do so. She looked at Spike from the corner of her eye, so as not to arouse any suspicion. If it had been off anyone could have seen her odd wings, and for her sake the hood thankfully hid the jagged-looking horn protruding from her head.

“There he is,” she thought to herself, settling down on an unoccupied bench on the far side of the ship’s deck. “The heir to the seat of Onyx the Wise, destined co-ruler of Equestria and friend to the bearers of the Elements of Harmony: Spike the dragon.” She tittered to herself: such titles may have been fanciful to more common folk, but she was a queen, and as a queen she had grown distasteful of such trappings, even though they provided useful services from time to time. Her underlings had long since learned to respect her decisions no matter the objective or consequence, as those who did not follow them were often... severely punished.

Queen Chrysalis continued to look over at the dragon, plans forming in her mind. If she could bend him to her will, she would have an invaluable asset within the very core of Equestria’s power structure. Any future invasion or takeover attempt would be infinitely more refined, more subtle, and much, much more likely to succeed. Plus, if he slipped far enough under her spell, he'd fight to keep her safe, even at the sake of his friends and adopted family: deliciously evil one might say. Chrysalis certainly agreed: the look on Celestia's face when her kingdom fell to the Changeling hordes and a mind-controlled dragon would be priceless indeed.

But first and foremost, she had to get close to him: very, very close. Subtly casting a “no-noticing” spell over herself, she went to work on her disguise. It would have to be a more permanent one than the one used for the wedding of Shining Armor and that Princess Cadence, and since his Spike didn’t have a powerful unicorn with him, detection would be much less likely. Still, it paid to be cautious, and being such a young dragon, she should have no trouble curling him around her little finger.

Her height would remain the same: as tall as he was, but the horn would need to be shorter and look like an average unicorn’s, so that was the first part to change. With two small squishing noises, the wings retreated into her back, since an alicorn would be too suspicious and arouse far too many unneeded questions. Her figure, slender and womanly, would still be there, though she trimmed a bit of the weight off her thighs: even she was not immune to vanity. Her fur, black as coal from within the earth, became a shimmering shade of green, like a beautiful emerald. Her mane thus became black as raven's feathers, both to complement her green eyes and to make her seem a tad more exotic, though not overly so. Her breasts, larger than average but not incredibly so, sagged slightly: it made them seem more natural than the extreme perkiness they displayed in her natural form.

There: finished. Now only she or some extremely powerful magic could undo this transformation, and now it was time to put things into motion. Her compartment on that train had been right next to Spike’s and that blue unicorn he had spent the night and the morning with. She had heard everything, including all of the obviously amazing sex: that was at least one avenue she was entirely open to taking advantage of. She hadn't had a good lay in so long that seducing the young dragon would definitely be on her mind. Still, she would need to make it gradual, seem genuine: too quick and it would be a simple fling for him. Too late, and he might have moved onto someone else to marry as his first. Besides, an immediate love spell wouldn’t work on so powerful a creature: the last time a changeling queen had tried this, it had taken every female family member she had to do so.

Yes, she knew about his so-called royal duty: one of her finest changeling spies had been an attendee at the dragon’s going-away party, disguised as some random pony from Ponyville. They had brought back the news as soon as everyone else had gone to sleep, and Chrysalis had slipped aboard the train while Spike was bidding his friends goodbye.

Ugh, his friends, those Mane Six, the Elements of Harmony: always throwing wrenches into one’s plans. Well, Twilight Sparkle, at any rate: finding her former babysitter and getting her to stop the wedding between Chrysalis and Shining Armor. he had been an average stallion, something Chrysalis had not been thoroughly impressed by, and if this Trixie's moans were anything to go by, Spike was anything but ordinary. This new plan would be a most delicious revenge, taking control over her best friend: no, her adopted brother. Then she would destroy Canterlot and all of Equestria from the inside out, and then, only then, would she reveal herself when all hope had been lost. It was the perfect plan, much more so than her earlier one had been.

Silently, she let the “no-noticing” spell slip away, though nobody was even looking in her direction as the ship rocked back and forth. Walking across the ship, she removed her hood and opened her cloak a bit more, letting the crosswind hit her clothes. She had chosen to travel in rather normal clothes: woolen jeans, an undershirt and a light sweatshirt, the kind a relative might buy for a holiday present. Still, she had to admit, she did look good, judging from the occasional glance a few crewmen threw her way.

Chrysalis walked up to Spike’s side, not saying a word as she too leaned on the ship’s wooden railing. “Strange, isn't it? I never thought I’d go anywhere outside of my home town,” she said eventually, loud enough to catch Spike’s attention.

“Where are you from?” Spike asked casually, glancing her way to acknowledge her presence.

“A small town a ways south of Manehatten: Trotten.” She had researched her role carefully, as making up a place was out of the question. She had been able to glean enough information about the place from her changeling spies, so if anypony actually from there met her, she'd be able to tell them all they wanted to know.

“So what brings you out to Equineland?” Spike asked, turning around and leaning backwards on the rail, his posture nonchalant. "It is a rather long haul: surely you're not just going on a whim?"

She did the same move: it was time to place the bait. “I always wanted to see the world outside of Equestria, you know? Go places I’ve only heard about, see things other ponies have only dreamed about.” She let a small, sad smile grace her face. “Too bad this is all I can afford.”

“Afford?” Spike asked, a bit curious. Excellent, he had taken the bait. Now to reel him in...

“Yes, I only have enough bits to pay for passage to Equineland, stay there a while, and then to come back home to my dozens of relatives,” she said, saying “relatives” with a small amount of weariness. “I couldn’t afford to go through Prance and southern Germareny, and I always wanted to visit Saddle Arabia. See the sights, experience the culture, just get away from it all back at home, you know? Still, one must take advantage of one’s opportunities, I suppose.”

Her tone and her story made Spike feel sorry for the mare. She had wanted to go on the very same trip he was now undertaking, but due to financial difficulties, her dreams were far out of her reach. He, on the other hand, was going around the world, with most if not all of his financial difficulties being taken care of by his sovereign's, or technically co-sovereign's magic. If only there was some way he could make her dreams come true...

Wait, there was! Celestia never said he couldn’t take companions with him where he went, and seeing as he wasn’t yet looking for a bride...

“I think I can make your dreams a reality, miss,” Spike said. “I myself am on such a journey as what you speak of, and I was looking for a companion with which to come with me. Would you happen to be interested?”

“You are?” the unicorn asked, turning her face to meet Spike’s, a great big look of surprise lighting up in her eyes. “I mean... You would do that for me?”

“Sure, why not?” Spike asked. “A troubled soul such as yourself deserves to experience her dreams. So, what do you say: partners?” He held out his hand.

Tentatively, she shook it, though her insides were doing the mare-carena at her success. Well, the marecarena and the limbo, to be precise. “I would be glad to accompany you, mister...?”

“Spike, ma’am: Spike the dragon,” he replied.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Spike the dragon,” she said. “You can call me... Meia: Meia Morphos.” She was silent for a second. “My parents had an odd penchant for even odder names.”

“I don’t think it’s odd at all,” Spike said. “Pleased to meet you, Meia.”

So begun the journey across the Barnlantic, with Spike the dragon, destined co-ruler of Equestria, and Meia Morphos, AKA Chrysalis, Queen of the Changelings.

Author's Note

So it begins. Also, for tose of you that are confused by the name, "Trotten" is a pony-fied version of Trenton.

And to those of you out there who are unsure of where this is headed, I assure you: there will be much more character development.

Through the Sea to Distant Shores

Chapter Four

Through the Sea to Distant Shores

The spray of the sea water against his porthole woke Spike up the next day. He had barely fallen asleep the night before, as the rocking of the boat, though comforting, was offset by the noise of the water splashing against the hull. His dreams had simply been a kaleidoscope of his friends, of books, and all sorts of building he had seen in manuscripts.

Rising from his bed with a yawn, Spike scratched his lower back as he dressed himself. Yes, he slept in the nude, though thankfully nobody had barged in on him while he dressed: morning wood was always a pain stuffing in clothes when one was as “gifted” as he was. Thankfully the "swelling" went down quickly when he thought of his task at hand and the journey he was partaking in.

Walking out of his room with a journal and locking the door behind him, the young dragon made his way past other rooms and to a common room of sorts, where ponies could sit and talk from the comfort of being below-deck. It was dark, as the lamps from last night had gone out long ago, but due his draconic heritage Spike had something no ponies had: night vision. To him, the room might have been lit by the brightest of lamps, so he walked around with nary an effort.

Settling himself in a chair with his journal, he opened it to realize he had not brought a quill and ink with him. “No matter,” he thought, remembering his lessons with the princesses. Holding up a finger, Spike gave it a small lick before turning a page. He breathed the smallest bit of flame onto the tip of a talon, the magic in the fire making his finger a veritable writing tool. Cozying up as well as he could in the chair, he began to write.

“The story begins aboard my ship, the Crowhop. There are ponies here of all kinds, from earth ponies to unicorns and pegasi, though they are the rarity among the group. Flying is quite the advantage when traveling, it seems. The captain, a good fellow, seems the journey won’t take more than two to three weeks. Given how far we’ve only come, I’d say we still have a long journey ahead of us.”

He paused for a moment, mulling over some thoughts in his head.

“The majority of the ponies traveling to Equineland seem to be those in search of work, as seen by the lumberponies, miners and a few spare crewman looking for work on another ship. I saw two rather well-dressed unicorns come aboard: merchants, perhaps? I’ll be finding out soon enough, I guess: there’ll be plenty of time to find out who all these ponies are.”

He turned the page.

“I met a rather extraordinary unicorn on board: a Miss Meia Morphos. Black hair, my height, a very pleasant shade of green for her pelt: all in all, rather stunning. She says she was going to Equineland for a vacation/adventure of sorts, but would have to sadly return upon completing it, as she couldn’t afford to see more of world. My heart went out to her, as she seemed most downtrodden at the prospect of having to return home to what I gather is a large and dysfunctional family. I offered her passage as a member of my retinue and she gladly accepted. We’ll see how things go from here on out.”

He signed his name under the writing and closed the journal, just as a few of the crew not assigned topside night watch started milling around. Ad they began lighting the lamps, Spike returned to his quarters, stashed his journal away, and went back outside, remembering to lock his door.

As he approached the communal room, he smelled something delicious wafting through the decks. “Must be breakfast,” he thought, remembering the captain Roan saying everyone was allotted a certain portion so none would go hungry. Given his ancestry, Spike could eat just about anything, including coal, rocks, gems, and to his recent amazement, wood. So as for breakfast, he would see what they had: otherwise he’d eat some refuse they were considering throwing overboard.

Walking through the communal room, he followed his nose to the back of the ship. Passing through a door, he found himself in a mess hall of sorts, complete with what looked like a small kitchen, several tables with benches for seats, and an honest-to-goodness pantry. Walking over to where a burly griffin was cooking something, Spike had a thought. Wouldn’t a wooden ship such as this catch fire if there was a kitchen fire? That was when he noticed something shimmer before him: a flame-extinguishing spell had been placed all around the cooking area.

“Ingenious,” he muttered, walking past as the griffin pulled some things out of a cupboard and unceremoniously tossed them into a boiling pot.

“Sorry, we don’t serve ‘igneous’ here,” the griffin said, turning around to get a look at Spike. “If you’ll be wanting rocks or something like that, talk to the quartermaster: they’ll be labeled under supplies.”

“Oh, I said ingenious,” Spike said politely, noticing the griffin’s tone was simply straight to the point and not brusque. At the non-plussed look, he pointed at the magical field. “Keeping the ship from catching fire should something go wrong in the kitchen: rather practical use of magic.”

“Aye, it be so,” said a voice behind him. Turning around, Spike saw the captain pick up a serving tray of sorts, like out of a school cafeteria. “Standard issue, comes wit’ every ship nowadays: safety protocols and all that stuff.”

“That’s not just an ordinary spell, Mr. Flankstrom,” Spike said, picking up a tray of his own. “That would have to have been cast by an above-average unicorn to encase the area so perfectly.”

“Aye, well, when Ferdinand Maregellan is the one doin’ the castin’, he makes sure not to skimp out on any features,” the captain said, going down a line of foods for the morning brunch. That certainly was strange: it was like a cafeteria was on the insides of a sailing ship. Times had certainly changed from the paleo-pony period: wind power and now steamboats on rivers compared to ancient oars and rows of ponies powering the ship.

“I’m sorry, Ferdinand who?” Spike asked, picking up a grilled hay and cheese sandwich. “I’ve never been to the sea until recently, so you’ll forgive me if my nautical knowledge is a tad low.”

“Aye, no harm done,” Roan replied, finishing up with his food and walking over to a bench, where he and Spike sat across from one another. “I’ll tell ya the condensed version, or we’ll be here ‘till supper. Ferdinand Maregellan was a unicorn born at sea to naval parents, a unicorn and an earth pony. From an early age he knew the signs o’ the weather like the back o’ his horn. For years he sailed with his parents, tellin’ ‘em when felt his horn a-twitchin’: that was the signal for an incomin’ gale. With this ability, he became a natural sea-pony, risin’ through the ranks in a matter o’ years, instead o’ decades. Then, as a captain for the Portucolt Navy, he served several years before serving again wit’ the Equinish Fleet, earning commendations in both. He’s survived four pirate attacks, two mutinies, three hurricanes and ‘as had five ships sink out from underneath him.”

“Quite the legend, I’ll warrant,” Spike said with a hint of awe as he ate.

“Aye, but that when he was young,” Roan continued. “After hittin’ forty, he decided to settle down. Trouble was, a unicorn with talents like his wasn’t just goin’ to step out o’ the spotlight that easy. So he became a craftsman for ship-builders in Equineland, castin’ spells such as the one you noticed. Earns plenty enough to take care o’ himself and his family, too.”

“Did you ever serve under him?” Spike asked, taking another bite of his breakfast sandwich.

“Aye, once or twice: it was long ago, when I was still a cabin-pony aboard a ship o’ his.” Roan didn’t say anything after that, the glazed over look in his eyes telling Spike the salty old sea-pony was reliving memories in his head. Excusing himself after finishing up, he placed his tray in the wash bin and went topside, where he saw the other pony he was looking for.

“So, Meia, have you any thoughts on what you would like to see when we get to Equineland?” Spike asked, sitting down next to her on the bench. It creaked slightly under their combined weight, as all wooden benches were inclined to do, but not by much.

She was silent for a moment. “I did want to see the White Cliffs of Roaner,” she said, looking out over the ocean. “I hear they are a spectacular sight.”

“Then we’ll see them,” Spike said, knowing it wouldn’t be any trouble to go see the cliffs. He wasn’t supposed to stay in Equineland long, but then again he hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was going to do there anyway. Of all the lands across the Barnlantic, Equineland was perhaps the most known to Celestia and Luna, though that was an exception. The only other one that came close was Prance, and it wasn’t exactly known for welcoming foreigners. The king, only recently crowned a few years ago, still had problems with some of the barons who looked out only for themselves. Through his journey there, if Spike could avoid them, then so much the better.

“So what were you planning on doing in Equineland?” Meia asked, snapping Spike out of his reverie.

“Oh, see some sights, pick up some more supplies, magically send back things to my friends,” Spike rattled off aimlessly.

“Magically send them back?” Meia asked, arching an eyebrow. "But you're a dragon..."

“Yes, it would seem impossible for such a creature as myself to do this, given a penchant for my species' fire-breathing capabilities.. However, that is where most ponies would be wrong: a dragon’s breathe can also be used to transport objects across innumerable distances in the blink of an eye,” Spike said. “This way I can keep in contact with my friends and send them some of the things they had asked me about. Of course, I’ll still have to get a camera when we land.”

He glanced over his shoulder, but suddenly seized up. “Get down!” he shouted, grabbing Meia and pulling her to the deck. Before she could say a word of protest or outrage, one of the pulley ropes swung where her head had been, the large metal piece moving at a speed that would have taken her head clean off. They lay there before separating awkwardly, more so on Meia’s part than Spike’s.

“You okay down there?” a voice called from the rigging.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Spike replied, getting up and then helping Meia to her hooves. “You all right?”

The unicorn huffed. “Yeah, I’ll be fine: fine enough to spend the rest of the day below decks,” she said, her tone angry and shocked. She had almost died: almost died. All of her plans would have been for nothing, and her kingdom would have been without its rightful ruler. It would have fallen into chaos, anarchy, as the most powerful of her underlings would have vied for control. Chaos and disorder were not the ways of her people: iron-hoofed rule and a desire to expand were the qualities instilled in the newer generations. All of that would have been undone with her death.

“Well, I agree it would be safer down there,” Spike said, snapping her out of her thoughts as he looked around. The sun was still rising, so maybe going down and chatting with other passengers wasn’t such a bad idea: much safer than staying up above. Clouds dotted the eastern horizon, blurring the line between sea and sky as Spike and Meia went below-decks.

Spike plopped down in a chair, which were surprisingly comfortable, given this was supposed to be a vessel of modest means. He looked over at Meia, who had sat down in one as well, her eyes staring at the floor.

“You okay?” he asked, knowing surviving a near-death experience like she had would take time to recover from.

“Y-Yes,” she said, a bit hesitantly at that. Right now her mind was off somewhere else, torn between anger at herself for not sensing the danger, and part embarrassment that he had saved her life after only knowing her for a day.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spike whispered quietly, as they weren’t exactly sitting very far apart.

“N-No, I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice becoming a bit steadier. “I just need to unwind is all.”

“Your choice,” Spike said, leaning back in the chair. He was not about to press the issue, and frankly, he was at least glad she hadn’t just fallen to pieces after that experience. She was made of tougher stuff than she seemed, this Meia Morphos.

So they sat that way for the longest time, not saying a word. Spike was wrapped up in his thoughts on where to go after Equineland. He was going through Portucolt and into Spain, though where was a mystery...

Just then, he felt a small hiccup come up from his stomach. Opening his mouth, a small tongue of green flame shot forth, forming into a scroll. Catching it to the surprise of passerby, he opened it and read it to himself.

“Dear Spike, I hope your journey has been going well thus far. As the one who arranged where you will be going, I felt it necessary to help you find the path through which you will travel through these countries. Once you arrive in Spreign, you’ll be staying with the Almareconraddo Del Rivioso family, lords of Maragon, for a week or so. Be sure to be on your best behavior, my young dragon friend. Keep in touch: Luna.”

“Hmm,” Spike muttered, pocketing the small scroll in his shirt. “Well, that solves one problem of what we’re going to do in Spreign.”

He leaned back in the chair once more, only to be thrown forward all of a sudden as the ship lurched to one side. Meia was soon thrown too by another lurch, landing in a heap atop him: cries of surprise from all around meant the other passengers had lost their balance as well.

“Uh, Meia, you can get off me,” Spike said, his word’s muffled by Meia’s stomach. He soft fur was poking through the split in her shirt where the buttons fastened together: he might sneeze if she didn't remove herself quickly.

“Sorry,” she said, getting off before her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment: against her will, at that. “What in Equestria was that?”

“I don’t know, but it couldn’t have been good,” Spike said, rising to his feet. Just then, Roan Flankstrom came down from the deck, soaking wet from head to hoof.

“Rogue waves!” he shouted, causing everyone to look up at him. “Gale coming in out of the east like a demon from hell! All crew: man your stations! Passengers get to your cabins!” Crew rushed past everyone one way, while the other passengers began a mad dash back to their own cabins. That was, except for Meia, who was caught up by the pressing bodies of the crew and hauled outside.

“Meia!” Spike shouted, rushing up after her in time to see a wave wash over the side. The now-pounding rain made it hard to see, but Spike’s keen dragon eyes made up for that. Several crewmen slipped from the wave’s force, and one pony in particular was carried far to the other side. “Meia, I’m coming!” Spike shouted, rushing over as best he could on the rocking ship. He ducked as one of the poles attached to the rigging swung his way, missing him by mere inches. Another wave crashed over the side, soaking him to the bone as the winds whipped around him. Blinking through the biting wind, he saw the unicorn holding onto the railing, about to fall into the water. Her expression was that of pure terror.

Leaping forward while using his wings to give him an extra boost, Spike threw out his hand in time to catch Meia’s, just as she fell. Holding her, he started to pull her back onto the ship.

“Behind you!” she shouted. The dragon turned in time to see a colossal wall of water crash into the side of the ship, sending a veritable surge across the deck.

“OH SH-,” he said but never finished as his footing was lost and they both went soaring over the edge, still holding each other’s hands. They lost contact with one another right before they hit the water.

Spike sunk like a stone, the water around him rather calm when compared to the turbulent waters above him. For a few seconds he just lay there, submerged and confused. Getting his act together, he realized that even though as a dragon he could hold his breath longer than any pony, he'd still drown unless he reached the surface. Swimming as best he could, with his wings acting like the fins of a manta ray, he burst to the surface, pausing to look around.

“MEIA!” he shouted after taking in a deep breath of salt-tinged air, looking this way and that. Another breath got him a mouthful of salt water, causing him to cough and gasp. The Crowhop was facing the wind, so for the moment it hadn't gone anywhere. If it had been traveling with the wind, or even perpendicular to it, he would have been truly SOL.

“SPIKE!” a voice sounded in the gloom. Peering around, Spike saw the unicorn clinging to the side of the ship, though he could tell she was barely hanging on.

“I’m coming! Hold on!” he shouted, but that last part did little to help her. Her hands let go, and with her hooves facing the sky, she fell back down to the sea as the ship lurched upwards over another colossal wave. Amidst all the chaos of the storm, her entry into the ocean left barely a splash.

Spike dove under after her as the Crowhop came crashing back down, the depth to which he had swum barely eclipsing the depth to which the ship sank into the water. Peering around in the gloom, he saw the unicorn sinking further downward: his wings swiftly propelled him to her side. Looking up after gathering her in his arms, Spike pumped his wings as hard as he could, rocketing up through the water. He breathed out as he rose, his lungs expanding due to the change in pressure.

With a splash similar to that of an erupting geyser, he burst from the water. The sheer force of his wings' power propelled him and his unconscious cargo through the air and back onto the main deck of the ship, with his wings acting as sails to prevent his landing from being a painful one.

Getting off the deck as quickly as he could, Spike carried Meia back into the common room and lay her down, checking for signs of life. She had a pulse, but she wasn’t breathing. Tilting her head back, he began to administer CPR: two breaths followed by thirty chest compressions. He continued this for a minute until water came from the unicorn’s mouth: her eyes opened and she gasped, coughing up more water. Gently, he turned her onto her side, so as to aid in the process of expelling water from her lungs.

After a few more minutes of this, he patted her on the back. “Are you okay?” he asked, watching as she managed to perform a spell that completely expelled the remaining water from her lungs. Thankfully she had managed to do that, or else he'd have to bring her back to her cabin (which he didn't know the location of) on a rocking boat like this, where he could easily trip and fall on the way there.

“I’ve been better,” she said with a hoarse voice. “Thank you for saving me: again.”

“Hey, what kind of dragon would I be if I didn’t come to the rescue?” Spike asked with a small smile, trying to ease the tension.

“Still, it was very gallant of you,” she said, taking deep breaths to put oxygen back into her blood stream. “Though I must ask: why did you save me? You could have died out there.”

“I’m not one to sit by and watch someone die,” Spike said, helping her to her hooves. “Saving someone else’s life is part of my dragon code: I couldn’t go against it, even if they didn’t want to be saved.”

Meia was silent for a moment as she wrung the water out of her mane. Her clothes were sopping wet, as were Spike’s, and right now she was too exhausted to try and perform any magic that could dry them. “We’d best get back to our quarters,” she said, not sure which part of her was saying this.

“All right: be safe,” Spike said, giving her a sudden hug. Letting go just as suddenly, he walked off, unknowingly leaving a shocked Meia/Chrysalis standing there. Her eyes were glazed over for a few seconds, as if lost in thought, before she turned and walked to her quarters on the other side of the ship.

Shutting her door and striping off her soaking clothes, she hung them to dry on various hooks in her cabin. Weary from the exhaustion and near-death experience, she lay down on her cot. Inside her head, though, her thoughts were anything but weary: more like a kaleidoscope of ideas and confusion. Sure he had saved her twice already, one from blunt force trauma and now from drowning, but things like that could be discounted in the grand scheme of things. He was nothing to her: a mere tool she would acquire and use, and then discard, as she had so many others.

Then why was her heart, a normally cold and shriveled thing, shivering with warmth at the hug he had given her?
So for two more weeks, Meia kept to her quarters and the below-decks of the ship, rarely if ever coming topside: it was safer that way. Spike walked wherever the captain allowed him, with the two of them becoming good friends. Roan would show him maps and the equipment ships would use to traverse the oceans and seas of the world, while Spike showed him the magical properties of dragon fire. Every night or so Spike would go to the captain's quarters and listen to tales of the sea, though the one about Roan seeing a mer-pony felt a bit far-fetched, to be honest.

The rest of the journey passed without much more excitement, save for the sighting of the shores of Equineland. Spike looked out over the sea from of the ship, the sun shining on his scales and spines. He watched as the ship sailed into port, past countless other frigates, fishing boats and galleons loaded with cargo. He even helped a few of the crew unload the planks so everyone could get off the ship safely: he was even paid a small bag of gold coins for helping the merchant unicorns unload some of their cargo.

The captain was the last to bid him goodbye. “It was a pleasure having you aboard, Master Spike,” he said, sweeping his hat off with a bow. “If you’ll ever be needin’ passage back to Equestria, just say the word and the Crowhop is yours.”

“Thank you, Captain Flankstrom,” Spike replied, giving a deep bow of his own. “I shall keep that in mind.”

With Meia not far behind him, Spike set off through the streets of the small Equinish village that had such an unnaturally large port coming off of it. Signaling a carriage, Spike and Meia marveled at its design, as the magical carriage moved without physical input by its driver. Telling the stallion who placed the spell on the carriage where they were headed, the duo loaded the few supplies they had purchased into a secondary compartment and entered the marvelous contraption. Soon enough they had left the small coastal village behind them and were traveling through the pleasant countryside, with green hills and farms and all sorts of small villages dotting the landscape. Small bridges passed over delightful-looking streams and brooks, where fish splashed in the mid-day sun.

After traveling the rest of the day, to where the sun’s rays were once again disappearing on the distant western horizon, they had arrived at their destination: the White Cliffs of Roaner.

“Here we are,” Spike said, stepping out of the carriage and offering a hand to Meia, who tentatively accepted it. Together they walked to the cliffs, upon where Spike set down a large blanket for them both to sit on. He himself would have been fine with grass, but it felt more gentlemanly and sophisticated to lay down something soft for the unicorn. He sat down in his new clothes, a casual suit of sorts, courtesy of a tailor in the village offering deals to new arrivals. Spike's of course had been custom-made, as his wings needed padded slits in the back so they could poke through. Meia herself was in a new dress he had bought her, red as a fire ruby: she looked rather stunning, to be honest.

They sat in silence for a while on the small jutting piece of terrain, staring out at the cliffs to their sides. It truly was an awe-inspiring sight: great white edifices ranging up and down the coastline as far as the eye could see, the brilliance of them a stark contrast against the green hills they supported and the blue seas they bordered.

“Well, is it everything you thought it would be?” Spike asked, looking over at Meia. Her eyes were locked on the distant cliffs as if trying to memorize them.

“No,” she said. Spike felt his stomach drop a bit before she spoke again. “It is even more so.” She looked at him with a sweet smile on her face as she placed one hand over his. “Thank you, Spike: thank you for helping me see what I’ve only dreamed of.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, and he gave her a small squeeze in return. "The journey isn't over yet, Meia," he replied with a smile. "There is so much more to see." So they sat there, not saying another word, until the sunlight truly faded from the skies and stars began to twinkle above them. Leaving the cliffs, they took the waiting carriage to a small inn, where they stayed the night: in separate rooms, of course.

Well, Meia did linger a bit outside Spike’s door before she went to bed, her mind swirling with thoughts. “There is still yet time to make him yours,” her head said. Her heart, though, said something else entirely: it wanted her to go in that room and thank him, to be close to him. Very, very close to him indeed.

“I will not be ruled by emotions,” Chrysalis told herself, feeling unnerved that she was even feeling these things. She was Queen of the Chagelings, not some common tart who would just throw herself at a handsome dragon, no matter how many times he'd saved her life. “The plan will come together when I say so.” Walking away, she went to her room and closed the door, shedding her outer clothes and dressing in a soft nightgown. Still, when she lay down to sleep, she slept better than she had since that first night after Spike had saved her from a watery grave.

It bugged her to no end.

Author's Note

Ah, done with the Barnlantic and onto jolly old Equineland! Break out the tea and biscuits!

Just kidding: also, before anyone says anything, i just became a certified lifeguard, and yes, I know how to perform CPR.

From East to West and Back Again

Chapter Five

From East to West and Back Again

The sun’s rays shone warmly through the windows of the small inn settled amongst the hills of the Equninish countryside. The green hills sparkled with dew in the early morning sunlight, as an early morning fog that had rolled in at night faded away to nothingness except in the deeper dips between the steeper hills. Birds flitted to and fro between the trees and down to the ground, intent of snatching up the lazy insects and worms that had come out the warm night before. A bubbling brook ran behind the treeline, with fish splashinng to and fro, intent on gobbling up the flying insects that flittered over the water's surface.

Chrysalis sniffed the air as she opened her eyes, a peculiar scent waiting through her room. It smelled like something had been baking and was just being taken out of the oven. She had not been expecting such a smell to be so... wonderfully delicious. “Hmm,” she thought, getting up and stretching her lean disguise. “I wonder what they could be making?” Truthfully she was nearly the same litheness in her disguise as she was in her true form, but she was still glad she had shrunk her thighs just a bit.

Baking was a rare treat back in the lands of the Changelings, and Chrysalis, being queen, was usually the only one with a head chef that could bake something halfway decent. That was when she infiltrated Canterlot, the first thing she had done was to explore all the culinary delights that pervaded the scenery. Yes, it had been almost more worth it than the invasion itself, but it had been one of the happiest days of her life. Well, until the invasion proved bust and she was tossed out with her changeling army. Then it went from happiest day to most humiliating: one she intended to eventually repay.

There was a knock at her door, which slightly startled the Changeling Queen. “Who is it?” she asked, maintaining some semblance of calm. Why was she so jumpy all of a sudden? Nopony could possibly know of her disguise, and apart from the pony who had sold them her dress, she had yet to see another unicorn in this country.

“It’s me, Spike,” said the voice. “I just came by to tell you that breakfast is ready and we’ll soon be on our way. One of the mares here said the weather should be nice for a while.”

On our way? What did he mean by that? “Oh, of course,” she thought, thinking back to what he had told her before. “Finding all those things for his friends.” Dressing quickly in a fresh set of clothes, she packed the rest away and walked out in time to find the dragon sipping what looked to be tea, with a half-eaten biscuit lying on a small plate in front of him. He was seated at a communal breakfast table of sorts, though he was all by himself. They hadn't seen any other carriages parked at the inn, so it was possible they were the only guests staying there.

“I never figured you for a tea drinker,” Chrysalis/Meia said, sitting down and magically retrieving a biscuit for herself.

“I never was one, but it pays to try new things, and this here is good." The dragon was silent for a while until the staring of Meia got to him. "Oh, this?" Spike queried, gesturing at his cup. "This here is a special tea brewed from the needles of the Scots Pine in the highlands of Northern Equineland,” he said. “What with tea imported from India being so incredibly costly to more rural folk, they’ve discovered ways of making do with what they could import locally.” He took another sip. “It’s actually quite sweet and minty, if you wanted to know. Would you care for some?”

“No thank you,” Meia replied after swallowing a bite of her biscuit. “I’ll be fine.”

They sat in silence as they ate their breakfast, the only noises those coming from the birds twittering outside. It was a rather peaceful start to the day, so that when they finished and packed their luggage into a waiting pony-less carriage, they were almost sad to say goodbye to it. Still, they had a long journey ahead of them, and as such they needed a good start. Weather in this part of the country, or so they had been told, was notorious for changing at a moment’s notice. It could be bright and sunny one minute, and within an hour it could be raining like no tomorrow.

The carriage wound along the road, the ground beneath them a completely compacted dirt surface from all the traffic it had seen over the years. Due to the nature of the local soils, so much traffic had gone over it that nothing could grow there: not even weeds. Small stones lined the outside, so as to mark the boundaries in case it grew harder to see a ways off of one's carriage. Meia occasionally glanced over at Spike, who was too busy writing down and taking pictures of things to notice. So as not to appear rude, she waited until he had put his supplies away before speaking.

“Spike, back on the ship, you received a letter,” she said slowly, as if trying to say it without sounding too nosy. She couldn't have him thinking she was trying to worm her way into his life so soon, or else he might become suspicious. “If you don’t mind me asking, what did it say?”

Spike glanced at her for a moment as if in thought, but seemingly dismissed it as he looked back out the window. “It was a letter from the ones financing my trip, for the most part,” he replied good-naturedly. “It detailed one of the places we'd be staying. Once we reach Spreign, it said we’ll be staying with the Almareconraddo Del Rivioso family for a while.”

“Del Rivioso,” Meia repeated, truly not knowing who they were. “Are they royalty of some sort?”

“I believe so: the letter made that much clear, though I am not sure as to what kind of ponies they are,” Spike said, remembering his obligation to continuing his line. He’d try to wait a bit more until he started looking for mares who wouldn’t mind sharing him: they’d have to all get along, after all. A divided house could not stand, after all, and if he was to have at least three wives, then he'd have to keep the peace.

A soft rumble in the distance startled him out of his thoughts. “Meia, I think it’s gonna rain soon,” he said, looking out the window at their destination: another port city on the southern part of the island. In an isolated land such as Equineland, the locals had definitely learned the values of cooperation and ingenuity in order to not only survive, but thrive.

“I’ll get my rain cloak,” she said with a sigh, rummaging around in a bag of hers. Another rumble sounded in the distance, closer than before. Spike too rummaged in a satchel he carried, a gift from the inn owner upon hearing of what he was mostly doing. Mostly being a general term; no mention of royalty or brides, else he might have had trouble traveling the countryside without every farmer's daughter throwing themselves at him. Word got around quickly in parts where everyone knew everyone and was at least related in some way, whether close or distant. Sounded a lot like parts of Equestria, though the Apple family surely didn't have that many relatives.

Within an hour of traveling some more, Spike’s prediction had come true: the rain was absolutely pouring down on the magical carriage, causing the roadways to become slick with mud. All around them slow winds pelted raindrops against the windows of the carriage, blurring the image of the outside to them. Still, when they were within sight of the port town, they could tell: a bright multitude of lights off in the distance wasn’t some hallucination caused by rain, after all. Otherwise, that would have meant they were lost, and that would have been very bad in this kind of weather.

When they reached the top of the last hill between them and the town, something happened that they did not expect. With a crunch, the carriage lurched to the side. Upon impacting the inside of the compartment, Spike and Meia’s own weight added to the problem, and then the whole kit and caboodle tipped over, landing with a loud squish in the middle of the muddy road. Luckily the windows of the carriage hadn't broken, else the mud would have flooded into the carriage and absolutely covered them. Well, Spike might have burned his way out, but Meia, even with her magic, could have been suffocated by all the mud.

“Are you okay?” Spike said, looking over at Meia, whose mane had been tussled more than slightly from the fall. He himself felt fine, as the fall was nothing to fret about. he had endured worse, though to him, worse included rolling down a steep hill after tripping on a log.

“Yeah, but now I've got one nasty headache,” she said, rubbing her temples. “It can’t be more than a half mile to the nearest inn, and I’m not for staying out in this busted carriage. If it keeps raining like this, we could be half buried in mud by the time someone comes out here.” Plus, the carriage was not exactly a good source of insulation, so they would get cold rather quickly if they stayed.

“Can you fix it with your magic?” Spike asked, making sure their rain cloaks were securely fastened before climbing out into the pouring rain. Meia took one look at the carriage’s underside and shook her head.

“Both axles are broken, the wheels on the side we landed on are splintered, and I think the whole compartment is off kilter,” she said, pulling their thankfully sparse provisions from the rear compartments. "Even if I tried, I'm not asure this would be road-worthy again with what litle I could do." She pointed out towards the town. “If we hurry, I think we can make it before we catch something.”

Spike nodded, hauling the largest bags onto his back and setting off at a methodical pace: not slow by any means, but he wasn’t exactly setting a new land speed record. Meia kept up behind him, her cloak already showing signs of being soaked through. As if to add to their misfortune, the rain began to pour harder than before, drenching them to the bone and reducing visibility to almost nil. Still they plodded on, following the muddy road as a guide to the port town. The wind, mercifully gentle before, picked up slightly, so that even soaked their cloaks swirled around them like wisps of smoke.

Finally they arrived, chilled and feeling somewhat sick from the ordeal of slugging so far through such conditions. Stopping at the first inn they found, they were sadly informed it was full and would have to try the next one. With a tone of despair they said thanks and hurried as well as they could to the next one, which thankfully had one extra room for them. One extra room, and from the old stallion’s description, it had no fireplace and only one bed.

Right now, Meia would have been thoroughly grateful if she could have found a damned cave to sleep in, never mind a soft bed. Still, in the back of her mind, this did bring up a problem: the two of them would have to share it, and as Spike (being a dragon) was nigh immune to certain weather conditions, his source of heat would be the best way to warm her up before she could catch a cold or worse. If she did come down with something, he could possibly leave her behind out of concern for her health, which was the last thing she needed if her plan was to work.

Spike seemed to have reached the same conclusion as soon as they dropped their thankfully dry luggage in the small room. Peeling off the soaked cloaks and hanging them up, hopefully so they could dry, Spike looked at Meia.
“We’ll need to share the bed: our bodies will keep each other warm.” Well, he was already warm: his body would be the one keeping her warm.

“Can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself?” Meia asked, deciding a slightly coy response would be the best one. However this progressed, she could count on staying warm and staving off sickness.

“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” Spike responded with a slight grin, remembering the value of a true Pinkie Promise. Turning away as the unicorn undressed, he climbed into bed right after stripping down to his scales. If he had turned around, he would have noticed Meia glancing at him while he undressed.

“Mmm, what a nice ass,” she thought, before mentally slapping herself. “Get it together mare!” she thought to herself, crawling in beside him so that Spike’s back faced her chest. “He’s a future tool, a pawn: don’t go down that train of thought!” Who knew where she would end up if she did?

But she still snuggled up to him all the same, his body giving off a fairly pleasant amount of heat. “Goodnight Meia,” Spike said. His tail was also very warm, and it pressed up against her legs, heating them better than any blanket could have.

“Goodnight, Spike,” she replied, her shivering gone as she held the dragon’s warm body against her own. Outside the rain continued to pour, but inside, the pair were warm and safe.

They awoke the next morning and quickly dressed, Spike waiting for Meia to finish before removing the covers from over his head and dressing himself. After paying for a small breakfast, the pair left the inn, traveling down the slippery streets to the harbor. A galleon awaited them, far larger and more spacious than the Crowhop had been, but then again, this ship was practically defenseless: an escort of gunboats sailed with it as soon as it left the harbor, their flags signifying them as such.

For the better part of the day Spike and Meia did nothing but talk and compile his things for transport. In the middle of the day, when the shores of Portucolt were off in the distance, Spike magically teleported all he needed back to his friends: spares of his journal notes, pictures of the military garb the local militia wore, descriptions of the animals (however few) he had seen, and some rather exquisite wool cloth from the highland sheep of the north. He had found only one scroll for Twilight, a spell-caster’s guide to sailing, and only one kind of apple seed for the apple farm. No new kinds of balloons or anything for Pinkie, but he had sent her the next best thing: designs for party kites, a dream-gift Pinkie had been talking about for a good three years now.

Within the hour the ship docked and the pair went off, traveling by carriage through the mountainous terrain of the coastal cities. As luck would have it, a market was near the edge of town, and due to its elevation the locals had plenty of rather unexpected things to be sold. Many citrus fruits and garden vegetables were there, along with copper trinkets studded with semi-precious stones and get this: genuine velvet. Using most of his remaining money, Spike bought much of this, including a scroll detailing the growth of food on a mountain’s slopes. With this, he and Meia set off once more, soon crossing the border into the lands of Spreign.

Truth be told, while the Equinish countryside had been pleasant and the Portucolt grandiose in its own mountainous way, the wide open fields of olives and the jagged peaks of Spreign’s countryside were a sight to behold. Vineyards filled with vines, carefully cultivated by the same families for centuries, stretched out as far as the eye could see, the fruits glistening in the sun. The sun glinted off of the stony walls of the fortresses and castles they passed, still in use after being built centuries before. Towns and villages everywhere, with friendly ponies greeted them in their native tongue: Spreignish. Earth ponies and unicorns abounded wherever they went, and pegasi flew overhead laden with enchanted carts: much easier transporting goods by air than by road, especially between towns in the higher elevations.

As dusk approached, the carriage rounded a corner to find the way blocked by a fallen tree. It looked ancient and if his hunch was correct, it hadn’t been alive in some time. No roots, no branches, and a distinct lack of bark only confirmed his suspicions Getting out of the carriage, Spike walked up to the tree and examined it.

“Is everything all right?” Meia called out, peering out the window at him. "Why have we stopped?"

“Well, this tree didn’t fall here on its own,” Spike called back, scratching his chin. “Someone placed it across the path on purpose.”

“Why would they do that?” Meia called out just as some shrubs above Spike rustled. He looked up in time to see a mangy and absolutely repulsive stallion leap out at him, a small dagger held in one hand. No ordinary dagger could pierce a dragon's hide, but still, Spike was unwilling to let the thief get to him.

With his instincts kicking in, Spike rolled to the side, the glinting dagger missing him by an uncomfortable margin. Spinning quickly, he dodged another frantic swipe as the crazed bandit lunged again, shouting maniacally in his foreign tongue.

In his efforts to not become impaled, Spike tripped on a rock and fell backwards, his legs facing upwards as the stallion, sensing an opportunity, leaped on him. They thrashed for a few seconds before Spike kicked him up and over him, the force sending the bandit over the ledge of the winding road and down the steep rocky slope. He didn’t rise from where he had come to a still.

Spike breathed deeply as he climbed to his feet, his heart hammering in his chest. Knowing full well that the bandit had been alone, if his method of attack was anything to go by, Spike shoved the tree off to the side of the path. A glimmer caught his eye up in the bushes from where the thief had jumped at him. Climbing up, he couldn’t believe his eyes: three large satchels of gold coins, gleaming in the sunlight. Knowing an opportunity when he saw one, he grabbed the three, slung them over his shoulder, and clambered down, all while Meia watched.

“Are you okay?” she asked breathlessly, as she had seen the whole ordeal happen in front of her. “Where is the bandit? What did you find?”

“He's a good ways down the hill, likely unconscious, and these are that thief’s ill-gotten gains,” Spike said, loading them up into the carriage. “We’ll divide what we need, and give the rest to some poor ponies.” He passed for a second. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Divide?” Meia asked. “What do you mean divide?”

“Divide, as in we’ll split this ‘treasure’ between us,” Spike said. “No doubt there’s more than enough for us, so whatever is left over will be given to the first poor pony we see, as an act of charity.”

“But why not keep it for ourselves?” Meia asked. A rather legitimate question, given the circumstances.

“As we’ll soon be staying with nobility, I see no reason to keep more than we currently need,” Spike replied as he climbed in the carriage: it began to move once more. “Besides, if my hunch is correct, they’ll set us up with plenty with gifts: royals tend to do that as a show of good favor.”

“Well then, I hope you know what you’re doing: saving some gold for later could pay off in the long run,” Meia said as they began to split up the first satchel of gold. They did this for a good hour, as Spike made sure any gemstones they found were placed in a separate pile entirely. As to why, he did not say, and Meia had a reasonable suspicion that despite his draconic heritage, he wasn’t going to hoard or eat them.

When they had finished, they had around five hundred gold pieces apiece, with a hundred more to be given to the first poor pony they came across. Still, by the time they entered the city of Mare-agoza, which had grown out of the central citadel known as Mare-agon. The gleaming edifices seemed to reach out from the very sides of the mountains on which it was partially built. Statues, botanical gardens and even a river flowed through the palatial estate, or at least from where Spike and Meia could see. Who knew what else lie within the walls of such royal splendor?

Traveling through the city, Spike was both awed and somewhat repulsed by the city. Parts were clean, and others, especially those where water would collect after rain, were not so clean. Here and there clusters of trees sprouted from bare patches of dirt, but many of the houses seemed simple and inelegant, which truth be told was to be expected. He didn’t see many ponies walking around, though here and there he and Meia would catch glimpse of clusters gathered around far-off gardens, likely those belonging to large families.

There was a noise in front of the carriage and Spike glanced out the window: an elderly pony, reminiscent of Granny Smith, had dropped a few things in front of the carriage while what could only be her grandfoals ran about this way and that. Moved at the sight of her tenderly trying to pick up the spilled items, Spike got out of the carriage and walked over to her. Without saying a word, he leaned over and began to help her pick up the things she had dropped, placing them in her bags for her. She smiled and uttered one small word: “gracias.”

She seemed like the kind of pony who had worked so hard all her life and had so little to show for it. So, having decided he had found one worthy enough, Spike went back to the carriage, retrieved the one hundred gold coins, and gave them to the old mare without so much as saying a single word. Then he got back in the carriage and rode off, leaving the elderly mare stunned at her sudden turn of good fortune.

Arriving at the main gate to the citadel, Spike showed the letter from Celestia to the stationed guards. With deep bows they opened the gates for the carriage, which promptly rolled inside. As soon as they came to a stop near the front doors, a tall and lanky stallion opened them and ushered them in.

“May I present Spike the dragon, and his friend...” he looked nonplussed at the disguised Chrysalis.

“Meia,” she said. “Meia Morphos.”

“Miss Meia Morphos,” the stallion finished, the name rolling off his tongue as if it sounded odd to him. A voice sounded as a pair of unicorns stepped out into the light.

“I welcome you and your friend to our humble estate,” the stallion said, taking a sweeping bow while a mare, clearly his wife, gave a graceful curtsey. “I am Carlos Almareconraddo Del Rivioso, and this is my wife, Isabella.”

“It is a pleasure making your acquaintance,” the mare said. “If you’ll please come with us, we’ll give you the royal tour of where you’ll be staying. The citadel is quite large, and I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.” Abruptly the two royal unicorns turned and began to walk away, their hooves clacking on the smooth limestone floors.

Spike and Meia glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. Meia simply shrugged her shoulders and followed after the pair, with Spike soon beside her once more. Well, at least they’d be staying in comfort for the time being: best to make the most of it.

Author's Note

Enjoy your partnership while it lasts, Spike. And Meia/Chrysalis/whatever you call yourself: good things come to those who wait, but wait too long and it will slip through your clutches.

A Spreignish Rose

Chapter Six

A Spreignish Rose

The citadel was even more stunning on the inside than it had looked from the outside, and Spike could not believe most of it was hundreds of years old. Botanical gardens of a size so immense you could literally get lost in them: Spike and Meia were even warned about that part, should they explore it. Fountains littered the place, with the clear running water truly a sight to behold against such polished marble. Great arches, intricately carved from apex to bottom, framed nearly every hallway and even many of the rooms. There were chandeliers in the main ballroom that would have rivaled any in Canterlot for their sheer elegance, save for the fact that they were not encrusted with precious stone. No, they were inlaid with silver pearls, surrounded by gold and what Spike could only describe as a “high-sheen metal” which he had never seen before.

“Aluminum,” Carlos said as they went along, noticing Spike's questioning look. “In many countries, it is very hard to find any pony that has the technology or magic to create a heat source hot enough to properly smelt it. It is very nearly worth its weight in gold, if not more so in some countries.”

“This all must have cost a fortune,” Spike said with a hint of admiration in his voice. He had never seen anything like aluminum in Equestria: perhaps they didn't have any deposits?

“Over the centuries, our family has gained and lost much, but we have always managed to come out ahead,” Isabella said with a knowing smile. “When strength and cunning were not enough, we adapted to the times and embraced change as it came. It is this trait of continuous survival and endurance that we hope we have passed down to all of our children.”

“You have children?” Meia asked, sounding surprised. “Where are they?” It would be easy to miss somepony in this place: it was large enough to hide cater to many ponies without many ever seeing one another.

“Oh, they are likely out participating in their studies,” Isabella said, looking out at the castle’s smaller gardens. “Their private tutors teach them all they need to know before they associate with the ponies they will come to rule over.” royal politics was such a pain, as both Spike and Meia knew all too well.

They continued to walk through the halls, admiring paintings and coats of arms. Several statue busts of ponies from the past, from the great Frederick William of Germareny to Eleanor of Aquitmane, lined the hallways. Just then, as they passed a statue of a Roaman emperor, a flash of red streaked past the two lead royals, colliding with Spike and sending the both of them sprawling to the floor in a small cloud of dust.

“Oops, sorry senoir,” the mare said, standing up with some difficulty due to her red dress' dimensions. Spike blinked as he sucked in a breath: wait a second, a mare?

“Maria!” Carlos said with a small scowl on his face. “You are supposed to be in your studies! And why in the world are you running, especially in your dress?”

“First, I was let out early for finishing ahead,” the mare said, counting out a finger to make her point. She said this with a rather strange tone of defiance, as if she had had this conversation before: she held up another finger. “Secondly, I’m running from Angelica and Juana: they want to play dress up and I’ve had enough.”

“That’s no excuse to run in the halls and collide with strangers, young mare,” Isabella said, looking over at Spike, who had risen to his feet. “Now apologize to this nice young dragon and his friend for your unsightly behavior. Remember, a mare must act with the grace and dignity symbolized by her heritage.”

“Dragon?” Maria said, spinning to look at Spike as if she hadn’t noticed he wasn’t even close to being a pony. “You’re a dragon?” Her horn sparked slightly at her realization: emotions tied to a unicorn's magic, and right now her magic had apparently spiked rather high.

“...Yes?” Spike said hesitantly, not sure if she was intrigued or somehow outraged. This pony was unlike any other he had seen in Equestria: her pelt was tan in color, but her hair was a dark shade of red, almost to the point of being black. Her eyes, almond in color, seemed to be deep pools that he could not help but want to dive into. Even though she was six inches shorter than he, she held herself like a mare with no equal. Her body, which he surreptitiously scanned rapidly, was almost done budding into full marehood: he couldn’t have been more than a year older than her. Still, without so much as preamble, she began curtsying and jabbering in Spreignish, though her mother soon interjected with another sigh. One word she kept repeating sounded a lot like “attractive”, which was a bit more forward than Spike would have normally liked.

“What she means to say,” Isabella said, shooting her daughter a glare. “Is that she is sorry for running into you, Master Spike. I am sure you two will get along just fine, if Maria can learn it is not polite to compliment a male in a tongue he does not understand.” She turned to her daughter. “I’ll have no more of this ‘damsel being rescued’ nonsense out of you, young one.” Apparently all of Maria’s jabbering had been about “attractive” Spike “rescuing” her or something?

Maria, in turn, turned to her mother and scowled. “Why can’t you let me speak my mind for once? Sometimes I just don’t understand why you want me to be the perfect mare for some future stallion I don't even know! I will not settle for some pompous prince who expects me to obey his every whim: I will not be shackled by his demands and his title. I am Maria Almareconraddo Del Rivioso: I deserve better than that!” With that, she stormed off in a huff, muttering a rapid series of Spreignish words Spike felt he didn't want to know. He winced as she shouted again in anger, slamming a door behind her some ways off. Some dust fell from the ceiling from the force of the blow.

Spike had to say he was fascinated by this beauty, if not a little intimidated. She carried herself as if she was an elder sister to Celestia herself, and her exoticness really touched a nerve deep within his core. She was passionate, headstrong, but he could tell her heart was in the right place and she was more than capable of caring for herself. He almost snapped his fingers as he came to a realization. That was it: he had found the first candidate.

Carlos sighed pinching the bridge of his snout with a hand. “Spike, Meia, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.” His tone made it sound like this was an almost daily occurrence. Isabella curtseyed and walked off, leaving the three alone as they made their way down a hall.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, has this been going on for a while?” Spike asked. He needed to know all he could before even considering making his move. His realm of sex had been greatly expanded by Trixie, but sadly, his knowledge of proposing, especially to one such as Maria, was tragically nonexistent. Never mind that Maria was no ordinary unicorn: she could probably hurt him if she thought he had said or done something offensive.

“Yes, for at least a year now,” Carlos replied. “Maria is a mare of fine breeding, and has been by our laws for a few years now, but she considers the thought of an arranged marriage to a complete stranger to be utterly repulsive. We have yet to find her a suitable candidate, but we know that when we do, it will be a war to get her to cooperate. She’s young and rather strong-willed, but her heart, however volatile, is in the right place. I only wish there was some way to make her see that she has a royal duty to uphold. She wants what she wants, and I'm afraid our wants often conflict with hers.”

Spike mulled over this information until they reached their rooms, situated on the far side of the citadel. Meia went inside first, but Spike closed the door, leaving only him and Carlos in the hallway.

“Sir, I’m not who you think I am,” he said slowly and carefully. he had to be very careful with his next words, or else things might go... badly.

“You’re not?” the stallion asked, raising an eyebrow. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“I am not merely some friend of Princess Luna,” the dragon said, noticing how the stallion’s eyes widened at the name of Equestria’s co-ruler. Even this far removed from his own country, the name of Spike's sovereign and future co-ruler still carried great weight. “You see, I am her personal student who just so happens to be in a predicament that I believe you and your family can help with.”

“And that would be?” Carlos replied.

“I am royalty: draconic royalty,” Spike replied. “As such, it is my duty to continue my line, and frankly, I have no idea where to start.”

“Ah, I think I see where this is going,” Carlos replied with a sudden twinkle in his eye. “You need to marry, and you would like my daughter Maria’s hand in marriage: am I right?”

“No!” Spike said a bit too quickly. “Well, er, yes, actually: I would like Maria’s hand in marriage. But if what you told me is true, she’ll abhor any arranged marriage to one she does not know. I was hoping to get to know her before I could ask for her hand. Would you help me in this?”

The stallion was silent for a moment before he answered. “To tell you the truth, I am a bit shocked that you would consider marrying her after meeting her once. But this is unique: most of us royals never meet or get to know our spouses until after we marry them. Yes, yes I will help you in this. But be warned,” the stallion said, pointing a finger at Spike’s chest. “If you hurt her in some way, any way, you will answer to me: understand?”

“Perfectly,” Spike said, swallowing a lump in his throat that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. “I’m only supposed to stay here a week, though I’m sure Luna wouldn’t mind staying an extra one.”

“Excellent: I shall begin to arrange everything,” Carlos said, clapping his hands together. “If you need me, I’ll be in the main hall dealing with everyday royal affairs. I do hope you’ll join us for dinner this evening as well?”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Spike said, wondering how Meia was going to take all of this.

Not very well, from the look on her face: that is, if Spike could have seen it. She had her head pressed up against the door, listening to every word they had said. This could definitely put a delay on her plans: if he did marry this mare, then she might never get a chance to fully make him hers. Then again, it wouldn’t do them either good if she practically forced herself onto the dragon at this juncture: there was still so much more to see and do in this world-wife journey.

Hearing them part ways, she quickly hurried over to their luggage and began to unpack as if that was all she had been doing the entire time. Spike entered without saying a word and went over to help unpack, clearly wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Meia was also deep in thought, though hers was much less organized than Spikes and was on the verge of spilling from her mouth. “We cannot afford to be patient much longer: she has no doubt snagged a place in his heart, a place that should rightfully be ours! The entire plan could be in jeopardy!” That was the side of her brain that was still cold and fully in line with the plan, though it was angry.

The other side, the more emotional side that had begun to show more dominance than it ever had before, argued back with equal fervor. “We cannot force him to love us, and who said we cannot move her aside when need be? He can still be ours, even if we have to share him. Patience is a virtue and good things come to those who wait.”

“Silence: both of you,” Meia thought as she reeled back both parts of her disheveled brain into some semblance of order. “As I said before, I will say again: I move when I decide the time is right.”

“Are you all right, Meia?” Spike asked, snapping her out of what to him seemed to be a trance. “You’ve run out of clothes in that case and have been just pantomiming unpacking.”

“Oh, yes, uh,” she said, caught off guard. “I was just... thinking. Yes, thinking: thinking about how the two of us are going to do all of the things you described after we leave from here.”

Spike twiddled his thumbs after sitting down, since all of the clothes and everything were already unpacked. “Meia, yo do know I’m royal, right?”

“Yes,” She answered slowly, her facade slipping back into place.

“Well, as you know, royals must continue their blood lines, and as a dragon, it is my responsibility to do some things that may seem odd to you.”

“Odd? What do you mean by odd?” Meia asked.

“I must take a wife: wives, to be exact,” Spike said, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner. “I believe I have found the first candidate: Miss Maria Almareconraddo Del Rivioso.”

Meia was silent for a second: she would need to play this part very carefully. “And?” she asked. “Why are you telling me this as if it were some terribly tragic or embarrassing secret? You yourself said it was a duty: go fulfill it.”

“You really think I should?” Spike asked, surprised by her answer. She was actually taking this a whole lot better than he thought she would. he had half expected her to call him out for being too forward and a hopeless romantic idealist, or some similar rubbish.

“Of course, you silly dragon,” she said, crossing her arms. “First, you’ll need to get this mare to fall in love with you, and from what I can guess, there will be many things happening in this place between now and the time we leave. You’d best make the most of what you’ve got.”

“I suppose you could be right,” Spike said, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Where should I begin? i mean, should I learn more about her family history, or learn the language fully or...?”

“Get to know her,” Meia replied, her magic sorting all of the unpacked items into their own piles. “The objective is to have her fall in love with you by the time your marriage proposal comes out, or else she might resent you. A healthy relationship between spouses before the marriage is a good way to ensure they will love each other afterwards. Just learning the language won't do a thing: neither is memorizing her history.”

“How is it you know so much about arranged marriages?” Spike asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Meia hesitated before speaking once more. “You could say royalty and politics were a hobby of my parents, even more so than unusual names. They were always following the gossip and hearsay about royals from wherever any time they could.”

“Ah,” Spike said, watching as the enchanted items were finally separated and put away. There was a knock at the door: answering it, Spike found it was one of the servants Carlos had told them about. He was a short, thin fellow, and a mule to boot: not a problem for Spike, at any rate.

“Spike, you are cordially invited to dine with the masters tonight, if it should please you,” the mule said, his unkempt hair covering his eyes like a blinder. “As is your lady friend, Miss Meia,” he added.

“Tell Carlos I- I mean, we, would be delighted to join them for dinner,” Spike replied, looking back at Meia to make sure she would go as well. She nodded, and the mule walked off, intent on informing Carlos of the news, if not to spread the gossip of what was happening amongst the other servants. Spike knew servants too well from his time in Canterlot: if they loved one thing, it was gossip.

“Well, I’d best get ready,” Spike said, looking out of the window as the sun began to set. Well, at least it gave the appearance of setting: being up in the mountains meant it got darker at different times than it would out in a much flatter terrain.

An hour later, Spike stood calmly outside the doors leading to the main dining hall, with Meia beside him. She had chosen to once again go with the red dress he had bought for her back in Equineland.

There was the shuffling of hooves on the other side of the doors, which promptly swung open. “May I present, his royal highness Spike the dragon, citizen of Equestria, and his friend, Miss Meia Morphos.”

Thanking the butler with a silent nod, Spike walked into the grand dining hall with Meia in tow, who was appreciatively looking all around at the splendid trappings the unicorns had so tastefully decorated the hall with. Chandeliers of ornate design scattered across the ceiling, a large table with fine china and silverware, even a few ceiling-reaching windows let in the last dying rays of sunlight. However, their hosts were already waiting for them along the far wall.

“It is with great pride and delight that I welcome you to dinner tonight,” Carlos said, stepping forward and shaking Spike’s and Meia’s hands with firm politeness. “Allow me to introduce my family.”

The other unicorns stepped forward as one. “Isabella you are familiar with,” he said, with his wife giving a polite curtsey. “Antonio, our eldest.” The next one in line, a tall proud-looking colt, gave a bow: if Spike had to guess, he was a bit older than he was, possibly by three years or so.

“Maria, our eldest daughter, with whom you are already familiar.” She too gave a curtsy as her mother had, but her eyes remained upon Spike. She was less than a year younger than Spike, possibly ranging between five and seventh months only.

“Raoul, the next in line,” Carlos continued. A shorter colt, definitely younger than Spike, perhaps only fourteen, gave a bow. He was a bit stockier than his older brother, but other than that the two might have been identical copies of one another.

“Next, our last two children: Angelica and Juana.” The two little fillies gave polite curtsies as well: if Spike had to guess, they could be no older than nine and seven, and even that might have been pushing it.

“It is a pleasure to meet all of you,” Spike said, giving a deep bow as Meia curtsied as well as she could: her dress was more form-fitting and thus harder to flexibly move around in. “I must say, you have some of the most splendid trappings I have seen in a dining hall.”

“Then let us enjoy them while we eat,” Carlos said, leading them all to the table. Sitting down at one end, with Spike sitting at the other as the guest of honor, Carlos clapped his hands and servants rushed out with platters of food for everyone. Soon, everyone “dug in”, as Applejack might say, though with much more restraint and manners than many in her rural and no-nonsense family might have.

Soon after they finished most of their meals, conversations sprang up between everyone. Carlos was talking to his wife, though in a hushed voice, while Juana and Angelica had started discussing whether or not they like Meia’s mane style. She thankfully remained silent, as she was too busy concentrating on what Spike was about to do.

“So, Mr. Spike, is it?” Maria said, looking over at Spike with interest sparkling in her eyes. “Exactly how long did you say you were going to stay with us?”

“I didn’t, but it seems I shall be here no more than a few weeks,” he replied, noticing the surreptitious wink from Meia. Oh, right: time to pour on the charm and make her swoon. “That is a lovely dress, by the way: what color is it? Aqua?”

“Teal, actually,” Maria said, a slight blush spreading over her face. “I must admit it isn’t my best, but it was the one mother chose for me.” She had a tone of exasperation in her voice: she obviously had wanted a different color.

“I would say it looks very nice,” Spike said, who had a distinct feeling Carlos could hear every word he said, even over all of the other conversations. Maybe he had placed a hearing-enhancing spell on himself? “So, since I haven’t been here long and only overheard a little when we first met, what sort of things are your studies comprised of?

Maria swirled her fork through her salad. “Oh, much of it is boring upper class garbage my parents want me to do. Still there are advantages with having such knowledgeable tutors: my favorite studies are not of ballroom dancing and greeting dignitaries, but of botany and biology. I absolutely adore nature, which is why I spend much of my time in the gardens. the plants make me feel at ease, like a second home. Would you like to see them some time? The gardens, I mean?”

Her question almost caught Spike off guard, as he was the one who was going to suggest going to the gardens. “Most definitely,” he said as the servants took away the remains of the main course and brought out the desserts. “Perhaps tomorrow then, at ten o’clock?” His banana cake was particularly good.

“That would be most delightful, and perfectly timed, Mr. Spike,” Maria said, her smile radiating like a beacon to his eyes.

“Please, just call me Spike,” he replied, his voice dropping half an octave when he said his name. Oh yeah, laying on the charm: a tactic as old as time.

“Damn Spike, even I must admit that was smooth,” Meia thought. “For such a young and inexperienced drake, he’s better than he realizes: this mare will be jumping into his lap before the wedding even happens.” That could be good or bad, depending on one's point of view.

“Well then, Spike, I shall see you at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow,” Maria said with a slight giggle as she blushed. “Shall we meet by sun dial nearest the dolphin fountain?”

“That would be excellent, my dear,” Spike replied. “I will see you there.”

When dinner was finally finished, the unicorn family bid their guests good night. Antonio and Raoul both quickly kissed Meia’s outstretched hand in a polite but emotionless manner, as if they had other things on their minds. Angelica and Juana merely curtsied once more, giggling when Spike looked their way. Angelica was last, and Spike did what every true gentleman in his situation would do: politely but firmly kissed her hand. Her blush spread over her face like thunder across the plains at that little move.

As Spike and Meia walked back to their rooms, Meia couldn’t help but think Spike’s growing penchant for making mares swoon could soon prove troublesome. “If I do get him to fall in love with me, naturally, I will have to look out for his charm, lest I be swept out into the sea of his feelings,” she thought, still unsure why she had pictured that in such a romantic manner. Maybe he really was growing on her: that could be dangerous.

Tonight had been the first test: tomorrow would bring more challenges, and hopefully, more triumphs.

Maria

Author's Note

In the words of Sweet Daddy D, Spike is now becoming what is known as a Player In a Management Profession: PIMP.

Also, college is starting back up, so chapter uploads will be sporadic.

Garden Fever

Chapter Seven

Garden Fever

It was early the next morning that Spike rose from his bed, refreshed due to a surprisingly pleasant dream he had had the night before. It had involved him, that lovely Maria, a bottle of fine wine and a secluded beach somewhere in the Mare-ibbean. Trixie and Meia had been there too, but after the wine was gone, things had seemed to go hazy: he had even forgotten what they had been wearing. Then again, he had never had wine before, so maybe that was why he had fogotten what they were wearing.

Stretching lazily, the young drake (drake being the correct term for a male dragon such as himself) grabbed some clothes off a dresser that were nice but wouldn’t be ruined if they got filthy: simple pants with a short sleeved collared shirt. Checking the clock on the wall, he saw it around 7:30, which meant he had almost three hours before he was going to meet Maria. Being a fastidious dragon, he went into the other room and took a shower, making sure to clean behind his spines and under the folds of his wings.

Freshly cleaned, he covered his entire body with a small and controlled burst of flames, effectively drying him off and giving his scales a gleam that could have passed for being polished. Dressing in the clothes, he checked the clock again: still two hours to kill after all his grooming. Deciding a walk was in order, he left the still-sleeping form of Meia in her own bed and set off through the castle, intent on learning more about this place. He brought along a small journal and the small camera he had purchased back in Equineland, just in case he came across anything interesting. In a place like this, that was bound to happen.

Well, the first thing he found was a room filled entirely with old armor and weapons, most likely relics or heirlooms of ancestors past. Walking around, he could hardly believe his luck: or Rainbow Dash’s, depending on who you would ask. Snapping pictures as he went, he paid special attention to some of the names on the plaques: Charlemane, Ferdinand, Joao, even more than he could name or even hope to pronounce correctly.

“It is rather fascinating, is it not?” a voice said. Spike turned around to see Carlos standing at the room’s entrance with a smile on his face. “Relics, much of it anyway: handed down by our ancestors and relatives throughout the centuries, even from the pre-classical pony period.” He walked past a set of halberds to stand by Spike, who had just snapped a photo of some ancient armor. The head crest filtered through where one’s mane would be, to make one seem even taller and more intimidating. The scales, rusted slightly from age despite the pristine conditions in which it was kept, were like the scales of a fish: overlapping steel plates that covered the vital areas. The chest had a thickened plate emblazoned with the silhouette of a unicorn’s head holding its horn high. The arm and leg guards were likened to a thick leather brace covered by a layer of metal, so as to ward off a sword blow. A small pair of gauntlets rested where the hands would have been, each finger crafted with metal-studded leather straps.

“This belonged to our family’s founding noble, General Almareconraddius Plainsci,” Carlos said, walking around the display. “He was a general in the Roamin Empire, and during its imperialist phase he conquered this area with much difficulty. Later, when the war had gone away and ponies settled here, he was appointed governor. He fell in love with the land he had fought so hard over, and ever since he set down our family’s roots here, we’ve stayed.” He was silent for a moment. "In case you were wondering, we adopted the name Del Rivioso many generations ago, as ponies didn't tend to associate Plainsci, or "plains", with the mountainous areas under our rule." Well, that was sort of a given: Spreign had highlands and lowlands, but very few areas of flat terrain.

"Amazing that you can trace your lineage so far back and with such clarity: not many archives in Canterlot have such fine detail of family trees," Spike said, looking around the room at the various other examples of a proud military tradition. “You must be proud of your ancestors, to remember them so well."

“Very much so,” Carlos replied, still gazing at the Roamin armor. “Sometimes I wonder how things would be different for us if he haddecided to go back to Roam or go on to a different theater of war. The choice to stay had been entirely his, and after all he and his fellow soldier ponies went through, none of them were likely ready for another fight or a new place to fight over. Many of the ponies you passed along the way here are descendants of his soldiers: consequently, we care for them better than many nobles might be inclined to. I only wonder if they know how their ancestors felt about this new land.”

“We all wonder things like that,” Spike said, coming back to the stallion’s side. “Might I ask you, what exactly were your plans for Maria before I came into the picture? If you don’t mind sharing with me the details?”

Carlos was silent for a few minutes before he said anything. “She was to be given off to the most eligible suitor who we could find. I know it may seem a tad barbaric to you, but in our country nobles and their heirs are literally sold off to the highest bidder, if only to make alliances that secure their future and that of their offspring. My younger brother was married off to a rather brutish mare who has him completely under her hoof, so much so that we rarely see each other any more. I shudder to think of some of the noble’s sons I know of that would have, or could have married Maria.”

“Why is that, sir?” Spike asked. He had a feeling it was a touchy subject, but if he was to marry this beautiful mare, he had to know everything. Damn, Twilight might have rubbed off on him more than he cared to admit: that inquisitive side was really shining through.

“Many of them are brutish, spoiled colts, little more than bullies in noble cloth,” Carlos said, pinching the brow of his nose in resignation and a bit of anger. “They would have crushed my daughter’s dreams, forcing her to bear their foals whether she loved them or not. It would have broken my daughter, my lovely Maria, to have to go through such torment, and through her pain, I myself would have been broken.”

He turned to the young drake. “That is why I expect you to care for her with every fiber of your being, Spike. You are different from them: you are noble, but without the trappings of being raised royal. You have a heart, a good one from what I've seen, and you know what it takes to make others happy over yourself. She will be your wife, one of them if I am correct to assume as much. I do not ask for you to show favoritism for her over any other you marry: I only ask you to love her.”

“I will do my best, sir,” Spike said, glancing at a clock: ten minutes to his time with Maria. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go: Maria and I are going on a tour of the gardens.”

Carlos smiled at this. “Excellent! But I must give you a heads-up: some of the plants in the garden are known for aphrodisiac pollen and petals. If you do go in there, avoid doing anything that could lead to something more, all right?”

Spike gulped as he nodded: he knew pheromones such as that had a much lesser effect on dragons, but Maria would be far more susceptible to their effects. He would have to tread lightly indeed if he was going to avoid a scandal: yeah, his future wife jumping him in a garden before they were even married could sully not only his reputation, but hers especially. Then again, the circles of nobility could like spin it around and say he forced himself on her like a brute.

Leaving Carlos alone in the armory, Spike hurried down the halls. Passing archways here and there, he ran past servants as his memory guided him to his destination: to the sun dial, passing the dolphin fountain on the way. Arriving with a minute to spare, he found Maria walking over as well, her dress from the night before replaced with some simpler clothes: a blouse and skirt, though her hat screamed fashion in ways identical to Rarity’s.

“Right on time,” she said with a smile, holding out her arm for Spike to take. Gladly intertwining his arm with hers, Spike led her through the garden, all the while listening to what she had to say.

“I must admit, Mr. Spike, you are a most punctual dragon,” Maria said as they walked. “Arriving what I can only assume was prior to our scheduled time: it puts you in a good light. Most ponies feel it is better to be fashionably late than to be on a time, a trait I find rather... distasteful.”

“Why thank you: I find it easier to be early than late,” Spike said, feeling his spirit lift at her compliment. His heart already knew what his mind had yet to conclude: Maria and he were meant to be together. The thing was, just how to make her his without descending into the cesspool that was royal politics would be a challenge indeed. “I must say that is a rather fashionable hat: pray tell, how did you come by it?”

“Oh, this old thing?” Maria asked, glancing up at the brow of said hat. “A gift from mother a few years ago: she had bought it in Paris during the coronation of the new king, Louis I believe. I never asked for one, but to show her that I can act with ‘grace and dignity’, I wear it anyway. The peacock feathers are a bit too, oh I don’t know, extravagant for my tastes.”

“Then what are your tastes?” Spike asked, truly curious. A noble finding the trapping of nobility to be rather excessive was truly a rare creature.

“Simplicity is elegance unto itself, Mr. Spike,” Maria said as they passed under a large vine-covered arch. "For me, the simpler something is, the more enjoyment one can have out of it."

“Please, just call me Spike,” the young dragon replied, reminding her of what they had discussed the night before.

“Oh, yes: Spike,” she said, as if testing the word on her tongue before continuing. “I prefer dresses that are simple, clean and not designed to make a stallion drool over himself like some household pet eyeing their food dish. I know I am close to adulthood if not already there, but I do not like it when complete strangers ogle me from a distance, or worse: up close. Even in a society where politics saturate everything, I still should like to think of myself as, well, myself. Do you understand?”

“All too much,” Spike said as they sat down on a limestone bench near a small pond covered with lily pads. “Back in Equestria, I’ve seen the royal hassles both princesses have had to go through with. High-class ponies trying to buy their way into lofty positions of power, the gross inconsiderateness of some royal relatives of the princesses, and worst of all, the division between public officials whenever a crisis rears its ugly head. its amazing that they can even run the country as well as they do sometimes.”

“It sounds as though you’ve seen quite a bit, Spike,” Maria said, putting both hands over his. “I overheard the servants saying you were on a journey of some kind. Just how far do you plan on traveling?”

“All around the world, health permitting,” Spike said, cracking a grin. “Both of the princesses sent me out with the barest of necessities, encouraging me to make my own path as I went along." He was silent for a moment, as if internally debating with himself. "I do hope this doesn’t seem too personal a question, Maria, but have you ever wondered what things were like outside of Spreign? As in, if you were to accompany someone you knew, would you see it: the world, that is?”

Maria’s mouth opened slightly, as if slack-jawed. Oh no: that was too forward, wasn't it. Spike opened his own mouth to apologize for such a question, but he was cut off by her answer.

“Yes, yes I would love to see more of the world,” she said, her smile returning along with a far-off and dreamy look in her eyes. A small gust of wind blew a few errant petals from a nearby potted plant in their direction. “I just don’t know if I could go without someone I knew. My sisters are too young, my brothers would like nothing more than to stay in Spreign, and mother and father have too much to do.”

“Well, things like that could easily be taken care of,” Spike said, remembering to gently squeeze her hand as a sign of reassurance.

Maria’s eyes zeroed in on Spike’s own. “Taken care of?” she asked, her voice sounding... different. “When you said with someone I knew... did you perhaps mean yourself?”

Uh oh: play it cool, play it cool. “Uh, possibly: only if you wish to infer it that way,” Spike said, trying to use courtly manners as a way of deflecting a possible confrontation. “I assume you didn’t mean me.”

“What if I did?” she asked leaning closer. Uh oh again: danger close, danger close. “What if the first one I thought of was you, Spike the handsome dragon? What if I wanted to travel all over the world with you?”

Abandon ship! All men to the life rafts! “Maria, are you feeling all right? You seem somewhat... dreamy,” Spike said, inching away slightly, only to have her scoot closer to him than before.

“Oh, that,” she giggled, absentmindedly flicking a few errant bits of her mane to the side. Wait, how had some of it fallen out of her hat without him noticing? “Maybe it’s because I’m with you, silly.”

Then Spike saw it: those few errant petals were lining the top of her hat. The color, a deep red, stood out glaringly against said hat. Carlos had warned him, but Maria had lead him the whole way through the gardens. Had she taken him to this spot on purpose? Had she-

His thoughts were cut off when she connected his lips with her own. By Celestia’s royal mane, her lips were softer than the silken bedsheets he had slept in the night before. Feeling his eyes roll into the back of his head just from the experience, a surprise came when her one hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him closer. She was putting so much heat, so much passion into the kiss: he had never felt anything like it before. Trixie had been good, but this: this was something found in romance novels. no, scratch that: this was something ponies in romance novels dreamed about, nevermind experienced.

Her one hand pulled his other hand up to her blouse, the fingers pushing his into the fabric. Oh Celestia, she was forcing him to feel her up. Feel her soft, firm breasts and luxurious olive pelt, one of his claws teasing a nipple ever so slightly...

Spike’s eyes snapped open just as his wings became rigid, as did something else. Flapping, his withdrew his hands from her as the wind rushed around them, sending the petals and the chemicals within them off down another path.

It was a few more glorious seconds of kissing before Maria's mind must have cleared. Maria’s eyes opened widely as she realized what she was doing, though her lips were still crushed against his. Without a sound she withdrew her lips from Spike’s, confusion written all over her face. “Wha-what just happened?” she asked.

“Petals from an aphrodisiac plant messed with your head,” Spike said, taking in a breath of air: he had forgotten how to breathe during the kiss. Just to be safe, he scooted back a bit farther, so as to not seem to invade her personal space. “You, uh... kinda tried to force yourself on me. Or force me onto you: I was a bit confused myself as to your intentions.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I couldn’t help myself, you being such an attractive drake and all, and my terrible lonesomeness, and the stress from arguing with my mother. Oh, you must think me horrible, some overeager tart who-,”

Spike’s hand on her shoulder cut her off mid-sentence. “It is not your fault, Maria,” he said softly as she removed her hands from her face. “And no, I don’t think you some overeager... whatever you were going to say. Trust me when I say this: I forgive you for any transgression you think you may have visited upon me.”

Maria sniffed a little. “Was... was it all right? By your standards? Surely you’ve kissed many other mares by now.” Oh Celestia: she was thinking she had done a horrible job of kissing!

Spike thought back to the train ride: better not tell her about that. “Well, actually, I believe you’re only the second mare I’ve ever kissed.”

“R-really?” she asked, sounding a bit shocked. “But... but you’re so handsome! The mares should be throwing themselves at your feet!”

Again, not telling her about the train ride was a very good idea. “While I’ve been surrounded by mares my whole life, I never truly have had much experience with the fairer sex,” he replied. Much experience was right: that romp, or romps, with Trixie, hadn’t really expanded upon his interaction capabilities with mares, besides on how to please one.

They sat in silence for a moment, unsure of what else to say. “So... was it any good?” Maria asked quietly.

“Was what good?” Spike asked, nonplussed. Man, he really needed to learn to pay attention more.

“The... the kiss,” she said, her voice becoming almost a whisper.

“Well, yeah, actually,” Spike said. Her eyes seemed to light up as he went on. “To tell you the truth, and keeping this between us, I’ve never felt a kiss like that before. I’ve only read of a few kisses like that in all of the literature I’ve studied. You truly are a passionate pony, Miss Del Rivioso.”

She blushed, the redness visible through her pelt. “Why thank you, Spike the dragon,” she said, twirling an errant bit of her mane in one finger. “I must admit you yourself are quite the kisser too.”

A bell sounded in the castle, causing them both to jump. “Wow, it must be one o’clock already,” Maria said, leading Spike out of the garden. The saw the sun dial: yep, it was at one in the afternoon. They had been in that maze, talking and almost making out for three whole hours? Time sure flew when one was having... uh, fun.

“I must go,” Maria said, looking at Spike with a curious expression. “If you don’t mind me asking, could... could we kiss again? As a parting until next time?”

Inwardly, Spike knew he had stolen her heart. “Of course, my dear,” he replied, pulling her closer to him. Tentatively, she leaned up to kiss him, but this time he was not caught unawares. With a sudden surge of passion he didn’t know he had, he pulled her close to him, their bodies flush as he kissed her. His tongue dueled with hers, overwhelming her defenses as he ravished her mouth with skill and dexterity that surprised them both, especially him. Good lord, he was Casanova incarnate right there, and he didn't even know how he knew who that was.

Had his eyes been open, he would have seen her eyes roll into the back of her head, with one of her hooves rising up behind her like out of a fairy tale. Pulling away lest he let the kiss go too far, Spike was glad to see the young pony was blushing more furiously than before, her entire face almost red. With a hasty bow she bid him farewell, hurrying along the hallway. She had a spring in her step he had not seen before, and she almost bumped into a pillar, as if she were off somewhere else.

He had her: now it was time to reel her in. But first, he needed to find Carlos...

Well, finding the patron of the Del Rivioso family was easier than the young dragon had expected. The stallion was in his study, pouring over something that looked like financial reports while a few other stacks floated around him. He looked up as Spike stood at the entrance. “Come in Spike, come in!” he said, gesturing to a chair that magically pulled itself away from a wall. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, yes indeed,” the young prince replied. “I do believe I have captured Maria’s heart, your lordship. I intend to marry her before I leave to continue my royal journey, but I lack the resources and help to make it happen.”

The colossal smile that graced Carlos’s face upon hearing the word "marriage" faltered slightly in confusion. “By whatever do you mean?”

“I was hoping to propose to her at a special gathering... a ball, if you will,” Spike said, fumbling over the word. He wasn’t worried about the dancing or her answer to his proposal: he could dance splendidly well and he knew she’d say yes. It was all about the timing: he was due to leave sooner than he had thought, what with the prospect of possibly being stuck here if the weather took a turn for the worst, as it was wont to do wherever he went, it seemed.

Carlos jumped up from behind his desk and ran over to Spike, who instinctively curled up to protect himself. However, he did not receive a beating, but was instead encased in a bone-crushing (for a normal pony) hug. “Oh Spike: that is a wonderful idea!” the stallion said, letting the poor dragon go before said dragon had to forcibly extricate himself from the situation. “Don’t you worry about a thing: the ball shall take place, let me see... three days from now, with the wedding two days after that, and then you and Maria (and your friend Meia, of course) will leave to continue your journey the day after that! It is perfect!”

Spike nodded in agreement, though the suddenness still overwhelmed him a little bit. That didn't exactly leave a lot of time for a honeymoon, but then again with all the presents Maria would likely be given, they'd need two or three carriages. “Mr. Del Rivioso, what should I do in the meantime? I-,”

He was cut off by the stallion. “Please, call me dad: you will be soon enough,” the unicorn said with a tear in his eye. “Oh, I must prepare everything!”

“I should help... ‘dad’,” Spike said, noticing the look of happiness when he said “dad”. “What can I do?”

“You prepare yourself to marry my daughter, young drake,” Carlos said, things floating around the room as his magic levels increased dramatically. “Leave everything else to me, and make sure to wear the clothes we’ll be sending you at the ball.”

Spike nodded, knowing the clothes would be tailor-made and likely very expensive. “Anything else?”

“Break the news to your Meia friend, but other than that, steel yourself for the moment when it all comes together,” the Spreignish stallion said, pumping a fist by his side with gusto. “This shall be the ball of the decade!”

Spike inwardly gulped: this was going to be one of the biggest event of someone’s life, but who’s: Maria’s, or his?

Author's Note

Well, soon we shall leave behind Spreign. Don't worry, all you thirsting for more clop: there shall be more soon! Oodles and oodles of it...

Packing and Trekking

Chapter Nine

Packing and Trekking

Spike awoke early the next morning to find Maria's soft body sprawled over him, still asleep from the night before. A peaceful expression was plastered across her face, with her mane a jumbled mess from their wedding night's consummation. The room wasn't cold, but her nipples were poking against his chest: a pleasant dream, perhaps? Gently slipping out from underneath her, though not gentle enough to stop her nipples from rubbing against him and earning a soft moan from her lips. Rising to his feet, Spike kiss her on the forehead and went to the window, looking out as the sun rose. The light was filtering over the mountains, but with the castle being so much lower than the mountains, the sun itself would not be visible for some time.

There was a gentle knock at the door, the noise causing Spike to look over in surprise and a tinge of curiosity. Wrapping one of the spare blankets around him quickly like some makeshift toga, Spike walked over and cracked open the door: it was one of the servants.

“Your papers, senior,” he responded, handing Spike all of the financial, political and social papers he had been entrusted with. With a nod he closed the door, walking over to a table and sitting down, deciding now would be as good as any time to look through these. Once the journey began again, he wouldn't exactly have a flat steady surface to work upon.

First off, the financial aspect: flipping through a few scrolls and pieces of parchment, Spike saw that through the marriage, he had inherited a few islands far off the Spreignish coast, called the Canary Islands. They were, by the reports, inhabited by only a few small towns and cities, with much of the islands being designated vacation hotspots and natural preserves. Through the marriage, not only did Spike have duties to oversee about this place, but he also collected a small tithe correlated to the amount of imports bought by the residents. They were not entriely self-sustaining, and as such, goods were always comig in by ship.

“Hmm, judging from the description, that’ll be a wonderful place for a vacation,” he thought. “If I’ll ever need one after this world tour, of course.” He looked over a few more papers, still rather numerous in quantity.

Well, according to one specially sealed with the wax of Carlos’s own stamp, all of Maria’s inherited estates, quite a few in number, were to be divided up by Spike and Maria to their descendants, though it wasn’t specified if they had to live there. Spike had a feeling any foals they had would want to see their mother’s family, and as such he’d find a way to make that possible without a three week ocean voyage. A ship like the Crowhop, though rather pleasant considering there were plenty of other forms of travel, was no place for foals.

Foals: he couldn’t believe he was only married from the night before and already he was planning for the future. Their future: his, Maria's, and their foal's. So many questions raced through his head. What would they look like? Who’s personality would they have? How was he going to care for them, should they be more like a dragon and less like a pony? he did not look forward to the teething period if they were dragons: they would bite literally everything, as he had.

“Mmm,” a voice sounded from behind him. Turning around, he saw Maria sitting up in bed, one of the sheets wrapped around her body as well, though it did a poor job of concealing her curves. She looked over at her husband with sleepy eyes and a lazy smile. “Good morning, Spike dear.”

“Good morning, Maria,” he replied, shuffling a few more papers. “Have a good night’s sleep?”

“Oh, most definitely: I was exhausted,” she said, rising to her hooves and walking over, the sheet trailing after her like some cape. She didn't sound like the 'exhausted' part was a bad thing, either. “What’s all this?” she asked, gesturing to the papers in front of Spike.

“Oh, these were just dropped off a few minutes ago by one of the servants,” Spike said, riffling through a few more papers concerning titles. “All of the things that come with the marriage, you know? Heirs, estates, titles, finances...”

“Hmm, sounds boring,” Maria said, draping her arms over Spike’s shoulders and kissing him on the cheek. “Well, except for the part about heirs. What say we go for another walk in the gardens, dear husband?” It didn’t sound like a question.

“Sounds delightful,” Spike replied, turning his head and kissing her back on her cheek. “Shall we get dressed?”

“Mmm, sure,” Maria said, walking away. Spike turned to see her disappear into the room from whence she had emerged the night before. “I’ll be right out,” she called.

Spike stood up from the table, the blanket falling from around his form. Dressing in a pair of clothes a servant had left in the room the day before, he finished buttoning his shirt in time to see Maria walk out in the very same clothes she had worn when they had been in the garden only a few days ago. Well, minus the hat: she had made clear she didn’t want to wear it if she didn’t have to.

Arm in arm, the young couple strode out of the room, headed for the gardens. In the shadows of an archway, Chrysalis watched them, her eyes burning with an odd sort of flame. It was neither hatred nor envy, things on might expect of a creature so twisted. No; in her guise as a unicorn, Chrysalis had forgotten just how powerful an urge to be by someone really was, and she could sense the love coming off of the pair in droves that nearly drove her to her knees. She needed to tap into that, to feed on that, but that in and of itself could prove dangerous. So strong a love such as this, if it were directed towards her, could overwhelm her senses and reduce her to a blubbering wreck: she’d need to take extra precautions.

As the sun continued to rise over the magnificent mountaintops in the distance, Spike and Maria reached the inner circle of the garden, the exact spot where he had successfully passed her test of resisting her advances. Strangely, though, there was a blanket there, along with a small basket.

“What’s all this?” Spike asked, sitting down with his wife on the blanket.

“Oh, this?” she said, opening the basket and retrieving a small scroll with magic from her horn. “This here is just a small list of things we’ll be packing to leave with. Of course, much of it you’ll have to send back to your home in Equestria to await for us when we get there. The only question is, how will you do that? Much of this is too valuable to be simply tossed aboard a ship.”

“Dragon fire,” Spike said simply. “It contains magical properties many ponies have only heard in fables: I can transport anything needed through a good breath of flame. I can assure you: I’ve yet to damage anything this way.” That was true: he’d never actually damaged anything important. A few errant scrolls in his youth, but that was to be expected.

Maria seemed to sigh in relief. “Well, that puts one thing out of the way,” she said, the magically-suspended scroll checking itself with a small quill. “Next order of business: living arrangements as we travel through the southern portion of Europe.”

“I believed staying at assorted inns and such would suffice for our needs, since we’ll be packing light enough to not worry about being a target for thieves,” Spike said, thinking back to the looter that had ambushed Meia and him back in the mountain pass. “If not, we could always camp out alongside the road, as the carriages are more than large enough to provide sleeping arrangements for the three of us.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose that is true,” Maria said, a small smile gracing her face. “I’ve always wanted to do something similar to camping, but my parents would never have allowed it, especially mother: ‘affecting my tender sensibilities’ and all that noble rubbish.” She sounded rather off-put by the trappings of her heritage: the compelte opposite of Rarity, who insisted she was destined for some sort of royal/noble recognition. the contrast was rather stark, if not a bit unfair to both: they had been raised differently and of course would view such a lifestyle differently.

“Ah, well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to explore the “wilder side” on this journey,” Spike said, looking around him. “I still can’t believe how far I have yet to go.”

“How far we have yet to go,” Maria corrected him with a giggle, placing her hand on his as the scroll tucked itself away. “We are married, after all: where you go, I go.”

“Undoubtedly,” Spike agreed, feeling it was time to tell her about his contract. “Maria, do you know how royalty need heirs to continue a bloodline?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, her face developing a confused expression. “Where did this come from all of a sudden?”

“Well, I believe it was time I told you of my... other obligations,” Spike said, preparing himself for the worst. “You see, back in Equestria, it was made clear to me by my sovereigns- Princesses Celestia and Luna- that I marry and bring new blood and knowledge to the land.”

“Yes...?” Maria said slowly, clearly not knowing where this was going.

“I must fulfill a minimum of three marriage contracts in order to take my place alongside them as co-rulers of Equestria,” the dragon said. “They specified more would be better, but three is the absolute minimum.”

“... three marriage contracts? A minimum of three?” Maria asked, her face forming a frown. “You have to marry at least two other mares in order to secure your future and those of your children?”

She sounded rather angry: this wasn’t good. “Yes?” Spike said, though it was more a question than a statement.

His wife was silent for a moment, before simply shrugging. “Well, I guess it proved too good to be true.”

“What?” Spike asked, now the confused one.

“That I’d have you all to myself,” Maria said, sighing in a manner that was not at all mad or even sad. “I suppose I’ll have to live with sharing you with other mares, I guess. Frankly, from what I’ve heard, the gender ratio in Equestria is rather skewed: perhaps some new blood would be a good thing for your country.”

Spike breathed a sigh of relief, only to have Maria’s finger dig into his scaly chest.

“But you listen to me, husband,” she said, a fierceness showing in her eyes. “There will be no favoritism showered on any of the mares you marry in the future, all right? The same goes for your children: you will love all of us equally, in our own ways: you got that?”

Spike gulped, the thought of favoritism having never crossed his mind. Why did females always think of the harder things in life to deal with? “Of-of course,” he said: the pressure on his chest became more insistent, so much so that he had to lay down on the ground.

“Now,” Maria said, her tone changing as flower petals swirled around her. “Let me remind you of just how much reward a promise can bring.” Her eyelashes fluttered as she drew herself over him: they were all alone in the garden, it seemed: exactly how she must have planned it. Damn, why did she have to be so much smarter than he?

“A-are you sure nopony will discover us?” Spike said as her nimble fingers began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Whenever she was determined, she sure knew how to get things done.

“Of course not: while you were dressing, I sent a quick letter to the servants to prepare this for us, strictly telling them that after that the garden areas were off limits. Now then,” she said, reaching up to undo her blouse as if she had been aching to do so all morning. “Take off your shirt: slowly, please.”

Spike did as she said: she sure did know how to trap someone. The thing was, he could get used to this kind of trickery.

Slowly, Maria slid her now exposed body up and down Spike's making sure to rub her breasts against his scaly chest for good measure. It was almost like a massage: a very, very sensual massage. the next things to go were both of their lower clothes, followed by any undergarments they had chosen to wear. Raising herself above her husband, the unicorn noble gently lowered herself onto him, gasping at the sensation of being filled once more. Then, slowly, she began to pump herself up and down, her mind erasing all of her thoughts and plans in order to fully take in this amazing experience. Her breaths and breasts moved in time with her bouncing, the soft furry mounds a tantalizing prize that Spike's hands could not ignore.

So it was the next day that Maria bid her family farewell. Tears were exchanged, promises made, and a great many hugs were given. Spike felt a sense of déjà vu at such a spectacle, the scene reminding him a bit of his own departure from his home in Equestria. After the final goodbye, or maybe the third final goodbye, they went over to the carriages that would be ferrying them through southern Europe and into the country of Neightaly.

A mound of gold, jewels, ceremonial armor and priceless heirlooms awaited them, all neatly boxed and crated for transport. There were even aluminum frames for future family pictures. As Maria and Meia made their way to the carriages, Spike felt a sensation stir in his stomach. he had not gotten this feeling in quite some time, but even he could recognize what it meant. Letting out some fire with a small burp, he saw the green tongue of flame condense into a scroll, sealed with Twilight Sparkle’s personal stamp.

Catching it and opening it with practiced ease, he slowly read through the scribbled words, thankful twilight wrote small but detailed.

“Dear Spike, I recently received your letter and we must all ask you the same question: YOU’RE MARRIED ALREADY?” He winced at this: he could practically hear her shouting as she wrote this. He continued to read. “I know it is within your royal obligation to do so, but you’ve been gone for little more than a month! Don’t you think you may have… rushed things just a teensy bit? There are plenty of other mares out there that could easily fulfill you obligations, just later in time. Everyone here is awaiting your response and the things you said you’d send along. Sincerely, Twilight Sparkle.”

He looked down further. “P.S. Princess Celestia informs me there will be a storm soon in Prance, so you’d best hurry if you want to have clear weather for traveling.” Good, Celestia knew the weather: of all the things mentioned in the letter, this might actually prove to be the most useful.

Spike couldn’t help but sigh: Twilight, bossy as ever without even trying to be so. Maybe that’s why he loved as much as he had, since she had always been there for him and now an ocean separated them. Flipping over the scroll, he breathed flame onto his finger again and began to write.

“Dear Twilight and friends, I do believe it is within my right to decide when I am to marry or not. Maria is not just some random pony: she is a unicorn of noble birth, gentle disposition, and will surely become good friends with all of you when we get back to Equestria. With this letter, I am sending all of which I have inherited in the marriage, including property deeds, a small fortune, and many more things that I am sure you all will appreciate. To Rainbow Dash, I give armor forged in the furnaces of Roam during its time of imperialism. To Applejack, I send the seeds of the Streifling Herbst apple, a sweet/sour apple common through western Europe. Fluttershy, I give you the entirety of my journals containing all the sketches and diagrams of animals I have seen so far. To Rarity and Pinkie Pie, I leave you a vast collection of ball gowns and masquerade masks to go with them: divide them as you wish. Twilight, seeing as how you are in need of this the most, I send you a sleeping spell that calms the nerves and makes going to bed easier. That, and a spell for tree-growth acceleration. With the greatest of regards, Spike.”

Sucking in a good breath of air, Spike let loose a torrent of flame, which consumed the scroll and the aforementioned goods in a puff of smoke. Soon enough, they would be appearing in Equestria, possibly right in front of Twilight’s nose: the thought of her library all of a sudden crammed with so much stuff gave him cause for a small chuckle.

“Spike! We are ready to leave,” Maria called from her carriage window. The roads were wide enough that three carriages could travel abroad, but each of them had their own carriage and would travel in single file anyway, so as to not take up so much of the road.

“Coming,” Spike called, taking one last look at the castle. It had been less than two weeks since he was leaving, married to a beautiful unicorn heiress.

As it was, he continued to look out as their carriages moved by themselves, until the winding road led around the side of a mountain, and the magnificent city disappeared from sight entirely. The road in and of itself was nothing special: small villages here and there, with markets selling whatever they could locally produce. Small temples and churches alike dotted the landscape, some built into the very sides of the mountains and accessible along the narrowest of pathways.

Once they passed through the mountains, the carriages came out onto valleys and hills that seemed to stretch on forever: they had entered the realm of Prance, but only just. So, as evening approached, the three set their carriages by each other and set up camp, raising small awnings off of the carriages to serve as protection from the elements. Maria seemed particularly thrilled to put these up, even though they’d be sleeping in the carriages. Well, Meia would be by herself, at any rate: Spike and Maria were to share one for the night.

The hills seemed to hum softly as they settled around the fire, wondering what the future lay for them. As such, a long, shrill note pierced the air, soft and yet chilling in nature.

“What is that?” Spike asked, looking around. “I’ve never heard something like that before.” It sounded like some sort of demonic or other-worldy presence that came out only at night.

“The ghost of the Witch King, most likely,” Maria said, almost nonchalantly. "He comes and goes as he pleases: most of the time."

“The what?” Meia asked, her head swiveling sharply to look at the unicorn.

“The Witch King,” Maria repeated, as if she were explaining something to a slow pony. “These are the fields of Pelennor, where his army was defeated long ago.”

“Who was the Witch King?” Spike asked, his curiosity piqued by her words. "I've never heard of him before. Books and scrolls in Equestria don't usually have anything on the histories of other countries." Meia nodded in agreement: she too wanted to hear this. Changelings usually kept to themselves and when they invaded a place, they never took time to learn the history.

“Well, as you know, the basis for the magic of a unicorn resides in their horn,” Maria said, pointing at hers. “Long ago, back in the days of the Roaman Empire, a small pony was born to an unusual couple at the time: a unicorn and an earth pony. It wasn't aboo, per se, but the ponies of the time implemented a sort of de jure segregation onto mixed-couple ponies: informal segregation, that is. The couple's foal, a colt, was born without a horn, and yet… he could still do magic. Magic of what was believed to be a darker sort, the kind not accepted by society: communing with the dead, controlling shadows, that sort of stuff. He was driven out as an outcast, called a freak, a monster, and other such things. Others in his situation would have gone on, left the insults behind and made good with their talents. But not he, for his heart was black as coal and his mind as twisted as could be from both his exclusion and his own development. So he did disappear, for a while at least.”

She paused. “Then he returned, with a great and terrible army under his rule. His dark magic imbibed many of them with unnatural strength and abilities, so that anyone in their way stood little chance. He conquered lands, slew princes, razed cities, torched towns, and crushed armies. He seemed unstoppable, and the worse part was that he sought not to conquer, but to destroy: only destroy. It was then that the Roamans, who were about to lose so much in this area, realized they had to send in one of the best generals and his armies.”

“Who?” Spike asked. He was totally unfamiliar with the legends of such places, so he immediately wanted to know more.

“Almareconraddius Plansci, my ancestor,” Maria said, her face losing much of its expression. “Tales and written accounts say it was... terrible. The battle lasted for the entire day, with my ancestor finally slaying the Witch King, but not before he had summoned a terrible storm.” She pointed out towards the hills, where one in particular stood out, coal-black. “That is where the Witch King died, amidst unnatural thunder and lightning. My ancestor barely escaped with his life, as did the remains of his legions. The Witch King’s own forces died with him in that deadly maelstrom.”

“So, what does that have to do with now?” Meia asked, looking around.

“They say his ghost still haunts these places, a specter seeking harm on those who travel alone. They say he can drag you with him into the realm of shadow, from whence all ghosts come.”

She laughed suddenly, breaking the tension. “But it is merely an old pony’s tale: the ghost part, anyway. We should get some rest, as it is.”

“Yes, you should,” a voice said behind them. All three heads spun around to see several cloaked figures standing there, their faces hidden in shadow.

“Sweet dreams,” one said, rushing them. As quick as a flash, he withdrew a club and smashed it upside Spike’s head. The dragon spun away, rolling over the fire and into the dirt along the road. His mind swirling, both in pain and confusion, the drake felt something lift him up: one of the brigands.

“What about the other two?” a voice said.

“Take them with us: the Baron will want them unspoiled for his own purposes,” another voice said, seemingly the one holding up Spike. There was an ill note in how he said the word unspoiled. “This one goes with them: they’re all due to meet our lord. Get in the carriages, and tie those other two up with the magic-nullifying rope. We’ve got to make sure that they can't escape and that nobody saw us leave with them.”

As he said those final words, Spike felt his mind slip away, and his eyes closed. He could not feel the brute holding him bind him and toss him into one of the carriages, where two muffled cries signaled that Meia and Maria were there as well. A giddyup from the brigands made the carriage lurch forward, moving farther away from the border of Spreign and deeper into the territory of Prance.

Author's Note

Oh, what a twist of fates! What will happen now? Why am I being so cryptic? How many questions will I type?

Yes, there will be more Lord of the Rings references for those of you who have an eye for such detail. I absolutely adore the series and the movies.

A Captive Audience

Chapter Ten

A Captive Audience

Spike awoke to the feeling of his feet being dragged behind him, with his upper body being supported by two figures. He could barely open his eyes, so swollen they were, but he could at least think now with a clearer head. Where was he? What was happening? What-?

“Release him,” a voice said, which promptly resulted in Spike meeting to cold stone floor beneath him. Rolling over, Spike craned his neck up to see an earth pony standing over him, his long blonde mane stuffed underneath a helm. “So who do we have here?” the stallion asked, leaning over Spike.

The dragon was unable to answer properly: all he could do was cough. The stallion wrinkled his nose at the gesture, but didn’t move. “Let me tell you, then,” he said, standing up straight. “I am Lord Guy de Baux of Marseille, and you dragon, are a stranger in our lands: a very wealthy stranger, by the looks of your carriages.” He circled around the weakened dragon like a falcon circling its prey from high above. “I rule these lands in the name of my king, but I hold the power here. I can do what I want, with whom I want, and the king will never be the wiser. You see, he has enough trouble already uniting the barons to the north. While most of us barons to the south are loyal beyond measure, I myself am a different breed of pony.”

He nudged Spike in the side with his hoof, causing the dragon to cough some more. “I answer only to myself, dragon, and I take what I see as mine. As of right now,” he added, bending over once more and poking Spike in the chest. “You belong to me. Your carriages and whatever they contain, belong to me. Your two lovely mare friends who accompanied you here belong to me as well now. We will see just how far my ownership extends in due time.

Spike grunted, likely some insult, but the stallion didn’t care. “Take him to the dungeons: perhaps he can be a bit chattier with his cellmates.” Two sets of hands roughly picked up the dragon and dragged him off, the rooms becoming darker in Spike’s eyes. Finally, after being dragged further and further down what could only be stairs, he heard a key turn. A metal door with iron bars crisscrossing it opened, and he was unceremoniously tossed inside.

Almost immediately two pairs of hands were upon him once more, but they were gentle, soft, anxious. “Maria? Meia?” the drake croaked out as the two sets of hands rolled him onto his back. “Are you... are you all right?”

“Yes, we’re fine: afraid, but otherwise unharmed,” Maria said, gently stroking Spike’s cheek with one hand. “What about you? Where are we?”

“M-Marseille,” Spike said, another cough coming forth from his lips. “The lord: he’s... he’s a robber baron. He... he said we belong to him now.”

“Hush, hush, just lie still,” Meia said, a tone of worry trembling through her voice. “You need your rest: otherwise you won’t get any better.”

“But... why wouldn’t he tie us up? Isn’t he worried about... about you two using magic to escape?”

“These walls contain magic nullifying spells, I’m afraid,” Meia said, looking around the cell as she did so. “There is nothing we can do, and even if we could, you’re in no condition to travel.”

“Well, I never thought it would come to this,” Spike said, leaning back.

“Imprisonment?” Maria asked.

“No, being injured like this,” the dragon said. “Princess Luna had always told me dragons were nigh invulnerable to many forms of attack, but it seems blunt force trauma still can pack a wallop.” He would have chuckled, if not for the fact that his head hurt too much. “Thankfully some of her teachings can be useful right now.”

“What do you mean?” Meia asked, looking down at the dragon.

“Please remove your hands, and I’ll show you,” he replied. As soon as they did so, he breathed out a tongue of green flame. It coursed over his body like water cascading down rapids, until he was covered in it. To their further astonishment, he spoke through the green blaze.

“Don’t worry: this is just a way us dragons accelerate the healing process. I’ll be better in a few hours: you might want to get some rest.”

Worried for the burning dragon before them, but exhausted from the ordeal, the two unicorns lay side by side and went to sleep as best they could on the straw in the far corner. It was far from ideal, but it was far enough from Spike so that it wouldn’t catch fire.

A few hours later, Spike arose as the flames covering him extinguished themselves. Looking around, he saw the two unicorns rousing from their sleep, both looking slightly more refreshed than when he had gone under his healing process.
“Anything happen while I was out?” he asked, rising up and walking over. He pulled them both into a hug, feeling better now that they were all back together.

“No, but Maria overheard some guards awhile back talking about another new arrival,” Meia said, looking out of the iron bars.

Just then, the door swung open again and a smaller pony was thrown inside, to the laughing if the guards. They shut and locked the door in a flash, leaving the three looking at the small, crumpled pony laying before them.

“Is he all right?” Maria asked, approaching what looked to be a colt. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, judging from his small size.

Spike leaned down next to the small pony and gently turned him over, checking for injuries. “Are you all right kid?” he asked.

The little colt let out a cry. “Daddy,” he sobbed, clutching to Spike’s body with surprising force. He wouldn’t let go, even when Spike sat upright. “Where’s my daddy?”

Spike didn’t know what to do at the moment, so he hugged the poor colt back. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” he replied as Maria kneeled down next to them.

“What’s your name?” she asked, sitting closer to the little colt. He let go of Spike to rub his eyes: he had been crying for a while, judging from the redness around them.

“P-Pierre,” he said, his voice still trembling. “I can’t find my daddy. Do you know where he is?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Maria said as the little colt nearly fell over into her lap. He was clearly exhausted, but for some reason he had managed to stay awake. “What is you daddy’s name?”

“I-I don’t know,” Pierre said, holding his arms against his chest as if hugging himself. “Uncle Luke will know.”

“Uncle Luke? Who is he?” Spike asked, perplexed. The boy did not carry himself like a boy his age, even though he clearly acted his age.

“Well, my uncle’s name is Louis, but he likes it better when I call him Luke,” the small colt said, his golden mane complementing his dark blue coat nicely.

“Louis,” Spike repeated, as if trying to remember the name. “What does he do for a living?”

“He usually meets with other ponies from all over in his big house,” the colt said, his eyes drooping. “Most of them are nice, but some can be mean to me. they call me short, chubby, a baby. Not uncle Luke: he calls me his little prince.” His eyes closed and he fell asleep soon after, the kind of sleep that few could rouse a child from.

Spike, Meia and Maria looked at one another: they had all made the connection as well. Any escape plan would have to be put on hold until this little colt was better, for this was no ordinary colt.

“This colt is...” Meia began.

“Yes, Meia,” Spike said. “He is the nephew to the king of Prance: Prince Pierre.”

So it was that Spike and his two companions came into the presence of a young colt who had more in store for himself than any of them could have guessed, and they were all good guessers. The next night, after receiving no word from either the guards or Lord Guy de Baux save for some bread and some water, Spike and Pierre fell asleep first, the small colt cuddling up alongside the dragon as though he were a security blanket. Which, basically, he was: he gave off enough heat to keep the little guy warm in the colder cell.

Maria and Meia sat together on a pile of straw, which Spike had managed to not only dry without torching but clumped it together so that they made decent beds. Still, they both slowly watched the rising and falling of Spike’s chest as he drowsed, casting glances at little Pierre at times. For so small a colt and having been through so much, his serene state seemed to be a note of happiness in so dark and dank a place such as they were in.

Maria glanced over at Meia surreptitiously. “Meia,” she said slowly.

“Hm? Yes?” she said back, tearing her eyes away from Spike.

“You can cut the act,” Maria said. “I know what it is you hide: all of it.”

Meia blinked. “All of what?” she asked, doing her best to feign ignorance. How could she have found out?

“You talk in your sleep, Meia,” Maria said, looking her harder in the eyes. “Don’t pretend I don’t notice the way you look at him.”

Oh: she noticed that. In her mind, Meia exhaled a breath she hadn’t been holding. Her true secret remained safe. “So?” she said. “Do you have a problem when I look at your husband?”

Maria didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Actually, no: I have no problem with your feelings for him,” she said, looking back at Spike. “I understand your position: he is a most handsome devil, is he not? No mare in her right mind would look at him and deny any sort of attraction.”

Meia was becoming more and more confused: what was this all about?

“I know you care for him, perhaps more than you would care to admit,” Maria said, looking back at the other unicorn. “I can tell by the way he acts around you that he has deep-seated feeling for you as well, though he has yet to acknowledge them.”
Damn: this Maria really knew how to read a fellow pony. “So what are you saying?” Meia asked.

“Your feelings for him are long: I can tell, as Spike told me you’ve been with him since he left the shores of Manehattan,” the noble unicorn said. “I can see it in your face when you look at him, that same look present, no doubt, on my face when I do the same.”

“What would that be?” Meia asked, though she had a feeling she knew the answer.

“Love,” Maria said simply. “You love him, don’t you?”

Meia spluttered for a few seconds, almost choking up on her response. “I... but he... how... you... fine,” she managed, sighing. “Yes, I do have feelings for him: he’s saved my life twice now, possibly more if you think about it. He’s always been there for me, never asking for more than I can give. I’m a burden to him, and yet he doesn’t think of me like that. I just... I just don’t know what to do.”

“Ask him to marry you,” Maria said, sending a bolt of shock running through the disguised changeling’s body. Say what now?

“Marry him?” Meia asked finally. “But... but we’re imprisoned! How in world would that monstrous lord even allow such a thing?”

“After we escape, Miss Morphos,” Maria responded, slowly and as if she were talking to a small foal. “Then you can ask him. As for now, I think he needs to know just how you feel.”

“But... but...” Meia said, but Maria cut her off with a stern glance.

“Show him tomorrow night, if nothing sudden happens. I’ll have little Pierre sleep by me, but be sure to be quiet about it: as spacious as this cell is, it wouldn’t do good for him to wake up to two adults ‘expressing’ their feelings towards one another, now would it?”

Meia was aghast, both inside and out, at just how unique this unicorn was. She did not want to hoard her husband, showed compassion for those who were conflicted, and even gave advice to those who would never ask for it. Spike had really lucked out with this one. “If... if you’re sure,” Meia said.

“Absolutely,” Maria said, lying down on the straw bed. “You’d best get some rest: I have no idea what tomorrow may bring, but it can’t be much worse than our current predicament.”

Meia lay down as well, her back to Maria as the noble unicorn’s breathing soon became deep and rhythmic. “She doesn’t know of my plans, and yet she knows of my feelings,” she muttered to herself, her eyes settling shut. “We’ll see if she can make good on her promises.”

Early the next morning, all four occupants of the cell were rudely awakened by the door swinging open and two guards entering. “You two: get up,” they said, pointing at Maria and Pierre.

“Whatever for?” Maria asked, protectively moving to stand in front of little Pierre.

“Next cell just opened up: looks like you’re getting a new place to stay,” one said with a sneer. He reached out to grab her, but she swatted his hand away and stood as tall as she could.

“I am Maria Almareconraddo del Rivioso, wife of Spike the dragon: I am perfectly capable of showing myself to my new quarters,” she said politely but firmly, grabbing Pierre’s hand in her own. Both guards actually took a step back at the fire in her eyes before recovering their composure. Still, when she and the little colt walked out, they made sure to not stand too close to her.

Ever-so-slightly, Maria glanced back over her shoulder and gave Meia a small nod. Then the guards closed the door behind them, and their footsteps faded until the shutting of a nearby cell door could be heard. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder could be heard: the storm Twilight's letter had told about had arrived.

Meia and Spike said nothing to each other for the rest of the day: what more was there to say that had already not been said? Well, in most cases, that would be a correct assumption, but Chrysalis could not hold back Meia’s feelings any longer, since they were her feelings as well.

As much as she had tried to avoid it, as hard as she had tried, she had fallen in love with that charming dragon. His manners, his physique, his objective politeness and his charming personality... they were what all mares craved in a stallion, but to her, one who had gone so long without physical company that it actually hurt to think of her own feelings, it was like an addiction. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she was drawn to this magnificent drake, and now she didn’t care if she got burned.

Night approached, or so it seemed, as the guards did say it was time for dinner. After eating some bread and what seemed to be mushroom stew, the two sat in their cell, the only light filtering in from the torches outside their doors. The thunder outside continued, and even though they were far below, the pair could tell it was raining heavily outside: it seemed colder than usual in the cell. Still, whoever had made the cell had done a fine job sealing it up: no water dripped through from above.

“Spike,” Meia said, not knowing if he was even awake. Another rumble of thunder, almost on top of the castle, tore through the sky, its effect humbled by the thick stone.

“Yes?” he responded, settling that debate. “What is it, Meia?”

“I... I talked to Maria before,” she said, thinking back. “Last night, when you and little Pierre were asleep, she told me... things.”

“Things?” Spike asked, sounding interested. “What kind of things?”

“Oh to Tartarus with it,” Meia said, her nerves steeled more so than they had been for the invasion of Canterlot. Crossing the room, the sat down on Spike’s lap: before he could protest or say anything, she captured his lips in a deep, passion-filled kiss. For a second he lay there, shocked at her actions. Then, ever-so slowly, he began to kiss her back.

She drew back for air, letting him speak for what felt like the first time in hours. “You... what... huh?” Spike asked, terribly conflicted over the emotions toiling in his mind.

“I love you, Spike,” Meia said, the truth soaking every word she uttered. “I love you: I just couldn’t see it before. Maria could even see it, and it was she who suggested I do this.”

“Maria? But why?” Spike asked, even Meia began to grind herself against him. The thunder outside rumbled more, and if they had had a window, they would have seen lightning flashing across the sky like bolts from an angry god.

“Because she cares for others besides herself, Spike,” Meia said, kissing him again. “She gave me her blessing to ask for your hand in marriage.”

All right, now Spike went from confused to downright stunned. “But... but,” he said, his words becoming less and less coherent. "But...now? It... uh." His words failed him as Meia's face drew close to his once more. He had never noticed before just how beautiful she was.

“If we ever get out of this, the first thing you’re going to do is marry me, Spike,” Meia said, slowly undoing her clothes on top of the dragon. “But first things first: right now, I want you to love me. Love me like I love you, you handsome drake.”

Spike was silent for a moment as his mind caught up with him, but then he slowly began to undo his own clothes. Meia smiled in accomplishment as the two of them shed their clothes at an increasing pace, until they were both completely naked in the dungeon cell.

“Well, it seems there is more to you than meets the eye, Spike,” Meia said, looking down at his now-throbbing erection. “We’d best make this quick and quiet, or else the guards might hear us.”

Spike nodded, though he was surprised when Meia pushed him down onto his backside so that he was sitting up with his back to the wall. “Meia, what-,”

“Shh,” she said, kissing him to quiet him up. “Just sit there and love me, all right?”

“Okay,” Spike said, spreading his legs so she could sit comfortably on him. Well, ‘sit’ was more of a loose definition.

Spreading her own legs and revealing her glistening mare-hood to Spike’s view, Meia slowly sat down until the tip of Spike’s throbbing shaft nuzzled the very edge of her nether region. She let out a very soft whinny at the contact, which had also made the fur on her pelt stand on end slightly. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered herself onto the throbbing shaft, her body clenching involuntarily at so large an invader. She made it about half-way before she stopped, the feeling of being full so overwhelming she could have sworn she started hallucinating.

Spike’s eyes seemed to glow in the darkness with a green flame, his darkened features giving him the appearance of a demonic lover. But a lover nonetheless, for his hands reached up to Meia’s sides and clasped her around the slim waist, holding her in position. Slowly, he pushed her down more onto him, capturing her lips in time to arrest a squeal of pain and pleasure. She rocked her hips from side to side, churning the massive piece of meat inside her while her inner walls clenched and unclenched. Then the mighty dragon beneath her began to raise her off of him, only to lower her back down faster than before.

Just then, she orgasmed; whether from the fact that she had never taken something like inside her or she had gone so damn long without a good rut, she hadn’t a clue. Needless to say, she felt another one hit as soon as he had pulled her up and slammed her back down onto him. And they just kept coming, one right after the other: a stream of orgasms the likes of which even the most debauched author could only dream about. The thunder outside cascaded in time with her body's shocks, as if both were tied to the lightning flashing through the heavens.

Spike quietly grunted as he bounced the beautiful unicorn in his lap, his tongue twisting out to lap at her breasts and nipples like a very horny snake. She moaned more and more, and yet somehow managed to keep her volume lower than many would in her situation.

Then suddenly, she clamped down on him harder than before, just as he hit his peak. With a grunt he released his seed into her, his shaft sliding with the sudden extra lubrication until he had bottomed out in her. Still he pumped as she squeezed harder, the force almost making him wince.

In Meia’s mind, she felt plans and years of work shatter within an instant: all she could do was ride this last, powerful orgasm as she felt the mighty shaft beneath her pump her full of seed. Her belly began to distend slightly from the amount, but none spilled out, even as the flow soon came to a stop. She was exhausted, so tired that she couldn’t rise. She simply fell over onto Spike’s chest, her breathing heavy as could be. Her heart beat in time with his: erratic and fast.

“I... love you, Spike,” she managed to croak as the post-orgasmic bliss overtook her.

“I love you too, Meia,” Spike whispered, his voice slightly hoarse after their bout. Feeling her breathing slow eventually, his eyes closed as well, his warm shaft still buried inside the beautiful mare.

It was like this when they awoke early the next morning, though judging from the lack of sounds outside, nobody else had yet woken up.

“Oh, my,” Meia said groggily as she felt something stir inside her. She looked down to see Spike’s eye opening too. “Seem’s like someone woke up before either of us.”

“Mmm, he’s got a mind of his own,” Spike said sleepily, though anyone could tell he was rapidly waking up.

“Again?” Meia asked, forlornly getting up off of him as his shaft slid out with a pop.

“Yes,” he said, rising to his feet. He looked over at Meia, who had placed her hands against the wall and had spread her legs. Her glistening marehood shone in the dull light of the torches, her toned rear showing curves that would bring a lesser stallion to his knees.

“Well?” she said, looking over her shoulder with a seductive look that sent half of Spike’s blood supply into his nether regions. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you-,”

Her words were cut off by Spike crossing the distance in the blink of an eye and stuffing himself into her. She would have gasped, had his hand not covered her mouth. Letting it drop to her sides, he lay his back over hers and whispered into her ear.

“We’ll still need to be quiet.” Before she could respond, he withdrew to almost the tip, and then slammed back into her, earning a hushed gasp. Oh, by the stars above, he was going deeper than the night before!

“Ohh,” she moaned as he withdrew again and slammed into her, causing her breasts to bounce. One of Spike’s hands placed itself next to hers on the wall, while the other snaked around and latched onto one of her breasts, squeezing it and tweaking the nipple. She moaned more and more as he thrust into her, her arms shaking already.

Soon enough, whether from the early- morning sleepiness or sudden exhaustion, she let her arms drop, only to be caught by Spike before she could slam into the wall. Never missing a beat, he lay her face-down on the straw and began to vigorously shove himself into her, raising himself up slightly so as to change the angle from which he entered.

Meia’s mind was going through emotions she had never known existed. She arched her lower body to give him better access, her back forming a semi-circle as she raised her rear. With each thrust her breasts plowed into the hay, deforming it underneath her body. Spike grabbed he firm ass and spread her slightly, only to ram in harder than before. The pounding increased in speed until he was a blur behind her, his shaft pistoning in and out of her like there was no tomorrow.

Oh, by the sun and moon above, this was exquisite. Her body was on fire, her throat ready to unleash moan after moan from Spike's relentless pounding. He was like an animal in this state: conscious thought giving way to a primal side that both scared and thrilled her to no end. Just the thought of his ridged shaft entering her had sent chills through her body: the actual thing was infinitely better.

Just like that, she came, biting down into the straw to not scream out. Her inner walls clenched hard, so much so that Spike soon came too, erupting more of his seed into her womb. Beneath her, Meia could feel her belly swell more than it had the night before, but thankfully her changeling physiology allowed for such expansion. Still, when Spike lay on top of her and pulled out with a wet pop, she felt utterly full.

“That was...” she began unable to finish as Spike rolled off to her side and lay down next to her.

“Yeah,” he said, capturing her lips in a kiss. “Yeah, it was.”

They dressed quickly when they heard some guards moving outside the door.

Author's Note

Well, it seems another has fallen to Spike's charming ways. The question is, how will they escape? What will happen next? Stay tuned to find out!

Also, damn: Spike is the luckiest guy-er, I mean dragon,- in the world.

Rage and Reward

Chapter Eleven

Rage and Reward

The door to the cell flew open, as if those moving it had a very simple purpose at the forefront of their minds. The guards who entered brought with them a special guest: Pierre. They threw him into the straw as one moved forward and grabbed Meia. Spike stepped forward to defend her, but was met with a gauntlet-covered hand smacking him to the floor. He looked up in time to see the boot kick him in the ribs, not breaking anything, but sending him flat onto his back.

“Spike!” Meia shouted as another pony was pushed past the door in front of her. She tried to struggle, but the brute holding her was too strong and pushed her out like she was a mere child. She turned upon colliding with the other mare, who was looking into the cell. The olive-pelt unicorn cried as she saw her husband be kicked by the guard again.

“Spike!” Maria cried in anguish as she vanished from sight, along with Meia. Their shouts slowly faded through the passage of time as Spike lay there, coughing from the impacts upon his rib-cage. The guard standing over him kicked once more for good measure, spitting on him with contempt. With an unbearable finality, the stallion walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Spike slowly rose, wincing as he did so. While the hoof of a pony never could penetrate a dragon's hide, it could still damage the flesh underneath. And boy, did he hurt: it was as though he had fallen off out of a tree and had landed on a pointed rock. Coughing some more, he made his way to the door, frantically peering out to look for the two mares. By now, their scream had faded away: they were likely far off inside the castle, too far for him to hear.

Too far for him to protect.

“Maria! Meia!” Spike shouted weakly, pounding against the door in a futile effort to bring them back. Well, tried to pound against it: he was clutching his bruised side with one hand as he hit his fist against the iron door. The guards outside merely laughed at his struggles, their guffaws the kind one can only express when one enjoys seeing the distress of others. “Where have you taken them?” the dragon shouted a bit louder, only to receive a few choice cusses in his general direction.

At wits end, he turned to Pierre, who had risen to his hooves and was standing still, looking at Spike as though he were afraid for the poor dragon. “Pierre, do you know where they’re being taken?” he asked, trying to calm himself down. The poor little prince was likely just as scared as he was: he could tell Maria and the colt had formed a quick friendship in the short time they spent together, judging from his expression at her immediate and abrupt departure.

“The big room, I think,” the little pony said, wringing his little hands together and stomping one of his hooves. “Big mean guard said something about prizes for mean Mr. Baux. What does that mean, Spike? Where are they?” His eyes welled with moisture: "Is he gonna hurt them?"

Spike’s eyes went wide at Pierre’s words: this little colt's train of thought had intersected with his own at the same time. He remembered back to what the baron had said to him: “Your two lovely mare friends who accompanied you here belong to me as well now. We will see just how far my ownership extends in due time.” Apparently a few days had been due time enough for that vicious baron to make up his mind, and it was a truly horrid decision.

“How far his ownership...” Spike muttered, feeling something erupt in the deepest recesses of his belly. He bent over in sudden pain, letting out an anguished shout. This was new: the little pony approached him, only to barely miss Spike's tail from swatting him in the chest. “Pierre, get back: I... I don’t know what’s happening,” he wheezed, causing the little pony to run to the corner and huddle down on the floor in fright. He had never experienced something like this before, save for when his greed has transformed him into a monster back in Ponyville. But this was different, as different as sea and sky or sun and moon.

“Ownership... lovely... belong to... prizes...” Spike wheezed, doubling over as he felt his anger skyrocket beyond anything he had ever experienced. It was maddening, it was painful, but for some reason or another, it felt... liberating. It was as if every little injustice, every single injury he had ever sustained had returned in full force, releasing... something within him.

He fell onto his side, clutching his body as the pain continued to shoot through him, originating in his stomach and working its way up his spine and into his brain. It was as though the fire always burning within him was raging out of control, threatening to burst forth like a volcano. His eyes clenched shu as he felt the first pop of his bones beneath his flesh. His grunts and groans grew more anguished as time went on, with little Pierre still huddled in the corner. His little eyes shut to block out what he was seeing: maybe if he didn’t see Spike, then Spike couldn’t see him.

The guards outside were joking about his lamenting noises. “Probably doesn’t know how the Baron likes to claim his prizes,” one said, earning a few chuckles from the others. “Sucks to be him: if they live, they’ll never be able to look him in the eyes again.”

“Yeah,” said one, walking up to the door. “You hear that, dragon? Your lady friends will be good sport for our lord for the coming days. Maybe after he’s grown bored of them, he’ll let all of us have a go, oui?” More chuckles and even a wolf-whistle from the other guards: they truly were despicable ponies, to say the least.

The grunts and groans curiously stopped at that: instead, in their place, a deep growl emerged from the dark cell. To them, in their smugness, it hardly sounded threatening: as if this pitiful dragon could do anything to sound intimidating. They laughed some more, with the one standing by the cell peering in to taunt the poor fellow some more. He really got a kick out of suffering of others, even more so than the other guards, so he relished the opportunity to taunt the prisoner some more.

“Yeah, we’ll show them a good time, prisonnier: maybe even in front of-,” he never finished his words as a large fist tore through the metal door and grabbed him by the armor. With a yelp he was dragged inside, where his screams ended with a sharp crack, as if stone had split somewhere in the cell.

The others looked on in horror as... something emerged from the cell. They barely had time to scream.

Menahwhile, up in the throne room of the castle, Maria and Meia sat huddled next to one another. They were looking up at Lord Baux, who had wasted no time in tying them up once again with magic-nullifying rope. He was a crafty one, but as much as he wished it, his intimidation factor was lower than it could have been had no guards been present.

“Well, well, what to do first?” the lord mused as he walked around the two beauties. “Shall I have you flogged? That is always a personal favorite of my guards: to see such ripe young bodies brought low by simple physical punishment.”

He smiled. “Or should I give you to the guards? They always run through the whores of the nearby villages so quickly, so maybe some young, fresh meat is what they justly deserve.”

He stopped in front of them, his eyes twinkling maliciously. However, I think not. I shall have you myself, seeing as your dragon friend cannot hope to stop me.” The way he looked at them sent shivers up their spines, as if he were undressing them with his very eyes.

“But stop you he will,” Maria said, causing the baron to step up uncomfortably close to her. “He will save us, and you’ll pay for your crimes.”

“Is that so?” the baron said, leaning down and roughly grabbing Maria’s jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. “And what makes you think that? He is weak, pitiful: he barely had the strength to survive a blow to the head from a simple club. What chance does he have against my guards, who have armor and steel?”

A loud boom erupted from the lower depths of the castle, causing everyone to jump. Maria merely smirked, as did Meia, who took joy in seeing the confusion on the baron’s face. “Told you,” Maria said.

The baron glared at her before slapping her across the cheek, leaving several red welts where his fingernails had cut her. She choked back a cry, but only just.

“Be silent, wench, before I have you flogged and then ravaged,” the lord snarled, all traces of calm gone. He looked up to the door, and then to the others standing around him. “Kill him,” he said to his guards, looking fiercely determined. “I want his head mounted on a pike for these two to see, right before I claim their bodies as mine.”

Another boom erupted from the lower halls, much closer this time. It sounded as though a battering ram had smashed its way through a door, only to ram through another. Another boom, closer than before, was soon followed by more.

The guards in the room rushed in front of the lord and the two captives, their armor glinting as they readied their weapons. A few gulped nervously: this was not what they had in mind for guard duty. Another boom, the closest yet, sounded in the deep halls of the castle.

The guards tensed, sensing this door was the last between whatever was on the other side. Then, all of a sudden...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The guards raised quizzical eyebrows to the baron, who looked as confused as they had. “Go... check it out,” he said. After a bit of arguing and shoving, one of the guards tentatively approached the great wooden door closing off the room from the rest of the castle. Tip-hoofing, he leaned up against the door and placed his ear to it.

“I... I don’t hear anything,” he said. “Nothing at all.” The baron breathed an audible side of relief, turning to the two unicorns with mirth gracing his features.

“See? What did I tell you? He’s-,”

Whatever the baron was gloating about died in his throat the moment two large and scaly fists erupted through the wooden door, sending a cascade of splinters everywhere. With a yelp, the hands grabbed the guard and pulled him against the door, until a hole formed where he had been. A yell that rapidly faded meant whatever had grabbed him had likely thrown him out of a nearby window.

“What the!” Baron Guy de Baux began to shout, but was once again cut off by a veritable explosion of splinters as the door fragmented in front of them. Dust and debris flew everywhere as a great roar filled the room, the primordial kind of anger only a predator could feel if his family was threatened.

In horror, the guards watched a figure enter through the place where the doors had once stood. It towered over them, easily nine feet high if it was an inch. The bright purple scales had become a deep violet, almost black, and the bright green spines had become razor sharp-looking, taking a hue of a green darker than the purest emerald. The tail was monstrous-looking, curling and uncurling like a massive, sinuous python intent on strangling anything it saw. The feet were large, clawed, and digging into the stone with seemingly no effort at all, with the legs straining against the fabric of the pants like they were three sizes too small.

Every damn muscle seemed to bulge with power, or at least the ones they could see. Clothes that had been slightly loose on the prisoner now hung ragged in many parts, with the shirt torn asunder across the chest. Oh my, what chest it was, with muscles defined as if sculpted from the purest marble and looking ridiculously threatening. The arms swelled with knots of muscle that looked harder than cast iron, and every little movement seemed to reverberate with unknown power. Hands, rather delicate before, were large and strong, with fingers that looked like they could crush bone should they so choose. The claws were only slightly longer, but what had been similar to fingernails were now sharpened to a piont: the width made them look like the blades of many small daggers.

But the face: the face was the true testament to just how fierce a dragon could become if the ones he loved became threatened. The mouth, elongated like that of a wolf, snarled, with the blood-red tongue slithering over rows of dagger-like teeth. The spines along the head had elongated into a crest, almost horn-like in appearance. The eyes, though: the eyes were the window to the soul, and this soul was consumed by the fire within. These eyes seemed to glow, filled with a rage that no mere pony could hope to understand: it was the rage of a husband, of a mate, of an alpha male dragon whos line was threatened by this insidious character.

Spike was indeed very, very angry, and the one who he was most angry at felt as though he had just wet his pants, along with the rest of his guards.

“K-Kill him!” the lord shouted, waving his troops on even as his voice stuttered at the monster before them. The guards charged, weapons raised.

The first one was met with a solid punch to the solar plexus, the steel armor across his body shattering like glass as he was tossed head over hoof past Lord Guy de Baux. The baron turned in time to see the guard crash into the wooden thrown, causing it to explode in a shower of splinters: all of this in the blink of an eye. The guard did not rise: he was content to lie there and wheeze.

Guy turned to see another of his guards effortlessly tossed aside like a leaf blown in a fall windstorm, crashing headlong through a window and soaring out through the shards of glass. Another guard swatted at the behemoth with his sword, only to have it crack down the middle upon contacting the dragon’s side. The next futile swing caused it to shatter like glass, the shards falling to the stone floor with tinkling noises.

Spike roared in anger as he grabbed the stallion by the leg. Lifting the squealing pony, he swung him like a club, sending three more guards tumbling to the sides of the room. One fell on a bench, crushing it beneath his weight as he fell: none of them got back up. Well, one did, but Spike threw the clobbered pony at him, knocking him into the wall: both fell, out cold.

The dragon turned to the few remaining guards and roared, just as a small figure entered the room from beyond the smashed doors, carrying a small glinting dagger.

“Pierre!” Maria said as the little colt ran to their sides, which Guy had abandoned to hide behind a pillar. “What happened to Spike? What has gotten into him?”

“I don’t know,” the little colt said as he cut through the ropes as fast as he could. “He got really angry and hurt those mean guards, then told me to stay put.”

“He talked to you?” Meia asked, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her mane in disbelief. “But... how? He's so... brutish and," her last words came out as a whisper that only Maria could hear: "masculine."

“Like we are talking,” Pierre said. “He just sounds funny: really deep and stuff.”

Just as the little colt began to cut through the last part of the magic-cancelling rope, a hoof swung out of nowhere and kicked him hard in the side. With a yelp the little colt fell over, sliding across the ground: the dagger slid far out of their grasps.

“It seems I should have killed all of you when I had the chance,” Guy de Baux said, a fire in his eyes as he approached the colt with his sword drawn. “I may not live to see a tomorrow, but I know I will deprive that bastard king of the thing most precious to him. I was going to find a way to be king, someday, but that is nothing now. It seems I shall have to settle for you, your highness.” He raised the sword for a fatal blow, his features twisted into a mask of hatred and devilish glee.

“Pierre, no!” Maria shouted, struggling through the last of her bonds, but not rising quick enough to do anything.

“Good night, sweet prince,” the insane baron cackled, plunging his sword down. It never touched the little colt: instead, it was heading away from him, as was the rest of... himself?

The baron blinked in confusion, only to realize something had grabbed him by the throat and was hoisting him into the air. He turned, terrified, to see Spike holding him in one hand, as effortlessly as one might hold a small bird. He gave the baron a slight shake, as if trying to see if he'd do anything.

“No!” the baron shouted, thrusting his sword at the dragon’s face. Merely letting it glance off his scales, Spike turned his head and in a flash bit through the metal, all the way down to the hilt. The lord looked at his handle in horror as Spike noisily chewed and swallowed the sword pieces as if they were candy. He let out a growl as his grip began to tighten on the lord, who saw his guards lying everywhere: not a single was standing.

“Please, please don’t kill me!” the Prench lord begged, his voice strained as the grip around his throat tightened.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Spike spoke for the first time, his deep, baritone voice filled with malice so frightening it sent chills down everyone’s spines.

“Because,” Pierre said, rising to the floor as Maria and Meia, finally free of their bonds, rushed to his side. “Because he’s bad and mean, but killing him won’t do anything.”

Spike paused and looked at the small prince, his features softening slightly. “Then what would you have me do, your highness?”

“Give him to uncle Luke: tell him what this meanie has done,” the little colt said, holding the side where he had been kicked as Maria and Meia hugged him.

The baron’s eyes widened at the colt’s words. “No, NO! Kill me now, I beg of you! If you have any mercy in your body, kill me-,” he was cut off by Spike tightening his grip once more, his words turning into a choking noise. The stallion's face turned a nasty shade of purple as he spluttered and spit, breathing in deeply as Spike loosened his grip once more.

“You heard the prince,” Spike said, his flexible tail retrieving a banner from the pillar. He turned to Meia and Maria.
“Do you two think you can tie him up with this? Your magic should be back by now.”

Both of their horns gave small sparks: “Yes, yes we can,” the said in unison, turning to face the baron with evil gleams in their eyes. “This should be fun.” Before they could, however, both mares socked the cowardly baron right in the royal jewels. Well, not so royal any more, at least.

It was only the next day that truly royal banners appeared outside of the castle, with horns heralding the arrival of Prance’s monarch: King Louis. Spike, Meia and Maria followed little Pierre outside, all having been cleaned up and suitably dressed for the occasion.

The king rode in on a rather plain-looking but very, very strong carriage, his mane swishing this way and that. It looked rather spartan, but that was to be expected of a military carriage: it was likely full of supplies, armor and weapons. Jumping down, he smiled as little Pierre ran up to him, throwing his arms around the monarch’s waist.

“Uncle Luke!” he cried, hugging him as the King did the same. The stallion had a genuine smile on his face, and the hug was far from royal: it was that between an uncle and his favorite nephew.

“My little prince, are you all right?” the king asked, his tone soft as he held his nephew. "Are you feeling better?"

“Yes, uncle: I’m fine. Thanks to Spike and his friends,” the little colt said, turning back and pointing at the three. They bowed as the king approached with little Pierre in tow.

“I cannot than you enough for exposing Guy de Baux and saving my nephew,” the king said, looking over as three guards escorted a bound and gagged Guy to a waiting prison carriage, where the rest of his guards awaited him. None were dead, but a few were very injured from Spike's retribution and were currently under watch by doctors and guards. “I never knew he was such a wolf in pony’s clothing.”

“He fooled many ponies, sire,” Spike said, feeling happy now that everyone was better and he had shrunk back down to his normal size. “It is a good thing to see him punished. To think of all the pain he has caused and could have if he had not been stopped... I shudder to think of it.”

“Yes, well, be thankful none of you will see what is in store for him,” King Louis said as Pierre pulled at his cloak. Leaning down, the little prince whispered something into his ear.

With a growing smile on his face, the king stood up and approached Spike, drawing his sword. “Kneel, please, my good dragon,” he said. "This is not near what I would want to do, but it the least I can do for your deeds." Spike looked at Maria and Meia, who both nodded for him to do so. So he knelt, his head bowing before the king.

Placing the blade on Spike’s shoulder, King Louis spoke. “For the chivalric deeds you have demonstrated, the bravery you have so heroically exemplified before those present, and as gratitude for aiding the realm of Prance, I, King Loius, hereby knight thee. Rise, Sir Spike, and embrace me.”

Spike rose and tentatively approached the king for a formal embrace, only for the stallion to pull him into a ferocious hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into the dragon’s ear. “Thank you for saving my nephew, for he is my heir.” He pulled away, all appearance of formality returning once more, as if he had not just revealed a great secret. “Is there anything we can aid you with? Just name it and it shall be yours.”

“Well,” Spike said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Meia, Maria and I are sort of on a journey as put forth by my own sovereigns. We were on our way out of Spreign when the baron's thugs kidnapped us, so we are a bit behind schedule. If you could supply us with provisions and a bit of gold, it would help us immensely.”

“But of course!” the king said, turning away. Before he could, though, Spike continued.

“Also, sir king, if it would not be too much of a bother,” Spike said, walking back and holding Meia’s hand in his own. “Could you wed us? Personally? It is something of a promise I made to her while we were imprisoned, and, well, we didn't want it to be large or spectacular, but still carry the same authority with it.” Meia's eyes sparkled at this, with a sweet smile gracing her lips: Spike sure did know how to make a mare feel special.

The king grinned once more. “I don’t see why not.” Sheathing his sword, he stepped forward and clasped the hands of Meia and Spike together in front of him. “As the ruler of a sovereign nation and lord of these lands, I, King Louis, hereby deem thee husband and wife: may the both of you share a long and happy life together.” Very quick and straight to the point, though it carried with it all the formal agreements the wedding of Spike and Maria had.

They bowed before the king, who with little Pierre in tow, went back to his own lines. Little Pierre waved as he entered the carriage with the king, with the trio waving back. Soon enough, the carriage and the king’s entourage left them in the newly-stocked castle, filled with guards and the king’s own cousin serving as the new lord.

So it was that the next day our three travelers left the city of Marseille, laden with golden coins and the same three carriages with which they had so unfortunately arrived in. The king had also made the point to send with them as much of the former baron's legitimately-obtained treasures and possessions, which Spike promptly transported to Equestria with a simple note saying: "from Prance: divide as you wish". The ill-gotten gains were distributed amongst the citizens, who had lived in terror for too long and were now free from that tyranny. Soon enough, the castle the three travelers had come to greatly dread disappeared from sight as they headed across the plains and began to climb higher and higher, until at last they entered the southern mountainous region of Germareny, exactly one week after they had left the mountains of Spreign.

It was the beginning of a new phase in the journey for them, and the best part was they were doing so together, as husband and wives.

Author's Note

Well well well, looks like little Spikey-Wikey doesn't take kindly to his mares being threatened. Just goes to show you: where there's beauty, there will be a beast.

Yes, I published this a bit early so as to encourage myself to write more. Also, what you see is over 1,000 words longer than what I originally had laid out.

Sounds of Music and Future

Chapter Twelve

Sounds of Music and Future

Truly, the country of southern Germareny was a sight to behold. Numerous rivers running out of the steep mountain passes from whence they originated: rolling hills and forests stretching on as far as the eye could see. Truly, it could be said that this portion of the country, sparsely populated when compared to the more northerly provinces, was a world unto itself. It was to these lands that Spike, Meia and Maria came, their hearts filled with gladness after having been cooped up by that dastardly baron for what felt like ages.

Stopping in the middle of a large meadow high up in the hills, without nary a town or farmhouse in sight, the trio set up camp with their carriages as the sun shone high in the sky above. The ground was firm but had a soft texture to it, so unique that the Spreignish noble-mare couldn't help but lay down in it.

“Ah, to roll in grass once more,” Maria said, doing so after she had changed into more suitable outdoor-style clothes. Spike and Meia agreed, each having changed into similar clothes in their respective carriages. Spike lay back, enjoying the feel of the good earth beneath him as he looked up into the sky. Clouds billowed and buffeted high above them, white and puffy and full of innocence. His second wife lay out a large blanket, settling down on it as if lost in thought.

“Spike,” Meia said as Maria rolled up to them, grass stuck in her mane. “May I ask you something?”

“Certainly, my dear,” the dragon replied, turning his head to face her. “What is it?”

Maria crawled onto the blanket, shaking some of the grass out of her hair as Meia looked at her husband. Husband: that was one word she’d never thought she’d experience with actual happiness associate with it. “Back in that... horrid castle, you saved us. What I want to know is not why you changed, but... how? How did you become that... beast?” Maria’s smile faltered at these words: she too remembered just how bad it had been in those cells, even though they had not been there long.

Spike sighed and closed his eye for a moment, as if recalling a painful memory. “It... was unlike anything I’ve felt before, Meia. I could feel my body shift, changing as my emotions released something within me. I felt anger I have never felt before, the kind I’m not sure how to describe.”

“Do try,” Maria said, sitting up. "I too wish to know how you did what you did."

“It was like... like every injustice done to me, over my entire life, came back to me in an instant. It didn’t matter the severity: it just all... coalesced into one seething mass. I had never been so angry, so much so that I couldn’t even see half of the time when I started to... change.”

“I can hardly blame you for your reaction, dear,” Maria said. “Getting assaulted by those brutish guards could have set anyone off.”

Spike was silent for a moment. “No, Maria,” he said. “It wasn’t that.”

“It wasn’t?” his wife asked, her voice sounding perplexed. “But... what could it be then?”

Spike looked at his two wives, both looking beautiful in the slight breeze that swept over the hills. “It was you: both of you,” he said. “The thought of you, being... treated the way the guards insinuated, the thought of losing you to madness and grief for the things you surely would have gone through... It drove me mad. I... couldn’t bear the thought of losing either one of you.”

Both mares gasped softly at his admonition. It hadn’t been the pain or the rage that transformed him: it had been something far more personal. It had been his love for them: his love turned him into the beast he needed to be to save them from a fate as horrid as the one in store for them. “Oh Spike,” Maria said, crawling over to her husband’s side as Meia did the same, her eyes shimmering in the sunlight.

“I love you: both of you, so very much,” Spike said, his voice threatening to crack from his rising emotions. “I know we’ve only known each other for a short time, but I... I feel like I’ve met parts of my soul that have been missing from my life. I just...”

His words were silenced by Meia’s and Maria’s lips coming into contact with both of his cheeks. “Shh, Spike,” Meia said softly as they both pecked against the corners of his mouth. “Forget all those terrible thoughts and what happened back there. Focus on the here, and now, our dear husband.”

“You have two mares who love you very dearly,” Maria said, nuzzling against him as she continued to kiss here and there. “You showed your love for us back there: let us show our love for you.”

Almost in unison, each mare had a hand travel up to Spike’s shirt and worked together to unbutton it, all the while continuing to kiss and nuzzle him. Spike smiled, a deep loving smile that only a truly contented soul could manage. His earlier worries and the stress that had built up in his explanation soon faded away into the deep recesses of his mind.

Soon enough the shirt was hanging open, exposing Spike’s chiseled abs and pectorals to the outside air. True, they were not nearly as large as when he had been in “rampage mode”, but it was still nothing to scoff at. The two mares nuzzled against the hard muscles, the overlying scales giving it a rather smooth texture. It exuded strength, masculinity, security: the very things many mares sought after in their prospective stallions, and these two were no different.

Spike made to sit up, but two small forces of magic gently pushed him back down. “We want to try something new, Spike,” Maria said as her magic began to undo his trousers.

“Something we’ve never done before,” Meia said as her own magic slipped the shirt off of him entirely, leaving his torso bare. He could feel his second tail rising to the occasion, but as to their plan, he remained completely clueless.

A quick yank of magic had his trousers shoot off into the grass, and soon enough his boxer-like underwear followed suit. Rising quickly, his shaft was soon pointing towards the sky, trembling as Spike shivered slightly from his wives’ boldness.

At least until they had reached his massive member with their faces. Then they seemed to lose confidence, since they were not sure as what to do. Did they go horizontal or vertical?

“Hmm,” Maria muttered, glancing over at Meia, who had a hungry look in her that Maria knew she shared. “Shall we lick it?” she whispered.

Meia didn’t respond: well, she did, but her response was to stick out her tongue and give Spike’s shaft an experimental lick. The dragon ever-so-slightly thrust his hips forward at this, a small moan showing their efforts were producing wonderful feelings in him. Maria followed suit, giving it a lick as well. Soon enough, they were licking in turn, their tongues lapping at the piece of dragon meat like it was a piece of sweet candy.

Spikes mind was going absolutely bonkers from the pleasure. I mean, sex was absolutely fantastic and all, but this felt so different, so alien, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

Maria took the next step and lowered her snout a bit more, her hand reaching up and cradling Spike’s large scrotum. It too was armored with scales, but they were far smaller in size, meaning the entirety of the texture was smooth and even appeared to be able to wrinkle. His pair of dragon balls seemed large in her hand, so when she lapped her tongue across those as well, she felt them twitch hard against her grip. They were even hot: the temperature higher than her own.

Spike hummed at the double assault, his throaty vibrations sounding almost like those of a... violin? Yes, yes: a vocalizing dragon could replicate the sounds of a romantic instrument. He could feel their tongues lapping and slurping against him, worshiping him as though he were a Pharaoh of Ancient Neigypt.

Meia was done with just licking: she soon moved onto swirling the crown of his dick with her tongue, lapping the undersides of his scaly frenulum occasionally. Soon enough, as Maria reemerged from lapping at Spike’s balls and began to lick the shaft again, Meia’s mouth opened and she took the tip of the dragon’s pole into her awaiting cavern. She suckled on the end of it as though it were similar to the breast she herself had feed from as a little foal.

Spike’s eyes shot open as his fingers dug themselves into the dirt: well, that certainly was something new. He had never felt something like this before, and if he hadn’t been controlling himself to the best of his ability, he might have shot off right there. He continued to vocalize through his throat, the tone building louder and louder.

Maria and Meia looked up in surprise at the beautiful notes emanating from their husband’s throat, but soon went back to their tasks at hand. Meia slurped around the pulsating shaft, going a bit deeper every time she moved her head. Of course, she couldn’t fit the whole thing in her mouth: he became too wide nearer the base and was far too long to allow for such a feat. Still, she was proud of herself for making it to the half-way point at least.

She glanced to her side to see Maria looking on, her tongue frozen in mid-air as she drooled all over Spike’s scrotum. Reluctantly, Meia withdrew Spike’s cock from her mouth, sucking on it the whole way until it emerged with a popping noise. She switched places with the glassy-eyed Maria, who was now experimentally lapping the crown while Meia herself paid attention to Spike’s balls.

Spike’s vocalization reached a higher note yet, loud enough that any passerby, though there were none, could have heard it being carried aloft on the breeze. It sounded rather harmonious, like a piece of music played by a small orchestra.

Maria’s ministrations soon became more passionate, as she began to shove as much of the cock as far as she could into her mouth, sucking on it as hard as she could. Whether she had grown jealous of Meia and was trying to out-do her or had become super horny, nobody knew. Either way her intense sucking, combined with Meia’s ministrations, had pushed Spike over the edge: he was about to explode.

“Maria, Meia,” he wheezed, looking down at both of them. “I’m... I’m about to...”

Maria gave an extra-hard sucking motion as she withdrew, pushing Spike over that final precipice. She and Meia looked up as Spike’s member overflowed with semen, not so much squirting out as gushing like a garden hose. Both had their mouths open in surprise and ecstasy as the goo hit them in the face, with some of it landing in their mouths. Okay, a lot of it went in there, and for some reason unbeknownst to even themselves, they swallowed the baby batter.

To their surprise, it tasted rather... peculiar. “Strawberries?” Meia said as she licked the one side of Spike’s cum-covered cock. Maria looked at her in surprise.

“Tastes like chocolate to me,” she said, licking her lips and then descending on the top of the cock once more, sucking out the semen on top like milk from a bottle: chocolate milk, at any rate.

“Maybe I has something to do with dragon pheromones,” Meia whispered as they cleaned up the last of the semen.

“Yeah: wait, why are we whispering?” Maria asked.

“Look,” Meia said simply, causing the other unicorn to look up at Spike. He had fallen asleep, the tender ministrations from his wives proving much more than he could handle. Of course he could plow them all night if he had too, but this dragon sure hadn’t developed the stamina to keep up with some good oral administrations, even if they were the first any of them had received or given. Spike's tongue lashing of Maria's marehood on their wedding night had been his only performance, after all.

His wives didn’t mind one bit: dressing him again, they lay down beside him and fell asleep, both feeling a bit exhausted themselves.

It was two hours later that Spike awoke, feeling very refreshed. He looked down on either side of him to see his wives sleeping peacefully: he chose not to disturb them. Getting up slowly, he looked out over the hills to see the sun lower in the sky then when he had fallen asleep. Looking around and enjoying the scenery, he felt a flutter in his stomach. Opening his mouth, a small green flame shot out, transforming into a scroll.

“Twilight, I’m telling you, this had better not-,” he began to mutter, only to see the royal seal of Princess Celestia on the scroll. Opening it, he saw it was a rather short letter indeed.

“Dearest Spike, I trust your journey has been going more or less to plan? As you are married, it is time we inform you of a bit more of your heritage. The names you know of for your ancestors were those given to them by the public. In reality, they too had a last name, one which you have inherited. Spike, your last name is not ‘the Dragon’, as you have been called all your life. Your true last name is Dragul, a very old and very honorable name.”

Well, that was new: he finally had a last name. Spike Dragul, knight of Prance, prince of Equestria, lord of several Spreignish estates... Wow, that was a lot of titles already. Still, he had to wonder: why he had never been told of this either?

“I gathered from your sudden supply of Prench materials that you have indeed crossed over the border into southern Germareny. I advise you to waste no time, and Spike, please treat them both right.”

“Sincerely, Princess Celestia.”

Spike looked at the scroll with confusion. Treat them both right? He had only told the others of his marriage to Maria: how could the princess have known he had married Meia as well? Did she have spies following him? Was he being watched?

“No,” Spike told himself, feeling foolish for thinking of such a thing. More likely than not, Celestia had concluded he’d had married Meia after writing about her so much. Perhaps Celestia, in her long life, had learned to tell the signs when someone had strong feelings for another, even if they didn’t recognize it at the time. Yes, that was much more acceptable and logical an answer than spies and secret watching spells.

Of course he would treat them both right! They were his wives, and he loved them dearly. He knew Celestia's letter was just a friendly reminder, yet he felt obligated to tell himself he'd die for his wives. The truth was far more complex than that: he'd give up everything he owned, including his life, to protect them. Dragons were very possessive of their mates, and as these two were his, he would do anything to keep them safe.

Still, as he looked out over the hills, it seemed only a few days ago that he had boarded the train for Manehattan and run into Trixie. Sure, she had shown him the ways of sex, and he had further expanded on that with his wives, but the truth was, he missed home. The drake still couldn’t believe it had been a little more than a month since he had set sail aboard the Crowhop. In that time, he had married two beautiful unicorns and had become rather rich, if all the treasure he had sent back was anything to go by.

Still, he knew there was more out there for him to find, to do, to explore, and with that thought in mind, he began to softly sing to himself as he readied the carriages for the night.

Meanwhile, in the minds of two sleeping unicorns, two very different dreams were playing out.

Maria looked around her, atop of a gilded chair. There were many around the circular table, with one chair in particular standing out, as if was laced with golden and silver emblems. The others had similar decorations, but their occupants remained in shadow. Next to her own seat sat Meia, but she wore a mask for some reason. That, coupled with the hood pulled over her head, hid her horn from view.

Spike sat in the most decorated chair, looking a bit older than he did now. His body was slightly larger, his features more masculine and she could tell by the look in his eyes he had been contemplating something for a while.

“Well, I say we put it to a vote,” he said at last. “We are as one family now, so all of the decisions should be made as a family. Those in favor of strictly private tutors, say I.”

None of the shadowy figures spoke a word. Spike looked around in surprise before speaking again. “All those in favor of strictly public education, say I.”

Again, not a peep from any of the figures, and Maria found herself unable to say a thing. Meia shifted slightly to her side, but she too said nothing.

“Then it is decided,” Spike said, a smile forming on his face. “Just as a formality, all those in favor of a mixture of both educational systems, say I.” He didn't say anything, though one could tell by the glimmer in his eyes that this option was the one he had chosen.

All of the shadowy figures agreed, though their voices were distorted in some way that made them impossible to tell just who they were. They were feminie, all right, but who did those voices belong to? Maria suddenly found her own voice as well and agreed with the rest of the figures, as did Meia. “Excellent,” Spike said, smiling. He turned his head to a waiting butler pony, who was standing vigilant besides the dragon. “Jarvis, you may let the children in now.”

Wait, what? Children? Maria’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull as the doors opened and light shone into the room, though it filtered through the many manes and spines headed their way. Children, many of them, filtered in through the door, all varying in height and apparent age. Their features remained in shadow, though she could have sworn one of the little colts had her mane...

“Children...” she muttered, just as the room went dark. She opened her eyes at that and found Spike finishing setting up camp as the sun began to slowly dip behind the farthest hill.

“Maria, are you all right?” he asked, looking a tad concerned. “You were muttering in your sleep.”

His wife blinked a few times. “Yes, yes: I am fine, Spike. Just an odd dream is all: nothing to worry about.”

His concern apparently eased, Spike went to get a few things from a carriage. Perhaps some time in the future she would tell him: right now, Maria felt it would be best for her to keep this dream- or was it a vision? -to herself. She turned to see Meia’s eyes flutter open and her breathe in suddenly, as if waking from a bad dream.

“Are you all right?” she whispered to the fellow unicorn.

Meia slowly nodded her head. “Odd dream,” she muttered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Maria asked.

“N-no, no thank you: it was just a dream,” Meia said. When Maria didn’t press the issue, to which the other unicorn was grateful, Spike arrived with some food. Sitting down, they quietly ate as the sun continued to disappear over the distant horizon.

The thing was, Meia knew very well she couldn’t talk about the dream she had had. “More like a nightmare,” she thought as she bit into some bread. Even as Queen of the Changelings, Meia/Chrysalis was not immune to fear, and truth be told, she felt that in what she had seen.

She had found herself standing in the balcony of a tower, chained before a shadowy figure. The chains suspeded her, so that even if she wanted to fall, she would remain hanging in an upright manner. Her body hurt, wracked with pains emanating from the recesses of her stomach. The figure stepped forward in time for her Meia disguise to falter and slip away, revealing the Queen of the Changelings, Chrysalis, in her place.

It was Spike, and he too was chained, from his legs to his arms and even his neck. The manacles looked durable and cast in some metal that not even he could break, though it seemed his body was too broken to even try. But his eyes were alight with a cold fury, with pain and sorrow that Chrysalis felt would overwhelm any who tried to ease it.

“You lied to me, to all of us,” he said, his chains rattling slightly. “You betrayed me: it was all just some ploy, some plot to take over Equestria again, wasn't it! Tell me the truth, you overgrown insect!" His voice had risen to a shout, sounding more terrible than the greatest of storms in its ferocity.

“No, no!” Chrysalis had screamed in her dream, struggling against the weight of her own body. “No, Spike. It was my intention to use you, but I soon lost sight of that. I love you!”

“A creature like you feeds off of love: you cannot feel it for yourself,” the dragon said, his now-soft voice filled with bitter contempt. “Though you may be thick with my seed, what you carry is no child of mine. The others and I face the gallows for your treachery, for your deceit, and I go gladly, so that I may never see your rotten face again. I never loved you, and nopony ever will! You will be alone, forever, with only your 'feelings' giving you any sort of solace!”

"No Spike: NO!” Chrysalis had shouted, only to find herself floating high above a city. Storm clouds had rolled in and lightning clashed with thunder in a battle as old as weather itself. The sky had turned red, red as blood, and the seas surrounding the city’s coastline raged as if they felt the sorrow within her. “No, Spike! Come back to me! It cannot end this way!” Her shouts were buffeted y the wind and rain, drowned out by the roar of thunder. In the middle of a city, a structure burned with unnatural flame, licking outwards and seemingly smiling as it devoured whatever was inside. A small burst of green flame shot forth, forming what looked to be a single teardrop.

Then everything had gone dark, and she felt strangely buoyant, as if she were floating in the waters of the Barnlantic once more. Her mind soon drifted back to the old stories her own mother had told her when she was young. Her mother: a changeling so kind to her daughter, and yet so cruel to everyone else.

“Now Chrissy, you must know of our kind’s past, as it is the key to our future.”

“But mother, I know all that stuff!” She had been listening to those same stories for so long, that even as her mother combed her hair, she would rather listen on how to use arcane spells.

“Not of our legends, of our eventual rebirth. But perhaps you are right: you have grown too old for simple bed-time stories, my little filly." There was the feeling of soft lips on her head as she was tucked in, something the queen had not allowed anyone but herself to do. "Goodnight, little Chrissy.”

The kiss to her forehead had awoken Chrysalis, so that when she blinked, she could have sworn she saw her mother’s face looking at her from the sky. But it was merely an illusion, and as she finished eating with her husband, a not-so-little piece of the frozen heart that was within Chrysalis melted, like a glacier under the heat of an intense sun. Overall, it was not much, but it was a start, a slippery slope to a place she did not know.

Author's Note

I gotta start putting in more adventure and traveling, or else Spike'll never make it back to Equestria. Also, damn: nightmares are too much fun to write.

Also, wow: one day to write, one day to proofread, edit and finalize.

A Familiar Face in an Unfamiliar Place

Chapter Thirteen

A Familiar Face in an Unfamiliar Place

The carriages rolled gently along the roads that wound through the countryside of Southern Germareny. It had only taken a few days for the magical carriages to cross much of the terrain, and soon enough the distant mountains that marked the border between Germareny and Austria, lorded over by the Horseburgs family. They had been in power for centuries, and unlike their neighbors to the southeast, they had managed to peacefully rule through a combination of democratic parliament and generosity towards their subjects.

So the three carriages passed through the alpine countryside, the scenic villages and green hills starkly contrasted by the high mountain peaks and the dark forests. Here and there they stopped, buying supplies from villagers and the occasional trinkets that caught their fancy. Spike himself would buy few things that did not go back to Equestria, but still the gold in their carriages was hardly going to run out anytime soon.

Of course, there were a few dangers: the mountains had the occasional avalanche, but it never happened when the carriage was nearby. It always happened far ahead of them on the road or far behind in the place they had already passed through. Meia chalked it up to simply good luck: Spike had to agree with her on that, though he couldn’t help but shake the feeling magic was at play. It was only when he asked Maria about at their next stop that she admitted to setting them off before or after they were in danger of them. When asked why, she simply stated: “A useful spell like that is useful only as long as it can be of use to those involved.” Whatever that meant: maybe she just liked seeing snow.

Her fierce emotional outbursts at local villagers who whistled when Spike came by meant she needed a good talking to by Spike, which usually ended with her apologizing and occasionally crying herself to sleep. She would then remain well-behaved and had actually learned to be civil towards others after a while, though she was still wary: of course, how could she not be after her treatment by the baron? She hadn't been like this before those fateful days in Prance: before she was entirely disciplined and rather gentle. Now her more aggressive nature gave rise to the possibility she had been much more affected by their imprisonment then had been previously thought, and Spike worked his hardest to get through to her.

Eventually he did, though the reason behind it all was the mistreatment of little Pierre before her very eyes. She had instantly taken a liking to the small colt and had seen him as almost like a little brother. That, plus the helplessness she felt whenever he had been hurt, made her feel that being gentle did not get somepony far in life, and that her life of luxury had dulled her to the harsh realities of the world. Spike managed to convince her that being gentle was not only a great asset but a vitally important characteristic, even going so far as to tell her of Fluttershy's own problems. She became much more calm about it all after she had cried herself out, but there would be psychological wounds deep within her: all it needed to heal was Spike's love and time, and she had plenty of that to look forward to.

Still, by the time the trio had worked their way to the border of Austria, it had been nearly two weeks since they had entered the country. Maria and Meia had wasted no time in enjoying Spike, though the weather had been off-putting a few times. It was hard to get frisky when the rain outside was pouring, though cramming everyone in one carriage was far from romantic. That, and Spike not wanting to stink one up with the smell of sex meant no hanky-panky when it was raining: or snowing, or hailing, or sleeting. Heavy fog was also annoying, as even though they could have “fun” outside, the two mares would still be rather wet when they got back inside the carriages.

When the sun was out, though, and nobody was around, it was on like Donkey Kong. Stress faded when they mated under the sun and moon and stars, as if they were primeval spirits enjoying the beauty the world had to offer. Still, it was with very calm hearts that they moved through the area known as Brenner Pass, which connected the countries of Neightaly and Austria. Bidding the final locals goodbye after stopping to buy some more supplies, they crossed through the pass and continued on their way. In this time, Spike had been careful in his letters to NOT tell Twilight he had been shagging his wives relentlessly, lest he get he ever dreaded “birds, bees and baby bunnies” talk she always brought up whenever pregnancy was a factor. Thankfully, their heat cycles had ended back in Spreign, and Maria wasn’t showing.

Immediately things changed: the language, obviously, was the first big distinction. Compared to the rather earthy tones of their northerly neighbors, the Neightalian seemed rushed in comparison, as if quick and busy were the way things were in the whole country. Nothing could have been farther from the truth, but the language did seem a trifle complex for the trio. However, the next biggest change, after getting out of the mountains, was the sheer number of hills and valleys that seemed to go on forever. Villages, churches and vineyards covered the landscape as the carriages wound their way through the country for the next week. Roads, both ancient and newer in design, dotted the landscape, as did old ruins from times gone by: the time of the Roamans, to be exact. Spike’s camera could barely keep up with all the pictures he was taking, and when he sent in the next bundle for Twilight and the gang, he was sure the sheer amount of photo paper weighed a good ten pounds.

Then, upon rounding a bend, they saw it. The great city of Roam: one of the oldest and largest in all of Europe. Terracotta roofs and stone houses spread as far as the eye could see, with great wonders of the ancient world displayed for all. The Appian Way, the Coliseum, and Hadrian’s Arch: it was all magnificent as the three carriages rode through the tightly-crowded streets.

The three left their carriages behind at a parking square of sorts, though the anti-theft spells Meia and Maria placed on them ensured nothing would go missing. So the three walked out amongst the throngs of the crowd, slowly but surely moving their way through the city as the day went on.

“I can’t believe I’m actually in Roam, the birthplace of my ancestor,” Maria said, her eyes almost locked in an open position so she wouldn’t miss a thing. Tall stone pillars and columns were seemingly everywhere, with some places covered in hanging gardens and long, flowering vines. Several bridges crossed small rivers nearest the seemingly most clustered part of the city, where the trio soon found themselves.

“Who is that?” Spike asked, nodding in the direction of an elderly white earth pony. He was waving to the crowds as he was carried aloft in what seemed thick glass, which in and of itself was suspended in a magical bubble: a shield spell. Also, his hat looked a bit big for his head, but his droopy ears kept it upright. He had a great big smile on his face, like that of a loving grandstallion who was greeting his visiting grandfoals.

“Oh my word,” Maria gasped, pushing Meia into Spike’s arms to get a better look. “That’s... that’s... that’s Pope Ben-neigh-dict the Sixteenth!”

“Who?” Spike and Meia asked in unison, having never left Equestria before and being unaware of the politics of the outside world.

“The leader of the Church of Jesus, the E-mane-uel!” Maria said, performing an intricate and odd little motion with her hands. “He is the spiritual successor to an entire religion!”

“Church of who?” Meia asked in particular as the pope floated away. Maria turned and without a word pulled them away from the crowd until they were fairly alone in a small alley.

“Jesus, our lord,” she said, doing the motions once more. “He was a pony born long ago, before the time of your Nightmare Moon incident. He was a simple earth pony, and yet... he could do things that no earth could do!”

“Such as?” Spike asked, rather intrigued.

“Turn water into wine, multiply food and drink for hungry ponies, heal the sick: you name it!”

“But unicorns can do all of those things,” Meia said, slightly nonplussed.

“Not all,” Maria said. “Can they successfully raise the dead to their former lives? Can they stop storms on a whim? Walk on water without so much as getting wet?”

“Okay, okay I get it,” Meia said, suddenly a little frightened by Maria’s intensity. “I can understand why a religion would spring up around so special a pony.”

“Yeah, he does sound like quite the po-,” Spike was cut off with a yelp as he flew backwards. Meia and Maria stopped talking and looked around: nothing had hit Spike. What had just happened?

“Are you all right?” Meia asked, helping Spike to his feet.

“I-I think so,” Spike said. “Just what was tha-,” he was cut off again as he flew backwards, farther this time.

“What the hay!” he shouted, just as he flew up into the air and landed on a roof. Meia and Maria spied a ladder nearby, but it looked old and rusty, and would likely come apart of they tried to climb it. Closing their eyes, they teleported themselves up onto the roof with Spike, who was unsteadily getting to his feet. For Twilight, teleporting would have been no breeze, but to the two unicorns, they hadn’t had much practice with it, so they felt a bit drained of magic.

“What’s going on?!” he shouted, just as whatever was happening to him happened again: this time, Spike flew a good ten yards past the two mares and landed on another rooftop with a loud thud. The truth was, Chrysalis could have teleported anywhere she wanted, but she needed to maintain her disguise, and right now she couldn’t concentrate on the source of the magic.

“I don’t believe it,” Meia said. “That’s a summoning spell! Someone’s summoning Spike to them!”

“But who?!” Maria shouted as they ran across the rooftops after Spike, who could barely get to his feet before lurching through the air like a thrown stone. He let out another shout as he flew, his wings frantically beating to try and arrest his movement: no such luck.

“Well, it’s obviously someone who knows how to use magic!” Meia shouted, leaping over the small gap between two buildings as she and Maria gave chase. “I’m guessing it’s a unicorn who doesn’t know teleportation, as any alicorn worth their hide would know how to teleport someone!” That, and there were few alicorns indeed, none being in Roam or even all of Neightaly.

“What do I do?!” Spike shouted as he flew into the side of a taller building. As if stuck, he stayed exactly in that spot, until the next burst of the mysterious magic dragged him up along the wall and over the top.

“Try to grab onto something!” Maria shouted back, vaulting over a small aqueduct. “We’re coming!”

Spike lashed out at the first thing he could: a hanging pot. Grabbing onto it, he felt the magic tug him, but the pot’s chains held fast to the building. Another tug, stronger this time, almost made him lose his grip, but still he held on. He had a desperate, if comical, pleading look in his eyes.

Maria and Meia landed on the balcony just in time to see Spike zoom away, the pot still clenched in his hands as the chains holding it trailed after him.

Meia almost swore: this was getting them nowhere. “Come on!” she shouted, hauling after the disappearing dragon. Maria tore after her, both mares thankful they had changed their clothes in the cart to street clothes. As such, they had no trouble using their natural flexibility to chase after the dragon, but they were growing tired indeed.

Spike slammed into another wall, shouting in anger as he was magically dragged up and over, onto a large street. Meia and Maria stopped at the wall: there was no ladder and it was far too high for them to jump up on.

“Climb!” Maria shouted, running up the wall and latching onto an outward-facing stone brick. From there, she rapidly began to ascend to another one, and another one. Meia jumped up after her, her hold not nearly as strong as Maria’s. As such, she was much slower, so much so that by the time she reached near the top, Maria was waiting for her.

“Come on!” she shouted, lowering her hand. “Grab onto me: I’ll pull you up!”

Meia moved one hand to a better spot, but the brick she was holding began to give way. Thinking quickly, she leaped up as the brick she was on slipped out, her arms open wide. With the slimmest of margins she grabbed onto Maria’s hand, which closed like a steel trap. Pulling with all her might, the unicorn pulled Meia up and over the side, where they collapsed on the ground, exhausted and panting.

“I... hate climbing,” Meia said, wheezing slightly as her heart raced at what felt like a million miles per hour.

"Really? I've always enjoyed a good climbing session," Maria replied, brushing some bits of leaves out of her mane: running through gardens could get all sorts of things inside your mane.

“Well, I don't think I will any time soon. By the way, if you don't mind me asking, why didn't you leave me behind?"

"You'd think I'd just be so callous as that?" Maria asked. "Of course I could have left you behind: I could have let you fall. But I didn't: I wouldn't, I couldn't. Why? Because you're familia to me, Meia, and familia sticks together no matter what. We may not get along all the time: I am a perfect example of that, as you saw back in Spreign. But you... you are almost like a sister to me at this point, and I truly, deeply love you too much to just let anything bad happen to you. I could never let anything happen to you: if the guilt didn't get me, then Spike's guilt alone would crush me. I could not stand to put him through the pain of possibly losing you or making him chose between one of us."

"Well, thank you, I guess," the unicorn said, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her fellow unicorn's statement. It was a rare thing indeed to hear such words come from a unicorn that had lived a life of luxury her whole life, but the truth behind the words was solid and strong. "That's nice and all, but where’s Spike?” Meia asked, hoping to not dwell too long on the matter..

“Right... right there,” Maria said, pointing at Spike, who was propped up against a wall. He looked rather worried, but every time he tried to raise his arm or move his leg, it fell back against the wall: the magic was holding him there.

“Come on,” Meia said, getting to her hooves as her breath returned. Walking over with Maria, they grabbed onto Spike’s arms and tried to pry him off the wall: no such luck.

“Uh, ladies?” Spike said as they pulled harder. “I think whoever cast this spell might be getting closer.”
“Why do you say that?” Maria asked.

“Because she’s standing right behind you,” Spike replied. Both mares turned to see a hooded figure standing behind them, a glow emanating from underneath the darkened hood.

“What are you doing to our husband?” Maria asked in a near shout, ready to pummel the unicorn. It was at the word ‘husband’ that the unicorn seemed to jerk in surprise. Unsteadily, the figure lowered the hood, until the white mane and pale blue fur could be seen. She had a look of complete surprise on her face.

“Well, I come to Roam to find you, and you’re married to not one, but two mares?” Trixie said in disbelief.

“Trixie?” Spike asked, hs eyes nearly bugging out of his skull. “Uh... well.... yeah. See, the thing is-,”

“We are his wives,” Meia said, standing at Spike’s side with her arms crossed. “Who might you be, Trixie?”

“A traveling unicorn showpony who has come a long way to find Mr. Spike here,” the blue unicorn replied, her tone sounding a bit odd. “Him and I have unfinished business.”

“Trixie, you said it wouldn’t be anything but a fling,” Spike replied, earning a curious glance from both Maria and Meia. “What? Oh, all right: I wasn’t a virgin when I married either of you.”

“You weren’t? Maria asked. “Well, that was fairly obvious.” Spike blushed at that: they were always going on and on about his skills.

“Well, you see, I met Trixie here on the train out of Canterlot and, well,” Spike said, the magic suddenly disappearing from around him and allowing him free movement. “One thing lead to another, and...”

“I’d say,” Trixie said, her hands on her curvy hips. “You’re a talented dragon in bed, Spike, and an even harder one to find.” She seemed anxious, as if seeing Spike was bringing up some rather personal and... happy memories.

“Why exactly did you come to find me?” Spike asked, rubbing the back of his head where it had slammed into stone bricks a few times. “Surely it wasn’t just to try and get some good sex again, was it?”

“Of course not!” Trixie said, her cheeks coloring a bit: whether from memory or embarrassment, nobody knew. “It’s just... there’s something you need to know.”

“Yes?” Spike asked, in a tone that suggested he was starting to fear for his life.

“Spike, I’m... pregnant.”

Well, suffice to say, if the god of sounds had chosen to absolutely pass out at that point from partying too hard with the god of celebrations, then that was what seemingly happened. All sounds seemed to vanish for the gathered four as the three words slipped from the blue unicorn’s mouth.

“Spike... I’m... pregnant.”

The world could have ended right there and the trio wouldn’t have noticed it. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, two more pairs of eyes turned to look at Spike, not containing fury, as Spike had thought they would, but... confusion. That was definitely not what he had been expecting.

“In the name of Tartarus, did she just say what I thought she said?” Meia asked, her eyebrows almost disappearing into her mane in surprise.

“...Yes?” Spike squeaked, his heart beating faster than a thousand drum solos amplified by bass cannons riding a thunderstorm over a million exploding fireworks. Yes, his heart was beating fast.

“And... you’re the father?” Maria asked, an odd expression on her face. She turned to Trixie. “Is he?”

“Of course,” Trixie replied. “It seems scaly Mr. ‘Tree Trunk’ here left a little surprise for me after we parted ways in Manehattan. I wasn’t in heat then, but I entered it soon after, and boy did I feel something change quickly.”

‘Mr. Tree Trunk”: an odd way to describe one’s anatomy, but as ludicrous as it was, the truth had once again found a way to be expressed.

“But... how is that possible?” Spike asked, confused beyond rational thought. It was a wonder he could even speak right now, never mind breathe.

“Seems you don’t know as much about your kind as you thought,” Trixie said with a seemingly smug smile. “A dragon’s seed is laced-no, oozing with magical properties, most of which are unknown. What is known is that, being such long-lived creatures, it only makes sense that your species would evolve a way to keep their... ‘gifts’ from spoiling rapidly, as do the ‘gifts’ of other species. Seems I didn’t need to be in heat when we shagged all night for it to take hold: it just kept a bit of itself inside me that activated when I entered my cycle, despite my attempts to clean out that massive load you left. So congratulations, Spike: you’re going to be a father.”

Well, the new biology lesson was appreciated: Luna had been right in saying that the young needed to travel to find out more. But as soon as the word ‘father’ hit his ears, Spike promptly fainted away, dropping like a sack of stones onto the ground in front of them. Meia and Maria looked at Trixie, then Spike, and finally at each other.

“Come on, let’s get him back to the carriages,” Meia said. She pointed at Trixie. “Think you can get us a cart or something to move him?”

“Y-yes,” the unicorn replied, a few bits floating out of her purse. She seemed a bit subdued now that her information had been revealed to Spike. Walking away, she returned with a small cart, once again magically enchanted to move as per its owner’s instructions. Levitating the unconscious dragon into the cart, the three set off, back to where they had come from.

As they moved, Maria looked at Trixie occasionally until whatever was building inside her could not be contained. “Were you his first?”

“What?” Trixie asked, her mind off somewhere else.

“Spike: were you his first?” Maria said again.

“Well, yes: he told me as much,” Trixie replied, not sure why the unicorn wanted to know. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, you must have done a very good job, as Meia and I-,” she pointed at the other passenger “-have been getting nothing but mind-blowing sex from our husband. Seems he just naturally developed from there, as from what we understand, he didn’t have any sex with anypony after you until our wedding night. So: any plans for you and the child?”

“Well,” Trixie said, a bit hesitantly at that. “I... I was hoping Spike would marry me, and raise the foal with me, but seeing as he has you two, and he can't settle down with his misson...”

“There’s always room for more, Miss Trixie,” Meia said. “He must not have told you this, but Spike here is actually Spike Dragul, a royal of Equestria.”

“A royal?” Trixie repeated, her eyes nearly evacuating their sockets in surprise. “He... never told me that! How... how royal is he?”

“He said he’s the next co-ruler of all of Equestria: to rule alongside the princesses, if my memory is correct,” Maria said. “So: any doubts now?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Trixie said, still sounding a bit unsure.

“Well, even though he’d gladly take care of both you and the foal, you’ll have to understand something,” Maria said. “To be known as a dragon who begets some mare with foal out of wedlock, not only could it ruin your reputation, but it could devastate his own. He could be ridiculed, laughed at behind his back by upper-class citizens who merely give up for adoption unwanted children. Would you want that?”

“What? N-no, never!” Trixie responded a bit forcefully, placing a hand over her still-flat stomach. “I do feel like I love him, and for what it’s worth, I think he loves me too. I just... I just need some time to think is all.”

“Well, you’d better think fast, ‘cause we’re not going to be staying in Roam for long,” Meia said as they reached the carriages. The sun wasn’t as high in the sky as it had been before, but it would still be several hours before it disappeared over the horizon.

“W-where are you going after this?” Trixie asked. “Spike told me he was going around the world, but I never thought he’d go outside of Europe...” Seems keeping the unicorn mare in the dark had not exactly been the brightest thing Spike could have done, but hey: it was the most logical.

“Oh, we’ll be on our way to Algereigns, and then through the Samarea Desert down to Maredagascar,” Meia replied. “After that, I forget: perhaps you should ask him when he wakes? I think he has the whole route planned out in his head. That, and he occasionally receives letters from the princesses informing him of things.”

Trixie was silent for a few minutes, the cogs in her head turning at what could only be interpreted as a frantic pace. “Yes,” she said finally. “Yes, I want to marry Spike. He’s not a pony, and yet he’s unlike anypony I’ve ever met. I want to be with him: truly, I do.”

“Excellent: that takes care of one problem,” Meia said, looking over at the still out-cold dragon. “All we need to do is break the news to him when he wakes.”

“How long do you think that will be?” Trixie asked.

“Not a clue: just stick around. We have a lot to talk about,” Maria said, settling down.

Author's Note

Dun dun DUN! Oh Spike, what have you gotten yourself into?

Also, WHY DO I WRITE SO FAST?!?!

Sojourn

Chapter Fourteen

Sojourn

Well, suffice to say that when Spike finally came to, he was immediately bombarded by the sight of Trixie sitting next to him. Not an unwelcome sight, mind you, but still one he was still having trouble coming to grips with. “T-Trixie?” he said, his mind still piecing things together. “How... how are you doing?”

“Fine, thanks,” she replied, shifting a bit. “How have you been?”

“Well, besides a storm while on the Crowhop and that nasty baron in Prance, I’d say pretty good,” he said. “How did you get to Roam, anyways?”

“An oblong hot-air balloon, a dirigible I believe they called it,” the unicorn said, twirling a bit of her mane between her fingers. “Pretty big one: seated almost one hundred of us.”

“Wait, those are usable for transporting ponies?” Spike asked. “I thought they were used for cargo in the mountains.” He didn’t remember any really being mentioned outside of the books on newer forms of travel.

“Yes, well, the passenger ones can only go through very large cities, and it is rather expensive to travel by them,” Trixie said, scooting closer to him. “It cost me a lot of bits to find you, mister dragon.”

“Money will not be an issue,” Spike said, realizing that for someone as frugal as Trixie had likely become, her business was really her only source of funds. Now that she had come to find him and reveal this news to him, her show was on hiatus until further notice: she wouldn’t be making any bits at all.

“I know, Spike: I’m just not sure about us, and the foal,” she said, rubbing her still-flat stomach.

“How far along are you?” Spike asked.

“Around a few weeks at least, if not maybe a month or so at the most. The doctor pony told me it should be a big one: likely bigger than a normal foal when born.” She looked up from her stomach to the dragon. “I’m thinking it’ll be a filly.”

“Well, no matter if it’s a colt or filly, I want to be there for you,” Spike said, hoping he had thought of this right in his dreamland. Well, there had been ice cream and volcanoes, but the plan was still there.

“I know, Spike: I know,” Trixie said, gently rubbing his hand with hers. “It’s just... I want this foal to have the best possible future, and raising him or her by myself would definitely not work out. I was hoping you’d... you’d... marry me.”

“Of course,” said Spike without so much as a blink. Well, that part came around a lot faster and easier than he had thought. “Of course I’ll marry you, Trixie.”

She smiled graciously and threw her arms around the drake, pulling him into a hug. “Oh, Spike: thank you! I just wish... never mind,” she said.

“Wish what?” Spike asked, returning her embrace but with a puzzled expression.

“It’s silly,” Trixie said, her voice becoming a whisper, as if she’d be mortified if any overheard her talking.

“It’s won’t be silly to me,” Spike replied. “Tell me, please.”

“Oh, all right,” Trixie said, releasing herself from his grasp. “I was hoping to send your... friend Twilight Sparkle the news: about the foal and all.” Spike did not laugh: instead, he became rather... pale. “Are you okay, Spike?” Trixie asked, sounding suddenly concerned.

“Yeah, it’s just...” Spike began, scratching the back of his neck. “I know how you and Twilight have become good friends and all over the years, even with your busy schedule, and I’m not sure how she’ll react to this... news. I feel she might try to flay me alive.”

“Oh, Spike: don’t be silly,” Trixie said, magically retrieving some paper and a quill from her pack. “I am sure she’ll understand.”

A few hours later, in Canterlot...

Twilight was sipping tea with her friends after finishing with divvying up the last of Spike’s goods from Austria. There had been quite the number, and Twilight felt exhausted, to put it mildly.

She felt a strange feeling overcome her horn. “Ooh, another letter!” she squealed, causing her friends to look at her anxiously. Settling down, her horn glowed a bit before the scroll popped into existence above her. Reaching out with her hand, the purple unicorn caught it with practiced ease and pried the sealant off.

“Dear Twilight,” she began to read aloud, her eyes slowly working their way over each word so as not to miss anything. “I have arrived in Roam and will be leaving soon enough for Algereigns. However, something unexpected has come up.”

“Unexpected?” Twilight repeated to her friends, raising her eyebrows. They all merely shrugged their shoulders.
She continued. “As you know, I am married to Maria and Meia, but I met someone...” her words trailed off as she read, her lips silently forming the words “Trixie”, “train”, and...

“I’LL FLAY HIM ALIVE!” she shouted suddenly, jumping up, sending her tea flying. Luckily Rarity’s own magic caught it before it could splash everywhere, with her friends all having almost fallen backwards at Twilight’s outburst.

“My dear, what ever is the matter?” Rarity said, extremely puzzled. Pinkie Pie pulled Fluttershy out from behind a few curtains, and Applejack readjusted her hat after Twilight’s shout had nearly blown it off.

“It’s Spike!” Twilight shouted, her hands balling into fists. “He’s... he’s... oh, that insufferable dragon! The next time I see him, he’s gonna be in a world of hurt!”

“My dear, it can’t be that bad,” Rarity said, retrieving the scroll and reading it to herself. Rainbow Dash flittered behind her, her wings holding her aloft as she tried to read it as well.

Rarity glanced over her shoulder. “You know, it’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder, Dash.”

“Uh, fine,” the rainbow-colored pegasus muttered, flittering back to her seat by Fluttershy, who had calmed down enough to not tremble like a tree in a hurricane.

“Ahem,” Rarity continued, clearing her throat. “As you know, I took the train to out of Canterlot. There, I met Trixie, and well, one thing lead... to... another...” Rarity’s words almost died in her throat as her face turned an interesting shade of red.

“Come on! What happened?!” Pinkie nearly shouted, almost doing a flip out of her chair.

“Spike... is going to be a... a father,” Rarity said, her blush intensifying.

There were several audible gasps at this statement, before Rainbow Dash punched a fist into the air.

“Yeah! I knew he had it in him!” she shouted, pausing as she felt the eyes of her friends look at her with disdain. “What?”

“Well, sugarcube,” Applejack began, taking the letter from Rarity, who had finished the letter and had a far-off look in her eyes. “It says here Trixie was pregnant before they met again in Roam. He’s gettin’ married to her at sunset, so that means they’re hitched right now. Outta wedlock, that foal coulda been born. Ya know what that means?”

“No?” Dash replied.

“It means disgrace, shame: all sorts of horrible things!” Twilight said, her shout now more like a loud grumble. “Plus, he had the nerve to insinuate that I had a hand in teaching him his... moves!”

“Well, didn’t you catch him readin’ yer dirty magazines awhile back?” Applejack asked, cocking an eyebrow. Twilight turned a darker shade of purple.

“That... that was different. I-I enjoy those for the articles.”

“Sure you do,” Dash said, winking. “So: Spike’s gonna be a dad. A first, I gotta say.”

“What do you mean, a first?” Fluttershy asked, opening her mouth for the first time.

“Well, outta all of us, he’s gonna be the first to be a parent,” Dash said, a tad solemnly at that. The others were silent at her words: all of their tasks and their busy lives meant they were too busy for relationships. Strange: Spike was younger than them, and yet, he was going to be a parent first. Heck, he had three wives.

“Well, he’ll still be in for it when I see him next,” Twilight grumbled, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, well, I think Rarity will want to see him before you kill him,” Pinkie said, causing Rarity to snap back to focus.

“Pinkie! That’s not a very ladylike thing to say,” she said, sounding both outraged and flustered. "For you to insinuate that my feelings for Spike have evolved beyond friendly is-,"

“Yeah, well, we can discuss our feelings later,” Twilight said, cutting off the white unicorn as she sat back down with her tea. “Right now, we really need to check these finances.”

The others groaned slightly but got back to work, ruffling through the papers.

Back in Roam, the ceremony was over. It had been a small one, with only a few passing attendees. Spike and Trixie were married: she filled, as Spike thought, the third spot for his minimum total of wives, and all unicorns to boot. Whether it was fate, chance, or some deep psychological attraction to the species, he hadn’t a clue, but he did know one thing: if this journey took more than ten or eleven months, then he’d have a foal to take care of during the last legs of it.

Truth be told, he was far more excited at the prospect of being a father than being scared, but if the foal was born during the trip, then they’d have to move much slower. Travel such as this was difficult for anyone, and a foal was not near as durable as an adult.

Soon enough, the entirety of their gold supply was down more than it had been when they arrived. Plenty left for much of the journey, and that was after Spike had bought and sent back so many goods to Equestria. Surprisingly, he had yet to get a letter back from Twilight on his revelation of his marrying/impregnating Trixie. That threw him for a loop: surely she had something to say. She always did, after all.

Our four left the city of Roam in the three carriages once more, the third carriage being occupied by both Spike and Trixie. They had a lot to catch up on, so Maria and Meia stayed in the other carriages, as they had for the last few weeks.

The rolling hills of the countryside gave way to mountains here and there as the roads wound themselves down through Neightaly. Spike was looking out the window at the setting sun when he heard Trixie mutter something to herself.

“Yes dear?” he asked, looking over at her. She looked up from a small book she had been reading, her cheeks flushing slightly at his attention.

“Oh, Spike: sorry to interrupt your sightseeing,” she said, closing the book after placing a marker in it. “I was just reading up on some unicorn biology.”

“For the foal?” Spike asked.

“Yes,” she replied, folding her hands in her lap. “As you know, all four species of pony have more or less the same kind of cycle: heats every once in a while during the year, with the longest-lasting one usually around the end of winter or mid-spring. While it may vary by a few weeks, the pregnancy lasts around eleven months. I was just wondering to myself: just how long will this journey of yours- I mean, ours, take?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Spike said, his mind already filing away the information for later. “It should take less than a year, I should hope, unless we meet some impasse or unfortunate circumstance that delays us.”

“Well, I should hope that we arrive back in Equestria before the foal wants to meet the world,” Trixie said, patting her stomach slightly. “By Celestia, I am going to get so fat.” her ears lowered at her words, as if she felt sad for herself.

“No!” Spike admonished, hearing the slight tone of disappointment in her voice. “You won’t get fat, Trixie. If anything I’ve learned about biology means anything, then the most you’ll get is a small swelling in the stomach region. You’ll still be sexy.”

The unicorn blinked, her ears perking up. “Really?” she asked, a smile gracing her features. “You’ll still think I’m sexy?”

“Of course,” Spike replied, mentally high-fiving his brain for the quick thinking. If someone had told him one year ago he'd have three wives and be a dashing, wooing rogue, he'd have told them they were crazy.

“Do you... think I’m sexy now?” Trixie asked, leaning closer to her husband.

“Yes, of course,” Spike said, feeling an awful amount of déjà vu coming over him.

Trixie leaned forward enough until she was resting her body on Spike’s, her head against his chest. “Since it’s too cramped in here, would you just hold me?” Her arms clutched his sides as she breathed in his masculine scent.

“Of course: I’d be glad to,” Spike said, laying his arms over her and pulling her close.

“I love you, Spike,” she said, closing her eyes as the gentle rocking of the carriage made her drowsy. Spike’s warmth also played a factor in it.

“I love you too, Trixie,” Spike said, kissing the top of her head. He made a conscious effort to not touch her horn: such actions had a way of... exciting unicorns. “I love all of you.” That last part was but a whisper to himself, still carrying the same conviction he felt when he told each of them the same. Soon enough, his eyes too became heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.

He found himself atop a tall tower, looking out over fields and forests. Everywhere, ponies of all shapes, sizes and colors gathered around the base, kneeling before him. Spike turned to his left and saw his wife Meia, wearing a mask and some sort of glistening cape. In her hands, she held a small bundle.

He could not see the contents, but the air was alive with a buzzing of sorts, as if a million dragonflies were beating their wings at the same time. However, the skies were clear of any insects or even pegasi.

Raising the small bundle to the sky, Meia cried out to the ponies below, causing a cheer to erupt from them. The buzzing intensified as the sun broke through some clouds and illuminated the small bundle, revealing-

“Mmm,” a voice sounded, causing Spike’s dream to rapidly fade away. He tried to see through the brightening darkness, but all he could hear was a humming noise. Well, and feel it, too: he could definitely feel it.

“Wha?” Spike said drowsily, looking down. Through his sleep-encrusted eyes, he could see a white mane moving... up and down near a very personal region. That, and some wet slurping noise greeted his ears.

“Trixie? What are you-,”

“Shush, Spike,” she said, cutting off his questions as she let his "love-stick" drop from her mouth. “Just sit back and enjoy this.” With that, she took him back into her mouth, the slurping noise returning as her saliva coated his member. Spike almost closed his eyes to revel in the feeling, but he kept them open. He watched as the blue unicorn seemingly devoured his shaft, licking it up and down like some candied sweet. How she had managed to fish it out of his trousers without waking him was anypony’s guess, but Spike didn’t really care about that now.

He could feel that similar feeling of eruption creeping up on him, but for the moment he held it at bay, his control at least stalling his body’s response. That was, until the back of her throat hit the tip of his swollen cock.

“Mmmph,” Trixie moaned around the large phallus in her mouth, drool running slightly down the sides of it as she kept most of it in her mouth. She had been able to take it quite a bit farther than Meia or Maria: still not all the way, but a remarkable feat nonetheless. Spike gasped slightly at the new sensation of her tongue running all over his shaft while Trixie’s mouth held him in place with her suction. Soon enough, after only a few minutes of this tortuous pleasure, he relented.

After all the sex he had been having over the past few weeks, the amount that came out was nowhere near the “torrent” his brides were used to. Still, it was no laughing matter, as Trixie was barely able to swallow it without choking. She continued to suck it out of him until he was done, which still wasn't short by any means.

“Mmm, tastes like cream,” she muttered, laying back down on him. He had no idea why his wives kept saying it tasted like chocloate or strawberries, or now cream: must have been different for everypony “So, Spike: how was your wake-up call?”

“Amazing: I could get used to this,” he said, tenderly stroking her mane. “Do you always wake me up with sex?”

“Hmm, must just be fate,” Trixie said. “After all, the “Great and Powerful Trixie” does not disappoint as she once did.”

“I can see that,” Spike said with a smile. “Though, I’ve been meaning to ask: since when did you stop referring to yourself in third-pony?”

The unicorn was silent for a moment. “A few years ago, some competitor came onto the show scene: a brash young colt, with an ego rivaling mine at its height. He called himself “The Great and Powerful Oz,” and for a while ponies thought I had copied his title and form of speech. I changed, he didn’t: ponies grew tired of him and he faded from sight, disappearing into the plains or something.”

“Huh,” Spike said. “Never heard of him.”

“Good: he was unbearable to perform against,” his wife said, snuggling closer to him. “Anything else you want to know?”

“Not right now,” the drake replied, pulling her closer to him. “For now, let’s just rest here, and think of the journey to come.”

“Sounds nice,” she replied, settling into his arms. So they sat there as the carriages continued on, never ceasing. They were wary after the last time they had stopped nowhere near any settled areas: Prance was indeed a learning experience for Spike, Meia and Maria.

The carriages continued down the interior of Neightaly, occasionally crossing over to the coastal roads. The scenery was rather beautiful, to be honest, and overall the villages they visited were rather friendly. Rolling hills, fertile fields of olives, the occasional winery dotting the landscape: it was all very scenic and Spike’s pictures were like something out of a travel brochure. He didn’t say anything, but the drake had a feeling that once many of these became known, Equestrian tourists would flock to this exotic and beautiful locale. Soon enough, after who knew how many exact miles they had traveled, the three carriages arrived at the southernmost point of Neightaly well into the afternoon..

From there, the four travelers booked passage aboard a small passenger ship, nowhere near the size of the Crowhop. From there, the planned route included a short stop in Pamarelo, a large city on the island of Sicily. After that, it would be a direct route to the northern tip of Algereigns, from where they would set off with any caravan passing the way they were going.

First things first: the trip on board the... well, Spike had no idea on how to pronounce it. All he did know was that it was spelled Auditore. Other than himself and his wives, only a few others had booked passage. As such, each of them got their own rooms, all right next to each other on the far end of the ship.

The sun was only slightly above the horizon as the ship sailed through the waters of the Meditermanean Sea, the waves much less severe than those of the Barnlantic. Spike had retreated to his own cabin as had the others: Trixie was not feeling well from the movement of the waves, and both Meia and Maria were tired from the long trip.

But stay in his cabin, Spike could not: he grew restless and eventually left it behind, going out to the main deck with a specially-made drink in hand. He sipped it quietly while he looked around: only a few other ponies were up there. The young drake sat down on a bench, trying to clearly think of the journey ahead without a roof over his head. The spray of the sea salt reminded him of when he had left Manehattan over a month ago.

“Oh,” he thought to himself upon feeling an uplifting in his stomach. Opening his mouth, a small scroll popped out, and to his slight dismay, it wasn’t from Twilight. It bore the royal seal of Princess Celestia.

Unclasping the seal, he began to read to himself.

“Dearest Spike, I trust that your journey thus far has been fruitful?” Jeez, did she know about Trixie being pregnant too? “I write this letter to inform you of your next stop, in Algereigns no less. A sultan in the region, a very powerful sultan mind you, has been sending me letters for years now asking for information about the world outside of his nation. He has had very little political contact and I believe he has the best interests of his country at heart.”

Well, Celestia certainly had retained her method of cramming information into a letter: Spike read on.

“Furthermore, this sultan, an Ahmad Rahal, I believe, wishes to meet a dragon. I was hoping you would stop by and stay for a short time, so as to indulge him with your presence and to learn anything you can from him. He is located in Agrabah, a city a ways away from the coastline.”

“Sincerely, Princess Celestia.” Spike looked further down the letter: there was another note.

“P.S. Congratulations are in order for your journey into fatherhood, Spike.”

Spike closed the letter, and put it away in his trousers’ pocket, his mind sifting through this set of information. “Well, hopefully a caravan will be passing through this city: I doubt travel along the coastline will be safe,” he muttered to himself. Spike had known for days that the northern coast of Africa was unsafe, as pirates, brigands and thieves patrolled the coasts in droves. It would be like meeting the baron all over again, except he’d likely be killed and his wives sold into slavery. He was taking no chances: the trip through the Samarea Desert would be far safer. Besides, the routes were all along oasis and such, so the going would get too rough.

He took another sip of his drink, something he had specially brewed from a few select ingredients back in the city of Neighples. To a dragon, it was a relaxant, specifically designed to reduce tension. It affected all other races differently: to minotaurs, it was a hallucinogenic, and to griffins, it was a sedative.

As he was musing, he could hear a few hushed but heated words off in a corner. Hoof steps fading away signaled one voice, feminine in nature, had gone down below. The other figure approached and sat down beside him: an earth pony stallion, by the looks of it.

“Hello, the name’s Spike,” Spike said, hoping to start a conversation.

“Greetings, I am Michael Corleone,” the stallion replied with an oddly heavy accent: definitely Neightalian in origin.

“So, where are you headed off to?” the drake asked, looking out over the sea.

“Back home to Pamarelo, after a visit with my wife’s family on the mainland,” the stallion said, not continuing on after that. Not the chattiest fellow, was he?

They sat in silence for a while before Spike spoke again. “I couldn’t help but overhear you arguing with somepony. Personal problems?”

The stallion sighed. “My wife, Caterina. She and I have wanted a foal for some time, but... I’m always tired when I come home from working out in the fields, you know? I make more than enough to take care of us, and yet... right now she’s in heat, and I’m exhausted. I don’t know what else to do.” He sounded like he was at wit’s end, and this was obviously placing great strain on his marriage.

Spike was surprised at this: even back in Ponyville, farmers had more than enough energy after a hard day of work to do things around town, whether it was to help build, repair or move things. He took another sip of his drink, right as a revelation hit him. He looked into the contents, remembering just what the seller had told him.

“For ponies, messire, this brew is of a hefty stimulant, with an addition of acting as an aphrodisiac. Be careful, though: any pony who drinks this may become wild and unruly if not sated.”

He looked over at the stallion who seemed so downtrodden at his own misfortune. “Here, have a drink of this, and let me ask you something,” Spike said. The stallion tentatively took the drink and sipped it, listening to the drake.

“Do you love your wife?” Spike asked, remembering the psychology scrolls and books Twilight had forced him to read after the bullying incident between Babs and Applebloom. Thankfully they had become good friends, but the lessons, while boring, had proven to be invaluable.

“Of course,” the stallion said, drinking a bit more of the brew. Already his neck straightened and he seemed to tense up slightly: wow, that stuff worked fast.

“Do you want your wife to be happy?” Spike asked, noticing the changes immediately. Nostrils beginning to flare, eyes widening as the drug went through his system: this stallion was ready.

“Of course, messire,” the stallion said again. Spike gently took the drink from him and smiled.

“Then I want you to go down to your wife’s room, lock the door behind you, and show her how much she means to you,” he said. “Show her how much you love her.”

With a springing motion the stallion leaped to his hooves, nostrils flared and a wild look in his eyes. “I do not know why I feel so energized, dragon, but I thank you,” Michael said, and with that he tore off down the stairs, a door slamming shut soon after.

Spike leaned back and sighed, staying on deck until his drink was finished. After that, he went back down to his cabin and rolled into bed, the night sky high above twinkling with innumerable stars. Several doors down, he could hear moans and thumps against the wall. Well, many more thumps than moans, and from the intensity of them, it was going to last a long time. Hopefully his own wives wouldn't mind the noise.

“Good work, Mr. Corleone,” Spike mused as his eyes closed. “Show her the same love I feel for my own wives.” With that, he promptly fell asleep, drifting off into dreamland once more.

Author's Note

Well, here it is. This was going to continue on much longer, but I decided to split it into two separate chapters.

Palatial Party

Chapter Fifteen

Palatial Party

Spike bid Michael and his wife Caterina goodbye the next morning after the ship had docked in Pamarelo. Caterina had had a goofy expression on her face, and adding to the fact that her mane was incredibly askew, she walked on her hooves as though her unsteady legs might fall off at any moment. Discreetly, Spike had slipped Michael the ingredients for the drink, reminding him that it was very potent and only a little would be needed. The earth pony thanked the drake, stating his family had been having this problem before and this would help them, if not all his fellow workers, immensely.

As the Auditore left port a few hours later, Spike couldn’t help but smile: he was even willing to bet that the population of Sicily would increase by a sizeable margin within the coming years. There had always been problems with shortage of workers, but now it seemed, and singlehandedly thanks to Spike, the island would soon experience a foal boom.

So the ship sailed, narrowly avoiding a minor storm as it did so. It only took the better part of the morning, but by the time the sun was high in the sky, the ship docked at a rather large coastal town in northern Algereigns. Spike and his wives left the ship, instantly finding themselves pressed in by the cords of merchants and locals buying and selling their wares. It was a rather odd sight, to see so many ponies of all kinds, and even a few zebras, packed together so tightly and yet going along with their business as if they were the only ones there. Finding a small caravan that was heading to the main city of Agrabah was simple enough, but it took quite a chunk out of the little gold they still had left. Well, after Spike and the others had bought some new clothes and things for him to eventually send back, like spices.

“I wonder what it will be like?” Meia asked, fanning herself as they rode atop some camels. Unlike the rest of the ungulate world, camels reveled in performing physical labor and gladly would serve as “beasts of burden”, though they were still paid and all. The only difference was that their physiology had not granted them hands and they still had to walk on all four hooves. “Hopefully it will be cooler in the place we’ll be staying in.” All of them, except for Spike of course, were sweating rather uncomfortably in the sweltering heat. They had not yet gone into true desert, but the rocks and patchy grasslands were still unlike the cool European climate they had grown so accustomed to.

Spike had chosen to adopt some of the local garb, as they all had, and his face was partially rapped in a large turbine. He pulled it to the side a bit to speak. “Well, we will be staying with the local sultan in his palace, and if I remember anything from the lessons on architecture, then it’ll have cool cross-breezes built into it. Besides, from what the locals told me back in port, buildings here don’t hold heat very well. It actually gets cold during the night, especially the farther into the desert you go.”

“Well, it’ll be nice to get somewhere nice and cool,” Trixie said from under her small umbrella, fanning herself from atop the camel she road. “It sure does smell out here.”

“Sorry, that’s me,” the camel said. “We don’t take baths, being desert folk and all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Trixie said, covering her mouth in surprise at the camel’s confession. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No offense taken, miss,” the camel said good-naturedly. “We’ve been used to it for as long as we’ve been living in the desert.”

So they ventured further and further into the interior, until at last they came over a hill and saw a truly magnificent sight. A city lay spread out before them, sheltered from the harsh winds by distant mountains. Trees actually grew along the shores of what appeared to be a natural lake, with birds flying to and fro along the banks. The city had two sets of walls, with the outermost being almost like a giant guardrail. The inner wall was high and had numerous towers all along it, with only a few gates allowing passage into the city. Buildings spread far and wide, sometimes a good three stories high: obviously the stonemasons here were well versed in their art. The throngs of the crowds could be seen moving through the streets, almost a solid color of white and yellow clothes.

The palace of the sultan was something else altogether. It looked to be made of gleaming marble, with a dome tipped with what appeared to be a golden point. Marble obelisks littered the area, each intricately carved with numerous signs and symbols. Several pools could be seen, along with what looked to be fountains and even a small forest of tropical trees. There were statues, archways and even an aqueduct. All in all, it truly did look like the residing place of royalty.

The four travelers went with the small caravan down a winding road amidst the hills, the city growing ever closer and closer with each passing minute. Maria looked up at it with a strange expresiion, almost as if she had seen it before.

“It reminds me of the cities in southern Spreign,” she told Spike when he asked. “Centuries ago, the Moors emigrated to those lands both building and conquering independent cities. Wars followed, and after nearly a century of continuous fighting, the last were driven from their strongholds. This place is giving me a serious sense of déjà vu is all.”

Approaching the outermost gates, Spike and the leader of the caravan, a tall, wispy earth pony, were stopped by three guards. They were zebras, though it was hard to tell under all those clothes and polished armor. It must not have been that hot for them, as they didn’t seem to be sweating.

“State your business,” the guards said, although from the tones of their voices, they were bored and this procedure was likely standard protocol.

“I am Al Adin,” the pony replied. “I come to trade within the city: I have goods for the local merchants.” He paused for a few seconds. “You know, Salil, this is really getting old.”

“I know, Adin, I know,” one of the guards replied. “Standard procedure: sultan’s orders. And you, stranger?” the guard asked, turning to face the robed drake. Spike removed his facial turban to speak.

“I am Spike Dragul, here to meet with Sultan Ahmad Rahal, at the request of Princess Celestia, co-ruler of the lands of Equestria.”

The three guards looked suitably shocked at Spike’s appearance, but became evidently more so at his statement. One pulled out a horn and gave it a great blow, causing the noise to reverberate along the outer walls. Soon other horns, father away, sounded, and more and more continued after.

“You will follow us, your highness,” the guards said, making deep bows before the dragon. Said dragon felt like face-palming: oh great, they knew of his royal background. He looked back to see his wives get off their mounts and walk to his side.

“These are my wives,” Spike said, noticing the questioning looks the guards were giving each other. They merely shrugged and approached the gate, signaling to some hidden ponies within. Soon enough, the large gate retreated up into the gatehouse, and the guards bid them welcome.

Strolling along, Spike and his wives were immediately confronted by a whole host of banners and guards, their uniforms glinting in the light. Forming a tight cordon around the four visitors, the whole troop escorted them through the streets, pushing back anyone who was dumb enough to try and get close. Nothing truly physical, of course: simply a push here or there to make sure everyone was cut off from the inner circle.

“Do you have any idea what is going on?” Trixie asked, looking around as they walked up the streets.

“This must be how they escort dignitaries through the city,” Meia replied, looking around. “It seems to me that this city has more than its fair share of scoundrels.” To emphasize her point, several nasty-looking bodyguards moved past the group, surrounding a haughty-looking zebra.

“Whatever it is, there’s somepony coming this way,” Maria said, pointing up at some step. From the entrance to the inner sanctum of the city, the palace, was a sight unlike any other. A zebra, both short and rather round, bounced down the steps, his large and plushy turban swaying to and fro on his head. He looked to be of a jovial sort, like Santa Paws, the polar bear that delivered presents to all the good colts and fillies at the end of the year on a sleigh pulled by flying walruses.

The guards parted for the chubby zebra, who bowed deeply as he came to a stop in front of the four travelers. “Sir Spike Dragul,” he said, his voice containing very little accent. “It gives me great pleasure and pride to welcome you to our fair city, and into my home. Please, if you’ll follow me,” he said, turning around and walking up the steps, a wave of his hand dismissing the guards.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Spike said, following the rotund zebra up the steps and into the palace. Trixie, Meia and Maria were close behind, whispering to each other and pointing out interesting statues or architecture. “I trust you received Celestia’s letter?”

“Of course my dear drake!” the zebra replied, his belly barely contained by his clothes. “I never thought I’d live to see the day to meet- nay, house! -a dragon! They are a very, very rare sight in our part of the world, and have been for a very long time. The last time a dragon came by through these parts was a good three hundred years ago!”

“That is quite a long time ago,” Spike agreed, knowing perfectly well that the dragon in question was likely still alive. His mind returned to the task at hand. “In her letter, she said you wished to ask me some things about myself? I believe you also wanted some maps?”

“Yes yes, of course!” the jovial zebra replied as they all entered into the palace. Immediately they were surrounded by servants, all bent on catering to their every whim. In a flash, a curtain was constructed and Spike's wives were pushed behind it with shouts of surprise. Within minutes all three emerged after much bickering with the silent servants. Spike's eyes went wide at their change of clothes: from the baggy robes they had bought in the port into... well, nothing important was showing, per se, but it still made his heart beat rather fast.

The sultan continued on talking as if nothing had happened. "-in the gardens. But enough about me: I want to know mroe about you! We’ll discuss it during the celebration!”

“Celebration?” Spike asked as his wives were shown several other kinds of silken outfits to wear. They politely refused, half-attempting to cover themselves to not feel so exposed in their new clothes. “What celebration?”

“Why, your arrival here, of course! It’s not every day that royalty from a foreign land visits!” the sultan said, bringing them to a large open room filled with pillows and small, short-legged tables. With a clap of his hands, even more servants seemed to spring out of the very walls, carrying with them jugs of water and wine, platters of food, and several more pillows. Soon eough, dancers and jugglers joined the fray, throwing balls through the air and such. It turned into a downright circus, complete with a sword-swallowing unicorn, an earth pony who ate and breathed fire (much to Spike's curiosity), and the dancers...

Well, suffice to say they were zebras, but so exotic-looking in their scantily-clad bodies that Spike had a hard time focusing on the conversation. Well, his brides too had a hard time focusing on him: they were perfectly fine with admiring the other mare's bodies, if feeling a little embarrassed by the clothes they had been forced into and how they compared to the dancers. Trixie especially felt out of place: she had always known she was very pretty, but to see these zebras writhe and dance around her made her feel slightly... out of place.

“Come! Sit with me, and tell me all about Equestria.” The sultan lead them through the throng of dancers, who scattered with but a clap of the chubby stallion's hands. All of the others did as well, leaving behind only Spike, his wives, the sultan, and the attending servants.

Spike sat down on a pillow opposite the sultan’s many pillows, his wives sitting behind him. He had yet to see any of the sultan’s family: maybe they too were waiting for him to summon them? He took a small piece of fruit from a platter, noticing it’s incredible sweetness. “So, what would you like to know?”

The sultan plopped down amongst his many pillows, a large platter of fruits and vegetables all to himself, along with a large pitcher of wine. “Everything, Spike: everything,” he said, his glee now approaching critical levels. "I have heard some of what Equestria is like, but I wish to know more."

So it was that Spike told the sultan about Equestria, from the history, to the local customs, to the crops grown around the towns, to the royal city of Canterlot, and even what he knew of the princesses. The sultan watched and listened to him in rapt fascination, as if memorizing every single word that came out of his mouth. Spike soon ran out of water to wet his throat from all the talking, and timidly accepted his own pitcher of wine. A servant came up to the short zebra and whispered something in his ear as the sun began to set in the distance, casting its rays through the open archways and into the room.

“That is all very fascinating,” Ahmad Rahal said, his own wine pitcher all but empty. “Do feel free to eat and drink to your heart’s content: I must depart for a little while. Something has come up that requires my attention.”

Spike nodded and drank from a goblet filled with wine, marveling at the exquisite taste. Soon, he began to drink more and more, as if the liquid was something he had been craving for a very long time.

Getting up though not without difficulty, the stubby zebra went off, leaving Spike alone with his wives.

“Seems like a nice enough fellow, though I did not appreciate how he scoffed at the idea of the mayor of Ponyville being a mare,” Trixie said, biting into some more fruit. “Biased against females, if you ask me.”

“That’s likely part of his culture, dear,” Meia said, sipping a bit of wine from a goblet she had obtained from a servant. “He’s been born and bred to believe that mares are second-fiddle to stallions. Equestria learned long ago both sexes are equal, and as such the country has been far more stable because of it.”

“Well, I think he has a rather decent set of manners myself,” Maria said, looking over at her husband. “What do you think, Spike?” She saw him looking into an empty pitcher with a strange look on his face.

“Spike?” she asked again. “Are... are you all right?”

The drake hiccupped, a sheepish expression spreading over his face. “The wine is gone,” he said with a far-off look in his eyes. “Why is the wine gone?”

“Oh no,” Trixie said suddenly. “How much did you drink, Spike?” Her tone sounded rather... on edge.

“All of *hic* it,” Spike said, a hiccup interrupting his sentence. “Is there any more?” His wings rustled against his back, the fabric suddenly opening up as he spread them. His empty pitcher droppwed from his hand and rolled away.

“What’s going on, Trixie?” Maria said, looking over at the clearly-worried unicorn.

“It’s the alcohol in the wine,” Trixie said, slowly edging away from Spike: Meia copied her movements. “More specifically, the fruit in the wine. I read that dragons have a high tolerance for most kinds of alcohol, usually the harder the better. But when the drink is made from certain fruits like grapes, there are some... interesting side effects, besides drunkenness.”

“So... dragons can’t handle wine?” Meia asked as Maria too copied their movements of slowly backing away from Spike. His eyes seemed to swing in different directions as his wings began to flap.

“No, and they can become dangerous: to themselves, at any rate,” Trixie said, getting to her feet. “There are tons of reports of dragons crashing through buildings after having wine, and some of those were built from stone. Never mind the sudden regression to childhood behavior and the want for a game.”

“So, what do we do?” Maria asked as Spike suddenly rose to his feet. "Do we retrain him?" Judging from the way Spike's body was tensing, that would likely be a very bad idea.

“Move!” Trixie shouted, diving behind a pillar as Spike lifted off the ground with enough force to send a gust of wind flying through the room. Meia did a back-flip from the force into a pile of pillows in a corner, catching Maria after she landed. They watched in abject horror as Spike flew up and out of the room, his spines narrowly missing the uppermost edge of the archway.

"Why can't we just put some spell on him to stop him?" Maria asked, straightening out her mane.

"Because a flying dragon's momentum can't just be stopped like that," Trixie replied, sapping her fingers to make a point. "My summoning spell would only cause more damage, and if wither of you try anything, he might break something important if his drunken flying is altered: like us!"

“Where’s he going?” Meia asked, getting to her hooves with help from Maria. “I can’t see him.”

Trixie looked out of the archway, only to jump back. “Incoming!” she shouted, narrowly avoiding Spike’s tail as he soared back through the door. With several pumps of his wings he floated up to the ceiling, where his nimble hands soon grabbed onto a ledge. Pulling himself up, he sat there like a stone gargoyle, save for the constant stream of giggles coming from his mouth.

“All these pillows,” he said, pointing with his tail at the pillows in question. “Are you all having a slumber party? Why wasn’t I invited?”

So they chased after him, running around the room like a bunch of schoolyard colts running from fillies that they thought had "cooties". Time and time again he evaded the, sometimes by a few inches. they even tried throwing pillows at him, but he only caught them and threw them back like it was a pillow fight. Giving his drunken state, though, the pillows were zooming like missiles, almost knocking the mares off their feet with the blow. Well, except for Trixie: she had had enough experience with crowds throwing things at her to use her magic to divert the fluffy projectiles away from her and the unborn foal she carried inside her. Then he started calling out to them, calling them funny names like "Twisty" and "Mail-a".

His brides were shocked at his sudden behavioral change: he was acting like a little colt who would not go to bed! “Spike, you need to come down from there,” Maria said, softly but firmly, slightly out of breath from all the running. She really hoped he would not go back outside again: it had taken nearly a half hour to get him away from the fountain. “You could get hurt.”

“I can’t get hurt: I’m Spike the magic dragon!” the drake replied, flying over to another ledge. “See? I can even fly!”

“Yes, yes, of course you can fly: you have wings,” Meia said, placing her hand on her forehead. All of a sudden she felt rather sleepy. She turned to look at the pitcher by her feet, a thought striking her. “Um, ladies: what was in that wine?”

“Likely some local fruit that causes drowsiness if drunken in large quantities,” Trixie said, suddenly sounding sleepy as well. “We all did drink a lot of it: maybe that’s why I feel so tired all of a sudden.”

Maria yawned in agreement just as the last rays of the sun went down and darkness began to creep into the palace. Spike, on the other hand, seemed as awake as ever. He wouldn’t stop flying from ledge to ledge, calling out like a seagull whenever he did so. Well, a seagull that was currently choking on a crab, perhaps.

“Hope-hopefully he calms down enough to come t-to us,” Meia said, nearly falling over onto a pile of pillows. Maria crawled her way over and fell onto her side by the unicorn, muttering something in Spreignish.

Trixie had barely made it to the pillows before she collapsed onto her back, her eyes looking over at Spike. “Come to bed, Spike,” she said with a great yawn. “Come... to bed...” Her eyes closed and she began to snore softly, as did the other two.

Spike, looking down on them from his perch, cocked his head to the side like a bird. “Sleepy time?” he asked aloud, noticing they did not wake. “I don’t want to sleep: I wanna fly!” With that, he leaped from his perch and flew out of the room, his wings carrying him high over the city within a matter of minutes.

He flew for a good hour, circling over buildings and dodging trees along the lake. After perching atop the very dome of the palace, he finally began to feel tired. Wine works differently on dragons in more ways than one: any side effects take longer to take hold, but they in turn hit harder. So it was that Spike felt so tired, all he wanted to do was find a place to sleep. Floating down, he spied an open window and landed in it, crawling on all fours like some weird dog. He didn’t feel like crawling onto the bed on the far side of the room, which seemed to have some pillows tucked under the sheets. Instead, he crawled his way to an opposite bed and lay on top of it, his snores soon filling the room.

Spike awoke the next morning to a scream. Try as he might, he could not raise his head from the... bed?

“Huh?” he wondered, a pounding headache ensuring that his thoughts were scrambled. Why was he on a bed? Hadn’t he fallen asleep on some pillows with his wives?

The scream sounded again and Spike was able to open his eyes enough to see the source of the scream. A zebra was sitting up in the opposite bed, her nostrils flaring as she looked at the intruder before her.

Spike waved weakly at her just as the sultan burst into the room with three guards. He waved for the zebra to be quiet, and then looked over to see Spike.

“Sir Dragul? Are you in Asalah’s room?” the sultan asked, a very confused tone of surprise entering his voice.

Who? “Uh... yes?” the drake replied, not sure what was going on. Where was he?

The sultan clapped his hands together and looked over at the zebra, who had stopped her screaming. “Asalah, did anything happen last night?”

“N-no,” she said, gathering her wits about her. “I-I just woke up and saw him lying there, in the suitor bed.”

The sultan was silent for a few moments, as if trying to collect and sort through all the information he was being delivered. Then, with a clap of his hands, he beamed.

“Oh, this is such wonderful news! To think, I was going to have to give Asalah off to the highest bidder!”

“What?” Spike asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes some more. “What’s going on now?”

“There’ll be more time to talk later, Mr. Dragul,” Ahmad said. “Right now, we have to prepare!”

“Prepare?” Spike asked, confused. “Prepare for what?”

“Why, the wedding ceremony of course!” the sultan said.

“Wedding ceremony?” Spike repeated, not sure if he heard correctly. “Wedding ceremony for who?”

“Why, you and my daughter Asalah, of course!” the sultan replied. “By our custom, any groom who is invited into a home and sleeps in the same room as the one he wishes to marry is, well, married to her! Congratulations!”

Spike’s face turned an almost alabaster sheen, whiter than the purest of snows in the Himarelayas.

“WHAT?!”

Author's Note

Sorry it feels a bit rushed: I might come back and add some more to it. Oh boy, Spike: you shouldn't drink. Also, sorry for not updating for what seems like FOREVER: got a lot of college work on my plate right now.

I have also made a startling discovery: this may be even longer than I anticipated. Can you say... over five dozen chapters?

New and Old Problems

Chapter Sixteen

New and Old Problems

Suffice to say, Spike’s other wives were not as happy about the situation as the sultan was. From what he could tell through his pounding headache, Meia was likely to be the most forgiving, though she was still a bit frosty. Still, there was always the chance of angry make-up sex, but from what it seemed, nopony would be getting any nookie anytime soon. Not that he was too upset: he could have sworn he was getting chafed from the “use”.

Maria and Trixie, on the other hand, were absolutely livid at his revelation. “The buck did you do?!” they had shouted when he had told them the news. “How in the name of Tartarus did this happen?!”

“I fell asleep in the wrong bed,” Spike had said simply, holding his pounding head. They were all a bit ornery: they had all drunk freely the night before and the strong wine left a pretty nasty headache.

“See? This is why dragons shouldn’t drink,” Trixie had said, putting her head in her hands in a mixture of shame and indignation. “I can’t believe I’m not married to you for more than a few weeks and you’ve already gotten engaged to another pony, a zebra no less! What, are we not good enough?”

“Yes, are we not?” Maria agreed, her eyes narrowed into a hard glare that could have sent the fiercest lion running for the hills like a scaredy-cat. “Is three brides not good enough for you, mister dragon?”

“Wha- what are you saying?” Spike asked, anger entering his own voice through his confusion. “What do you mean? Are you insinuating that I don’t love you? That I don’t care about you?” His belly felt like a volcano that had just sprung to life, threatening to override his civility.

“That depends on your definition of love,” Meia replied quietly. “How many more mares will you take with you before this journey ends? Four, five: six, even? Are you so insatiable that we cannot satisfy your innate desire to hoard what you see as valuable?” Oh, that was a low blow, more so than the unicorn knew: she didn’t know what greed had done to him, to Ponyville, all those years ago.

Spike’s face turned a rather nasty shade of green, an angry green that sent a chill down Trixie’s spine. “I would give my life for you: all three of you. Why can you not see that? I did everything I could back in Prance: I fought tooth and claw to stop that baron from laying one finger on you!”

“Because you are a dragon,” Maria replied, her voice becoming colder. “That was instinctual, overriding your conscious. It may have been love in your eyes, but to me, it was nothing more than your innate dragon’s sense of control that wanted to keep what he saw as his. I was blind, but now I can see what truly happened. We were lucky you didn’t turn on us in your anger!” With that, she stomped off, with Meia soon following.

Spike turned to Trixie, his anger, both inner and outer, deflating as the other two left. “Do you feel this way, Trixie?” he asked.

“I... I don’t know,” she said. “I wasn’t in Prance: I didn’t see what happened. Though judging from Maria’s accounts, you... well, what you did was frightening. I don’t know what to think right now.”

Spike sighed, something within him feeling very hurt right now. “Then you’d better go: the sultan wanted to ‘properly’ introduce me to his daughter.”

Trixie nodded and walked away, glancing once over her shoulder at the dragon before she followed the path the other two had taken. Spike was now all by himself, and he had never felt more alone than he did at that point.

“Why did this happen?” he asked himself, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “Why did this have to happen? We were happy, all four of us. Then I get drunk and make some stupid mistake, and now I’m getting married again: the fourth marriage within two damn months. I’ve only been gone from home for two months!”

He said this with a shout, slamming his fist into a wall. For once, the stone didn’t crack, but Spike felt a rush of pain shoot in his fingers. Silently cursing to himself and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his hand, he sighed at the marital problems he was already experiencing, and cursing his luck. He had not asked for this, for any of it: with resignation he turned and went in the opposite direction his wives had gone.

The room where he was to meet the sultan was rather spartan when compared to the rest of the palace. A few doors, one simple round table similar to one he had seen in Spreign, and a few select chairs. They were perhaps the most ornate things in the room, besides the sultan and his daughter. Or at least, what Spike thought was his daughter: she was covered head to hoof in veils and robes, so much so that he could barely see anything about her but her eyes. They were a golden color, or at least were whenever she looked in his direction: she seemed very keen on looking at the floor.

“Mr. Dragul, come in, come in!” the sultan said, gesturing to a seat that sat across from him and his daughter. Reluctantly, Spike sat down in it, feeling very put-out by the way his other wives had reacted to the news.

“You requested my presence?” the drake asked, his voice rather quiet.

“Ah, yes,” Ahmad Rahal said, his generous belly jiggling beneath his clothes as he spoke. “Since you have not rejected the offer of marriage and have yet to flee-,”

“What?” Spike thought. “Flee?”

“-you must no doubt be wondering all about Asalah here,” the sultan continued, gesturing to his silent daughter.
“Well, yes, actually,” Spike said, looking at his folded hands.

“Asalah here is eighteen years old, and more than capable of bearing many good, strong foals,” the zebra said, his voice taking on a rather business-like tone. “She is quiet, easy to control and has a very gentle demeanor. She-,”

Spike zoned out as the stallion continued, his inner voice repeating what the sultan had said in disbelief. “Bearing foals? Quiet and easy to control?” he thought, a strange anger growing inside of him. “What does he think she is, a prized cow for a breeding herd? She’s his daughter: why in the world would he treat her like this?!”

“-and will obey any command,” the sultan finished, snapping Spike out of his reverie. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

“No, no, I believe I’ve heard enough,” Spike said, feeling the sickness within him dissipating slightly. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“No, for now, you must go prepare for the ceremony: it will be small and quick. I must talk with my daughter for a few moments.”

Spike made to leave, but as he disappeared from view, he stopped, pressing his back to the wall. Leaning his head out, he listened in on the conversation.

“But father, I do not wish to marry so promiscuous a dragon,” Asalah said, her soft voice easily heard. She had an accent similar to her father’s: very slight, but distinct enough to hear. “He already has three wives, all unicorns: they have magic. What hope do I have of being loved, or even cared for?”

“Daughter, it does not matter that he has three other wives: he will come to love you more than they,” the sultan said, before his voice took on a serious tone. “If you do as I have taught you.”

“He’s so...” the zebra began, before her father cut her off once more.

“I do not care what you think of him: you are to be married to this stranger. If you do not do so, if you do not go through with this, it will shame our family name. What would your mother think of your line of thought if she was still alive?” His voice was strained when he said “mother”, as if the word brought him a mixture of deep-seated feelings.

There was a soft gasp. “You... you said you’d never talk about that again after the last time. You promised: you promised!” There was a tone of great pain in Asalah’s voice, as if the mere mention of her presumably deceased mother brought her great pain. It was obviously a touchy subject for both of them.

“I am sorry, my daughter, but it is the truth. You must go through with this, for the honor of our family, for my honor. I will not have you disgrace my name and that of your older siblings. They are all married and off on their own, raising families to bring greater honor to the name Rahal. Now go get yourself ready: the ceremony will begin shortly.”

There was another soft gasp and a muffled cry as hoofsteps fled the room. The sultan sighed to himself.

“Why couldn’t she have been a son? At least then I could connect with her on some level, and she would be far more useful.” Judging from the scraping of his chair, he had risen to his hooves: soft clops on the ground meant he too was soon gone from the room.

From his hidden spot around a corner, Spike let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He went on his way, lost in thought.

“At least the baron was honest about himself,” he thought to himself. “This zebra is... is... oh, by Celestia, I don’t know what to make of this! What have I gotten myself into? What have I gotten that poor zebra mare into?!” He continued on his way until he reached his dressing room, where several servants waited for him. They were all mares, but very short ones, for some reason, and a few weren’t even zebras.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said with a low growl, which the servants either ignored or refused to respond to. They quickly stripped him down to his scales, leaving him naked for the first time in what felt like ages. They brought out buckets of soapy water, a rare item indeed in a place so annually dry. With vigorousness they scrubbed him clean, not caring about his wincing as they washed around his scrotal area. They then dried him off with several towels, scrubbing hard enough that if he had had fur instead of scales, some of it would have likely peeled off. Then, with a flurry of movements they dressed him, covering him head to tail in golden robes lined with the finest of silks. His new turban sported several peacock feathers, obviously imports from the Far East. Several rings were placed on his fingers, and a few larger ones, each easily the size of a plate, were fitted on his tail. Several other rings, alternating silver and black, were fitted onto the spines of his head that stuck out of the turban.

Truly, the dragon felt like a gaudy, pompous prince at that moment more than he had ever felt in his entire life: all he was missing now was eyeliner and some nail polish. To be fair, it was likely all part of a local custom, but the poor drake still felt a bit sick to his stomach. It was bad enough that he had been forced into this by the sultan’s customs and was reaping the reward of anger from his wives. But he felt absolutely horrible that poor Asalah was being pushed into this with so much expected of her, much of it complete and utter ponyshit. Getting him to love her more than his other wives and to bear him many foals like it was nothing? Was the sultan really that delusional and sexist?

With a small push from the servants, Spike walked through the door to the ceremonial room, his eyes barely visible through the thick golden turban obscuring his face. There were only two others in the room: that fat sultan, dressed in fine clothes gilded with glittering gold and jewels, his turban alone sporting three emeralds and a ruby. Asalah was next to him, covered in jewel-studded blue robes and a rather dark green veil, only her golden eyes visible once again. They were slightly puffy and swollen, as if she had been crying for some time. Spike had no doubt she had been: to have so much thrust onto her, all because he got drunk and flew into her room, gave him a sick feeling in his gut: sincere regret and sorrow.

But he could not back out, he would not: as much as she didn’t want to go through with this, Spike sincerely doubted that she could live with the shame if he were to reject her or stop the ceremony from happening. It could break the poor zebra, and maybe, just maybe, she could come to love him after he removed her from her father’s side. He was nothing more than a bully in father’s clothing: he had her under his hoof in a way that made Spike, a free-living dragon, feel very angry. One was supposed to respect and honor their parents, but what he demanded was just... ugh!

The sultan in question, for once, was very reserved as the ceremony commenced. The two young adults stood side by side, neither saying a word. Spike had the distinct feeling Asalah would be reprimanded if she spoke without being addressed first.

“Do you, Spike, know of the obligations you enter into should this ceremony conclude correctly?” Ahmad Rahal said.

“Yes,” Spike said, in disbelief that he could even look this zebra in the eyes. Add to the fact that the zebra’s own daughter was two years younger than Spike, barely legal at that, and was being sold off to Spike like some prized cow. He could barely restrain the urge to punch the fat sultan in his fatter face: he was glad his balled fists were hidden by the long sleeves.

“Asalah, do you know of your obligations?” the sultan said, turning to his daughter.

“Yes, father,” she said with a bit of strain in her voice: she had been crying, harder than Spike had thought.

“Then I announce you husband and wife. You may leave the palace now, Asalah: your home is now with your husband.” With that, the sultan clapped his hands and walked off, some servants springing out of nowhere to attend to him.

Asalah turned to Spike, choking back a small sob as she did so. She was being evicted from her home by the one stallion in her life that should want her to stay. Her dragon husband felt terribly awkward, so much so that he was silent for a few moments before addressing her.

“We’d... we’d best be on our way: I have to find us a caravan willing to take us through the desert,” Spike said through his turban, feeling the urge to tear it from his head and throw it out a window. Silently the zebra nodded, sniffling slightly as she made to follow him. He led her out through door and down the hallways until at last they reached the room the rest of his wives had settled down in. A few piles of their belongings were piled up around them, but it was not much: a caravan could only carry essentials and a few extras, not the entirety of a market’s goods.

All three unicorns looked up at Spike, curious expressions on their faces as to who this turbaned stranger could be. That was, until he turned and his tail showed, whereupon Maria’s and Meia’s frosty looks returned and they went back to a conversation they had been having before. Trixie just looked at Spike for a few more moments before sighing and going back to her magical knitting. Yes, knitting: she was already making a pair of foal booties.

“Meia, Maria, Trixie,” Spike said, addressing each one personally, though they appeared to ignore him. “This is Asalah Rahal, the sultan’s daughter.” The lack of response got to him quicker than he would have liked. “Introduce yourselves: I have a letter to write.” He stormed off, ripping the turban from his head and flinging it on the ground: he soon disappeared from view.

Asalah looked around and walked over to the turban, gingerly picking it up and dusting it off slightly.

“So, you’re a zebra,” Trixie said, not looking up from her knitting: it did not sound like a question.

“Y-yes,” the zebra replied, her voice faltering a bit. “I-I never met a u-unicorn before.”

“Yeah, he tends to favor that kind for a wife,” Meia said coolly, her words stinging like an angry nest of scorpions. Inside, she felt sort of sorry for the mare, but she was also competition: appearance of unfriendliness was the best way to test this new one’s mettle.

“Oh, I s-see,” the zebra said, looking down at the ground. She turned to Maria just as the unicorn looked at her. “I-,” she started, but was cut off by Spike’s first wife.

“Spare me,” the unicorn said in a decidedly chilly tone. “Make yourself comfortable: he won’t be back for a while.” She was clearly referring to Spike, but refused to say his name. Asalah nodded slowly and sat down on a cushion, curling her legs under her. She hugged herself and let the tears fall silently from her face into the veil. They hated her already, and she needed to befriend them. Oh how she wished they had never come to her home: she felt entirely justified in her mind.

Spike, on the other hand, was staring at the piece of paper in front of him, wondering just what to write. Giving up on any pretense of trying to make it put him in a better light, he began to write.

“Dear Twilight, we arrived safely in Agrabah and stayed with sultan Ahmad Rahal. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances I wish not to repeat lest I completely lose it while writing this letter, I am now married to who I believe is his youngest daughter, Asalah. We will be leaving soon for the trip through the Samarea Desert.”

Sincerely, Spike Dragul.”

Awfully short, but it was straight and to the point: now to prepare for the worst. With a burst of flame, he sent the now-rolled up scroll to Equestria, where he calculated it was early in the morning: very early, in fact.

He hadn’t made it forty feet towards the wall separating his from the markets before the urge in his belly returned. Opening his mouth, he watched as a scroll popped out. Opening it, he looked over the first few words.

“Dear Spike, as I cannot fully express my rage in mere words, this letter will now self-destruct in five seconds, coating you with a week-long erection-suppressing spell. Sincerely, Twiligh-,”- BOOM!

The letter blew up in his face, sending smoke and bits of paper straight up his nasal cavity. He snorted, coughing as he struggled to breath: his passageway eventually cleared up. Blinking as the tattered remnants of the scroll disintegrated in the wind, he repeated the last part of the letter to himself, clean air thankfully returning to his lungs.

“A week-long erection-suppressing spell.” Well, it was entirely unexpected, and rather depressing, but it did give him an advantage he did not have before. Now he could at least get to know Asalah before one of them, likely her, tried to consummate their union. She had an unwanted obligation to fulfill, but even though it was unwanted, it was still an obligation.

Walking through the entrance, Spike wound his way through the streets until he reached what he was looking for: the area where caravans stored their goods. It was rather spacious and didn’t have many caravan ponies strolling around, so her just began to ask any who looked like they spoke his language. After speaking to several who were decidedly not going in the direction he was, he found Al Adin once again.

“Al Adin, I need your help,” he said, the earth pony shaking his hand in greeting. “I need to get to Neigypt by caravan and then into Ethiopia. Are there any caravans you know of going through the Samarea Desert in that direction?”

The pony was silent for a moment before smiling as a thought struck him. “Yes, I do know of one: my brother, Al Abbas. I’ll put in a good word for you, though this will not be a cheap request.”

“Money will not be an issue,” Spike said, rubbing the back of his neck as he remembered the literal tons of gold he already owned. “How soon does he leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, if memory serves me right,” the earth pony said. “Good luck to you: the desert is a very inhospitable place, my dragon friend.”

“Any advice other than keep my head down and stay with the group?” Spike asked.

“Be sure to stay hydrated and drink plenty of water when you can,” Al Adin said. “Dehydration is the biggest threat to anypony who goes through that desert.” It was like crossing the ocean all over again: fresh water was the biggest commodity.

“Thank you, Al Adin,” Spike said, bowing. “I wish you luck on your own journey.”

“Thank you, my friend. You will need more than me, I think.” With that, Spike left the marketplace and made his way back up into the palace, the guards letting him go with practiced ease. Upon entering, he found his three-, no, four wives sitting all by themselves with all of their belongings. Judging from the few new things on the pile of items to leave, Spike guessed Asalah did not have many belongings, if any at all.

Sitting down next to her, he noticed something: she was not only all by herself, she was nowhere near the others. “Asalah, is something the matter?” he asked softly.

She sniffled slightly, clearly having been crying for some time again. “T-the others... they hate me.”

Spike shook his head. “They don’t hate you, Asalah: they’re just mad at me.”

“T-they are?” she asked, looking up at him. “W-why are they m-mad at you, husband?”

“Because I got drunk last night, which is why we’re all in this situation together,” he said, sighing to himself. From that day on, he swore off wine, or better yet, all alcohol unless there was no possible cultural means for him to become married suddenly. Only then would he be safe, though if he got drunkenly frisky with his wives, things could be either very bad or very good, depending on how drunk they were.

They were silent for a while, before he spoke again. “For what it’s worth, Asalah, I’m sorry. Sorry for this mess, for having to put you and the others through all of this.”

“That... that is okay, husband. I’m not mad at you,” she replied, her voice sounding a bit better. “I just... I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve lived here all my life, and now that f-father is making me leave with you, I just...” she didn’t finish her sentence.

“I know, I know,” Spike said, putting his arm around her and giving her a slight squeeze. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maria shake her head: he retracted the arm. “I don’t know what is out there for us, but trust me with this: I give you my word we’ll get through this, all of this, together.”

“O-okay,” the zebra said, her voice sounding a bit less strained. She had a shell around her, a shield she had constructed to try and protect herself from the world. He was going to have to start breaking that, and now was as good a time as any.

They were silent for some more before Spike spoke again, his mind made up. “Asalah, I was wondering: what does your name mean? In your native language, that is?”

“Oh,” she said, obviously surprised he took interest in her culture. “Asalah was... it was the name my mother gave me.”

Spike’s voice lowered to just a whisper. “I know I shouldn’t pry, but does the memory of her cause you pain?” This could go from bad to worse if she took this the wrong way.

The zebra’s eyes went wide at his question. “How... how did you know?”

“I overheard you and your father talking about her after I left earlier. Mentioning her greatly distressed you both: I was just wondering why.”

The zebra was silent for a few minutes before she spoke again, her voice indicating she was on the verge of crying again. “She... she died shortly after I turned nine. It was in the gardens... she loved the plants. We... we were out there, playing in the leaves: chase, I think. There was a web, it caught in my mane... She tried to remove it, but there was a big red spider, and, and...” she was silent.

Spike blinked away a tear that formed out of nowhere. “I’m... I’m sorry.” Spiders in this part of Africa were known for being poisonous: only the inattentiveness of a royal gardener could have let one slip into the garden unnoticed. There was a high likelihood all the gardeners had experienced something very bad that day.

“It... it was all my fault,” she said, crying into her hands softly. “If I had just... just taken another path, I wouldn’t have gotten it in my mane, and then she’d still be... be...”

Spike’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled him close to her, her face leaning into his shoulder as she began crying a bit more. “Shh, shh,” he said softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay: just cry it out, Asalah.” It was fairly obvious that the poor mare had dearly loved her mother, and that her death had changed both Asalah and Ahmad. It was even possible that as much as the sultan seemed to not care for his daughter, the death of his wife only reminded him of his own failures as a husband. So it was that he treated his daughter the way he did, both to drown out his own feelings of guilt and to try and appear culturally “normal” before his constituents. Crying over a beloved was likely seen as weakness, and in a position of power like his, such weakness put his family in danger.

Spike suddenly felt sorry for the sultan, to have to put her through such just to try and keep her safe, but he felt much sorrier for the zebra’s daughter. Together, the two of them sat there for a few minutes, the younger zebra sobbing gently into his turbaned shoulder before she stopped once more. It was the few more minutes of silence that Spike found more comforting, personally.

“Nobility.”

“I’m sorry?” Spike said, completely caught off guard. “Did you say something?”

“Nobility: my name means nobility,” Asalah repeated, her voice sounding better than it had before. “My last name, Rahall, means traveler. I’m a noble traveler, I guess. Mother always did like visiting relatives: perhaps one day she thought I would visit her with my own children in tow.”

“It is a very good name, Asalah, a lovely name,” Spike said. “You are family now, and I would like to know more of your culture, if that is okay with you.” He didn’t care if the others were listening in: this was between them. If he had looked back, he would have seen Maria’s lip trembling, Trixie wiping some tears from her eyes, and Meia steeling herself to not show any emotion: they had indeed been listening.

“Of... of course, my husband,” Asalah replied, her hands pulling him closer to her. They looked no different from any other pony’s save for the slight striping in the pelt. He had to admit it was exotic and very attractive-looking, though he said nothing about it.

“Please, just call me Spike,” the drake replied instead, letting himself be pulled closer to her.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said softly, cuddling into his shoulder as her voice began to become drowsy: the stress of the day and all that crying had really taken a toll on her energy reserves. “Spike...” With that, she fell asleep, her soft snores muffled by her veil: if it had been visible, her mouth would have appeared to have formed a small smile, likely the first she had made in a long time.

Softly, and discreetly, Spike kissed the top of her veil, where her forehead would be if it were not covered. She was in need of a loving family, and he would do his damnedest to give her that, at least.

She deserved it more than most.

Asalah

Author's Note

OH GOD THE FEELS. So, what do you all think of Asalah so far? Along that line of thought, Twilight: man, she really knows how to dish out punishment.

Also, this is what happens when I have restricted access to the internet: I get more done! XD

An Oasis of Thought and Action

Chapter Seventeen

An Oasis of Thought and Action

It was early the next morning that Spike led his wives down through the most-empty streets, a few guard serving as protection as they made their way to where the caravans gathered. the sultan had barely bid them goodbye, and he had only nodded in his daughter's direction when they left. Still, it felt rather nice to leave the palace: many awkward memories floating in the air around that place. Within minutes of asking various passerby, Spike had found the earth pony Al Adin and his brother, a younger-looking earth pony with an odd set of scars on his snout.

“Lion,” Al Abbas had said simply when he noticed Spike's questioning glance. “I got him back, though.” As if to demonstrate, he held out his necklace with a smile: a set of lion claws.

“How long do you expect the journey to take?” Spike asked, worried about how his wives would fare. Asalah had told him earlier that she was used to such heat, but he was not so sure about the others. Add to the fact that Trixie was two weeks short of being two months pregnant, and with her condition she’d have to take it easier than the rest of them.

“Seven week’s weeks, give or take,” the pony said. “We’ll be going along a more-used and supplied path, so essentials like water and food will not be much of a problem. As such, we’ll be a bit closer to the Meditermanean Sea than others. That way, if we get into trouble, we will not be in the absolute middle of nowhere.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” Spike asked, feeling suddenly uneasy. he swore, if there was some marauding sultan out there now...

“Oh, simple bandits, most likely,” Al Abbas said as though it were nothing more than flies. “Too dry and inhospitable for lions or hyenas out here, so the biggest predator you might face will be a scorpion.” He paused for a moment. “The bigger they are, the less dangerous they are: the stinger will still hurt, but it will be far from lethal.” Oh, sure: that was reassuring to a creature who's hide was nigh but impenetrable. His wives would be the ones in need of more protection. Speaking of which...

“What about spiders?” Spike asked, knowing for sure that Asalah would want to know this particular piece of information.

“Very few, and they come out at night,” the pony said, bidding his older brother goodbye. “As such, we tend to sleep off the bare ground, on blankets and such. A warm body attracts all sorts of night creatures, more so than anything else.”

“Then I’d better sleep away from others: I give off heat like a furnace,” Spike replied, at least partially thankful Twilight’s spell was still in effect for another six days. That, and the way they were acting around him, gave him the distinct impression that by the time they wanted to have sex with him, the spell would have worn off long before.

“It gets cold at night in the desert: I can’t blame them for looking for warmth,” Al Abbas said. “Well, it is time to go. Are your wives all packed?”

Spike turned around to see the last of their goods loaded up onto some camels. His wives were already atop their own camels, each fully wrapped up in white turbans and cloaks to remain cool in the heat. Trixie had her little shady umbrella out again, since she needed it more than the others.

“Yes they are,” Spike said, accepting the reigns to his own camel. “We’ll travel in the middle?”

“Of course: it is safer that way,” the pony said, climbing up onto his own camel. “Come: it is time to go.” Pulling a horn from his satchel, the earth pony let loose a long, low note: several responded in kind. The rest of the caravan lurched forward, all of the supplies loaded up and ready to go. As one seething mass, like a massive exodus of birds from a tree, the caravan set out.

There were at least a hundred ponies of all kinds in the caravan: zebras, unicorns and earth ponies being the most common, with a few mules and a pegasus or two. The last ones were likely used to spot sandstorms: they could fly up high enough to see if one was headed their way. All of the ponies either rode or led camels, most of whom were laden with goods and supplies.

The heat of the day soon made the city of Agrabah disappear behind them in a haze, the air feeling like I was going to combust at any moment. To Spike, he felt no different: he had bathed in lava, so this was nothing. Asalah seemed to be faring well, but the other three were having trouble. Trixie was the least troubled of the three, with her umbrella shading her from the direct sunlight, but anypony could tell it would take time for her to get used to this. Meia and Maria were bent over, almost as if about fall asleep.

Spike hurried his camel to Al Abbas. “Sir, if it would not be too much trouble, do you have two more small umbrellas for Meia and Maria? They are not used to these conditions and I fear for their well-being.”

“Of course, of course,” the earth pony said, pointing him in the direction of a laden camel.

Spike plodded his way over and leaned down, snagging two desert umbrellas from a satchel. Stopping his camel, he let more of the caravan pass him by until he was beside his two wives.

“Here, you should take this: it will help,” he said to Maria. She didn’t even look at him, or even acknowledge he was even there. She was still angry about his drunken shenanigans, apparently. “Fine, be that way: here,” he said in an annoyed tone, leaning over and propping it up for her so that she was in shade. Getting no response other than a huff, he trotted off to Meia. Behind him, Maria looked up from her bent-over posture and sat up straighter, adjusting the umbrella ever-so-slightly.

“This will help, Meia: here,” he said, leaning out to handed the umbrella to his second wife. She sat up but did not take it from him, merely staring at him. Before he could say something he’d likely regret, he leaned over further and set up the umbrella over her head. She at least gave him a nod of thanks, though the silent treatment he was receiving from both was getting on his nerves already.

Trotting forward, he pulled up alongside Trixie to check on her. “Are you holding up all right?” he asked.

“Better than I would without an umbrella,” the unicorn said, looking up from her reigns. “Thank you, Spike.”

“You are entirely welcome, my dear,” he replied. “At least I got one thank-you, so things must be getting at least a bit better” he added in thought as he pulled away and up to Asalah’s side. He didn’t say a thing to her: he had done all he could for the foreseeable future and was content to look her way every now and then.

Asalah was wrapped up in her own little world, thinking over everything that had happened so far. She had to admit that Spike treated her far differently than any other stallion she had met, her father included. He had listened to her, had helped her open up to him.

It was a mistake, likely all an act. He had three other wives: surely he couldn’t begin to feel the same way for her so soon? It was a front: it must be. Only a fool or a die-hard romantic out of a fable would fall for a wife in an arranged marriage so quickly. She could see it now: she had opened up to him too soon, too early. He now knew her weakness: the memory of her mother and spiders, especially the spiders. She hadn’t said anything specifically, but then again it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out she held a deep-seated fear of the eight-legged creatures.

She would have to strengthen her shell once more, the wall around her in need of refurbishing. She had let it fall too quick to his invading charm and soft words. She was Asalah, and her defenses would not be so easily breached again.

She mulled over these thoughts, her resolve steeling once more as the caravan traveled. Yes, she would not acknowledge him unless he first acknowledged her. It was the way of her culture: she was subservient, but that did not mean she had to put up with his demeanor as she had her father’s. This Spike was... soft, it seemed: he commanded no respect from his other wives. She had seen that clearly enough in the way they were acting around him. A strong husband would have them under his hoof, or in Spike’s case claws, eager and willing to do anything and everything he asked. Why was he so different from any other stallion, or male for that matter, than she had ever met before?

She would need to try and make him see the error of his ways. She knew that only the strong survived in a world like this, and as such, until he proved otherwise, it was time for her to start on his ‘conditioning’. First things first: she needed to show him she was stronger than she appeared back when she had broken down in his arms.

Spike, meanwhile, was busy mulling over all the things he had sent back to Ponyville, and by extension, Canterlot. He had received a letter earlier that morning stating that the stone foundations to the additional living quarters for Spike and his future family were already being laid into the mountainside, branching off of the main castle in Canterlot. The letter had not been from Celestia, Luna or even Twilight: it had been a simple letter as written by a royal pony scribe. Everypony must have been busy off doing something else, it would seem.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even left Equestria in the first place,” he thought, letting a puff of smoke curl out from his mouth. It filtered through his partially-concealing turban, so the cloth soon smelled of it. “I mean, all of this just to gather knowledge for the citizens I will soon rule over?”

He rattled off the things he had sent so far. “Tons of items and historical pieces from Equineland, though Pip will have to be the one to explain much of it. Those numerous things from Portucolt, tons of historical and periodical things from Spreign, goods from southern Prance and all those little things from Germareny and Austria should about do it. After all that stuff from Roam, including the copied letters between some of those old emperors, that leaves all that I recently sent back from the marketplaces.”

And to think of how many more countries he had to travel through to get back home. Sudan, Ethiopia, Maredagascar, Saddle Arabia, the Ottomare Empire, Trannsylmania... the list just seemed to go and on forever. Would he ever get home? Just how many wives would he return with, if he even returned at all?

He continued on, only stopping his camel when Al Abbas blew his horn. They had arrived at the first “rest-stop”, and just in time, too. The sun was beginning to set and the camels, and everypony else by extension, were tired and thirsty. The stark contrast of the lushly foliaged oasis lake to the harsh rocky desert around it was like something out of a dream. Luckily, said lake was in a large depression, with pillars of stone lining much of the area around them. It was almost like some piece of forgotten history protected by the small canyon they found themselves in.

Spike got off of his camel and went to help the earth pony with the main tent. All of the pieces were unloaded from the camels carrying them, and as such it was not long before a large and expansive tent was raised. It had no floor, of course: it was nothing more than a large burlap-style tarp held up by poles and fastened to the ground with ropes and stakes.

As the skies began to darken from lack of sunlight, the temperature began to slowly but surely drop. Maria had no problem with this. In fact, she had few problems at all. The trip had not been hard so far, the camels made for interesting conversation and were incredibly polite, and she hadn’t sweated all that much.

What she did have a problem with, though, was her husband, or more specifically, his noticeable lack of class. She had thought when she had married him he would be the prince he was supposed to be: he had certainly acted like it before and after the marriage, let alone their wedding night. But now... now it was like he had never been raised as a noble! He was acting like some compassionate commoner who had no respect for his heritage? What had brought about this sudden transformation, the Spreignish unicorn had no idea.

Spike was a dragon, a species known for their propensity to hoard. At first she had been thrilled that he was willing to change so drastically back in Prance to save them, but now, in light of this new marriage, and to a zebra no less, she began to see things in a different light. He collected items along the journey and sent them back to his homeland, as it would be infeasible to lug all that stuff around. Sure, he said he was sending it back for the betterment of his subjects, but... what if he wasn’t? What if this was just some impulse to collect and hoard items? He had four wives, one of whom was pregnant: surely he would stop at nothing until he had more. Dragons were a fine example of good breeding and had an even greater reputation of breeding anything they could. Spike was likely no different, sticking his massive rod in whatever willing female he could find.

The truth was it hurt Maria to think of her husband like this, to act this way around him. She was not vicious at heart, and to display such coldness for a dragon that she would gladly give everything away for made her feel... stuck-up. No, scratch that: it made her feel pompous, arrogant, and more than a bit selfish. He had given freely to her, had showered her with honest praise and affections for the entire time they had known each other. He had risked life and limb to save her, and yet he remained such a puzzle that it hurt her head trying to figure it all out. But her reasoning was still sound, even if it flew in the face of her emotions. As such, when she went to bed, a few tears were rolling down her face. The frustration within her at her inability to both comprehend and forgive her husband was taking its toll.

As the night continued to encroach on the desert, Trixie lay back on propped-up pillows, her mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. First and foremost, she had been wondering about names for the foal. It seemed that was almost all her mind could focus on these days. Where to send the foal to school when he or she reached that certain age, what they would do in life, what they would look like... She had always wondered what the offspring of a dragon and a pony, unicorn included, would look like. Would he have a horn and be able to do magic? Would she have wings and breathe fire? All of these floated in her head, but they were put aside for a growing thought.

What was up with Spike? She had forgiven him more easily than the others, even if she refused to talk to him for a while. He was likely so absorbed in this new marriage that it would take time for him to come down from his “lofty accomplishment high” that he seemed to be on. She had known him from before, and he still had most of the traits that she remembered: kind, considerate, almost too generous, and undoubtedly friendly. The only problem was...

That zebra! Trixie did not hate her: she had come to realize that much as truth. She did hate the situation the poor mare had been placed in, and from what she had heard the servants talking about, she was only eighteen. She was more than old enough to have foals, but she was still so young to have so much expected of her. It uncomfortably reminded Trixie of Equestria’s own past, back before it was first founded. Ponies of higher classes and nobility would shelter and keep their daughters hidden from the public eye until they became of breeding age. Then, often against their will, they would be literally sold off to the highest bidder or to the pony who would bring greater wealth or prestige to the family name. Trixie’s own great-great-great-however long ago it was-grandmother had been sold off like this, and it brought a sick feeling to her slightly swollen belly.

But still, a zebra? Spike had three unicorn brides and one foal on the way, and yet it seemed life, fate or whatever you want to call it intended on him having an even larger potential family. This zebra, whom nopony had seen much of beside her eyes and hands, made Trixie feel rather plain. She had that exotic flair to her that would make most stallions in Equestria slobber over themselves like a bunch of fools, but she was reserved, shy: almost borderline cold. Why, Trixie did not know: what she did know was that Spike was far too attractive for the zebra to ignore for much longer. When she did get him in bed, and the unicorn knew she would, the biggest fear Trixie had would be that Spike would treat her differently from the others. He only had so much love to share, and in Trixie’s mind, he would dispense more to what he saw as the more beautiful wives. Trixe, as she fell asleep, felt that she would be forgotten, pushed to the side: she did not want that kind of life for her and her foal. To have fallen in love with her and then to fall out of love with her would be the greatest wound Spike could ever inflict on her.

Spike had finished long ago with the tent and made his way to the edge of the camp, carrying only a small blanket so the sand would not get between his scales and his spines. He lay down, too tired to even try and talk with his wives. Well, that and entirely frustrated: exhaustion could be brought on by many means, and that was definitely one of them. They refused to talk to him now, all of them: to somedragon who had lived with the constant contact of ponies throughout his entire life, this sudden paradigm shift in attitude made him feel cold. Twilight’s reaction was not only definitely not what he had been expecting, but it was borderline criminal.

As such, he had to send a letter. Pulling a single scroll of parchment form his pocket, he smoothed it out and began to write, the magic in his fire-heated claw working better than any ink.

“Dear Princess Celestia,” he began, grimacing as the words came to his mind.

“As you may or may not have heard from Twilight, I have found myself in quite a pickle, as Pinkie Pie would say. Trixie, the unicorn I met on the way to Manehattan, is pregnant with my foal/hatchling, and as such we are married in Roam. Upon arriving in Agrabah a week later, we were generously treated by the sultan, who lavished us all most generously. Upon consuming the strong wine, I woke up the next morning to find myself betrothed to his daughter, Asalah. The others have not taken it so well and as of right now, I believe my marriages to them could be facing some moderate to severe strain.” Yeah, at the way things were progressing, that was an understatement.

He continued. “Furthermore, I must thank your pupil Twilight for her kind reaction to this bit of news when I informed her of it. Not only did the returned letter explode in my face like a massive firework, but it coated me in what she called an “erection-nullifying” spell, or something similar. As such, I cannot fulfill my duty to have heirs, Trixie being the exception as she is already pregnant. I shall see where it goes from here, though as it is, I am beginning to wonder why I ever left home, if all I seem to encounter is misfortune. Still, I must think of this as a blessing: maybe now I can further connect with my wives in a way that doesn’t have me reducing them to screams of pleasure every time we make love.” There: that should give the princess something to think about at night. Why he included it, he hadn't the faintest idea.

“Sincerely, Spike Dragul.” He paused for a moment, thinking hard as if anything needed to be added.

“P.S. I am afraid no more items, whether they be goods, maps or information, will be sent from me for the immediate future. Twilight helped me realize this, so if you chose to inform her of this letter, it would be best if the rest of the Elements of Harmony were around to hear it.”

He looked over the letter again, making sure there were no grammatical or punctuation mistakes present. Satisfied with this sarcasm-laced letter, he breathed a small amount of flame and watched it disappear into the slight desert breeze. He would likely not get an answer as rapidly as he had with Twilight: he would be asleep, anyway.

It was with that he actually fell asleep, his lips were curved into a small, sad frown.

Meia watched him fall asleep from her own propped-up pillows, her mind boiling with conflict. She had no idea what he had written down, but her own mind was too busy focusing on her next move. “A zebra,” the cold, calculating side of her mind said. “Unexpected, but not by much. He seems to pick up females wherever he goes. This could prove dangerous to us in the long run: he has two unicorns that could detect our true form if we are not careful.”

“But we will be careful,” the other side of the changeling queen’s mind retorted. “We have always been careful, and right now there are strains in his relationships. We can use these to our advantage, perhaps: our time of the year is fast approaching once more. It will not be long before we are carrying his child.”

The thought of a child growing within her caused Chrysalis to stop thinking about plans for Canterlot’s new ruler. Instead it filled her with a strange sensation, a feeling she had not known for the longest time.

Hope: pure and simple. She wanted a foal, needed one, and she had never realized just how badly until she was sitting down in the middle of a desert thinking about it. Out of all four of Spike’s brides, it was perhaps her that closed her eyes with the closest thing to a smile on her lips.

Meanwhile, back in Canterlot...

Princess Celestia sat by her empty fireplace, going over the news of the realm as the sun lazily made its way towards the horizon. It was only a while after noon or so, but she felt that the day was a beautiful thing indeed. Signing a few contracts needed for Spike’s new home, she turned over a new piece of parchment when she felt a familiar tingle in her horn.

“Oh, speak of the dragon,” she said to herself with a slight giggle, watching as the smoke condensed and burst into a scroll. Watching it gently float into her lap, she readjusted her position in her chair and opened the scroll.

“Dear Princess Celestia,” she began. “Oh, how formal of him,” she thought: it was always nice to be addressed as a princess by such a good and dear friend. It made her happy to know that he wrote it as a term of affection and not as a dutiful title.

“As you may or may not have heard from Twilight, I have found myself in quite a pickle, as Pinkie Pie would say. Trixie, the unicorn I met on the way to Manehattan, is pregnant with my foal/hatchling, and as such we are married in Roam.” Oh, she smiled at this: he was going to be a father! Truly, there had not been any new royal blood in the family for quite some time, and the princess was besides herself with glee at the prospect of playing with a little foal. She continued to herself, ignoring the small feeling that this letter was not entirely made up of good news.

“Upon arriving in Agrabah a week later, we were generously treated by the sultan, who lavished us all most generously. Upon consuming the strong wine, I woke up the next morning to find myself betrothed to his daughter, Asalah.” Wait, he was married again? That certainly surprised the princess, who started to wonder just how much of a charmer Spike was becoming. Four brides in less than two months: that was an awful lot to deal with for one so young and still relatively inexperienced.

She continued, her smile shrinking as she read the words “marriage”, “strain”, “nullifying”, and “cannot fulfill duty”. Her eyes had shrunken back into her sockets as she continue, not believing Twilight was capable of such a thing.

Then she read the last part: no more souvenirs or gifts being sent their way. In a strangely calm manner, she folded the letter and tucked it into a pocket, rising to her hooves as she did so. The temperature increased noticeably as she approached her magically-opened window. With a sigh, the princess spread her wings and flew out, slowly at first until her speed increased to that greater of Rainbow Dashes’ finest sonic rainboom. She had become a beacon of light shooting through the sky, blazing in intensity as she approached her destination. She would have to remain mostly aloof: she would wait to tell the mares about why her anger was justified. For now, they needed to sort out what she was about to say for themselves: both for the good of their friendships and for the good of their relationship with Spike.

Her pupil had told her that she and the rest of the Elements of Harmony were having a tea party at around that time up in the library. With a crack like thunder she landed outside, causing the whole tree building to shake.

Hearing a few screams and many startled voices, the princess managed to maintain a serene, if rather upset-looking expression when Twilight answered the door.

“Princess!” the purple unicorn said, her eyes blinking in surprise as she saw her sovereign standing before her. “What... what brings you here at this time of day?”

“There is something I need to discuss with you: it is very urgent,” the princess said, a tone entering her voice she rarely used.

Twilight felt afraid at that moment: the princess was never this serious. She hadn’t even been this serious when the changelings invaded and she did battle with Chrysalis. “Why, o-of course: c-come in,” she said, opening the door. The princess nodded as she entered, noticing the Mane Six all sitting around a disheveled-looking table. There were tea cups scattered about, Fluttershy was hanging from the uppermost lamp in fright from the noise outside accompanying Celestia's arrival, and Rarity was busy using her magic to clean up some spilled tea.

“Ladies, I would like to- no, must have a word with you all,” she said, seating herself at the head of the small table. Twilight closed the door behind her and returned to the table, unsure of what to say or do.

“I recently received a most informative letter from Spike a few minutes ago,” she said, quietly pouring herself some of the remaining tea in an undamaged tea cup.

“You did?” Twilight asked, surprise and a bit of anger showing on her face. “Did he say anything in particular?”

The princess quietly sipped some of her tea. “Well, he informed me of his new journey into fatherhood, something I was never informed of,” she said, looking as all six mares squirmed uncomfortably.

“Sorry about tha’ princess, but we nevah thought you’d want ter find out about the... situation Spike put himself in to get to tha’ point,” Applejack said, removing her hat in embarrassment.

“I understand your reasoning, even though how Spike became a father means little in the big picture,” the princess said, sipping some more of her tea. “I suppose you all know about his fourth bride?”

“The zebra Asalah?” Fluttershy asked, slowly flying down from the lamp after she had calmed down enough. The others shot her odd glances. “What? I-I told Zecora about it, and s-she seemed so happy to h-hear another zebra w-would be coming t-to Equestria. That’s why I-I remember.”

“Yes, Asalah: the sultan’s daughter,” Celestia said softly. “Spike has informed me of several developments that coincide with this new marriage.”

“And those would be?” Rainbow Dash asked, choosing to hover in place instead of sitting on the floor. She always liked to be on the move, that mare.

“Well, the fractures already forming between him and his wives,” Celestia said. “Among other things.” She looked at Twilight when she said this, causing the mare to shift uncomfortably.

Pinkie opened her mouth wide to say something, but Rarity stuffed a cupcake in her cavernous maw. “Pinkie, dear, remember to use your inside voice,” she said, watching as the pink earth pony simple swallowed the cupcake whole.

“Okey dokey lokey, Rarity,” Pinkie said, turning to the princess. “So, is Spike not good enough for them or something? He’s too nice to be a big meanie, so... what’s wrong?” She actually sounded serious for once, something was rare enough to actually cause Celestia to blink in surprise.

Celestia looked over all of them before looking back at Twilight. “Well, it seems to me jealousy is at play here,” she said. “Three wives might sound like a lot to some, but to a dragon, it is actually several short for the norm. Of course, the norm being different for every dragon, but I digress. They view each other as competition, most likely, with Meia and Maria being the ones he has been through the most with. Trixie will obviously be close to the top, as she will be giving birth to his first foal. Asalah is a newcomer, and they view her as such. It is entirely possible they blame Spike for his predicament of having four wives, instead of realizing other factors at play.” She was silent for a while before speaking again.

“Twilight, would you care to explain to the others what Spike will now do since you sent him your last letter?” The unicorn looked confused, but became noticeably pale.

“W-what d-d you mean, princess?” she asked.

“That spell you cast over him?” Celestia said, all traces of formality gone as her words took on a rather thunderous tone. Fluttershy squeaked and threw herself under the table, as did Pinkie Pie.

“T-the spell?” Twilight repeated. “Oh, t-that s-s-spell,” she said, paling even further. “I sorta, kinda, maybe, just cast the littlest... erection-impairing spell on him.”

That last part came out as a rush, but every pony gathered could hear it just fine. “Twilight, why on Earth would you do that?” Rarity asked, her voice sounding angered beyond normal comprehension. “That is downright despicable!”

“That is not all,” Celestia said. “Now that Spike cannot fulfill his royal duties of having heirs-,” her eyes zoomed in on Twilight’s almost white face: “- of any kind, he will not be sending anything our way for an indefinite period of time.”
All five other ponies looked at Twilight with ill intent.

“Yes, it is true, and I heard there was so much more in store for you all,” Celestia lied, knowing it was time for her to leave. “The animals of the Serengeti plains, the newly-discovered apples of Maredagascar, the silks and party styles of Istanbull, the tombs of the southern Neigyptian Pharaohs...” she stood up to leave, each word further enraging the ponies behind her.

“Oh, and I almost forgot: the massive libraries of Baghdad.”

Twilight turned to the retreating princesses’ form so fast her head might have spun off if she hadn’t stopped. “The what?!”

“The libraries of Baghdad,” the princess repeated. “I heard they were the most extensive in the world, greater than anything that has existed. Oh, all of those spells, the knowledge...what a shame.” With that, she closed the door behind her and flew off.

Twilight turned to her friends. “Now girls, I-I know what this looks like-,” she began, but Dash cut her off.

“GET HER!”

Author's Note

Just a nice filler chapter, so as to not make things seemed too rushed all the time. Oh Twilight: for a pony who is so smart, you sure know how to make dumb decisions. Personal accomplishment: my longest chapter yet!

Also, reviews make me write faster. XD

Blood on the Sand

Chapter Eighteen

Blood on the Sand

Spike awoke early the next morning to find little traces of exoskeleton on his chest. Apparently he had been warm enough during the night to facilitate the shedding of several scorpion’s skins, though from the looks of things they had long since vanished back into the rocky holes they resided in. Brushing the fragments off, he arose and stretched, seeing several others doing so in the middle of the gathered caravan. He was not the only one to get up early in the morning: perhaps it was a skill passed down to those who had to trek through places where an early start was the best start.

Soon enough the band was on the move again, everything from the night before all packed up. Still his wives refused to speak to him, besides Trixie, that was, and the dragon grew increasingly frustrated. It was the kind that did not show on the outside of one’s self: it was the kind that buried deep within, building and building like gas trapped in a volcano. All it needed was a trigger, and it would erupt with devastating force.

So it was like this for the rest of the day: nopony would talk to him and he kept second-guessing his decisions from whence he had left Canterlot. It was all he could do, as the journey was mind-numbingly dull and his wives seemed to not want to give him any attention.

“Should I have gotten on that exact train?” he wondered as the camel beneath him plodded on. “I would never have met Trixie and she would still be single. Not pregnant either, I imagine: kinda hard to do so if she wasn’t seeing anypony at that time.”

Then he thought to the trip across the Barnlantic. “A different ship and I’d have never met Meia,” he thought, grimacing slightly. “Then she might have died one of two ways on that ship: blunt-force trauma or drowning. For once, I am glad I actually made that decision.”

Then came Spreign. “Going there through Portucolt from Equineland was the perfect example of a detour becoming a disaster,” he muttered to himself as the sun moved across the sky. “I could have just crossed the Equinish Channel and made my way through northern Prance and into the Neightherlands, avoiding that blasted baron to the south. But then what of little Pierre? Without my doing, he’d likely still be in there, or worse...”

The truth was, Spike did not regret coming on this journey, nor did he regret meeting and marrying the four mares he had. He just felt so tired from all of the instances of sudden change that had happened so far: the baron in France, Trixie's pregnancy bomb, the sultan marrying him off to his daughter. It just all seemed so fast to him: nothing like earlier, where he at least got to know Meia and Maria for who they were, or so he thought. He still needed to learn more about Trixie, and if anything, meet her and Meia's parents.

The drake was tired, achy, and all sorts of frustrated when they stopped to make camp in a small sheltered valley. He immediately struck up a conversation with the caravn master, anything to keep his mind off of his own problems. Eventually, though, there was nothing to talk about with Al Abbas, and Spike soon lacked for company of a closer sort. The natural stone faces of their site were not as high as the night before, but it would have to do: an oasis was not something one could so easily pass up in a desert.

Spike rolled out several large blankets for his brides, receiving only a thank-you from Trixie when he did so. Maria hadn’t even looked him in the eye when she lay down, and Meia was off in her own little world. Asalah would just stare at him, whether or not she knew he was looking back. She was scrutinizing him, judging him silently.

He had had enough: it was time to talk this out. “Listen,” he said, sitting down on a large blanket so that he was facing all four of them. “I know several of you don’t want to talk to me. I can understand that. I also know one or two of you think me to be soft, or weak, or different from what you think is your “perfect mate” is,” he said, drawing curious glances from both Maria and Asalah. That was unexpected: what had brought about this chain of thought?

“The truth is,” Spike said, steeling himself so he wouldn’t lose it. “My nobility was only thrust upon me less than three months ago. Before that, I grew up alongside the Elements of Harmony, the six living representatives of the six parts of friendship. I was... well, I was raised both in royal audience with the princesses and out in a town called Ponyville. Trixie here,” he said, nodding in her direction “knows all about that place.”

He continued, though it didn’t seem like any of them were going to say anything. “I’m not the strongest dragon because I wasn’t born the strongest. I am not the weakest dragon simply because I’m not the strongest, either. I am me, and though you may not accept this at first, I cannot truly change who I am. I do not expect any of you to change so drastically that you become a stranger to yourselves, to your true nature.”

Meia shifted slightly at this, as if uncomfortable, but again she remained silent. The drake continued.

“As things stand, we cannot keep going on like this. I cannot stand this silence and these cold, hard stares. I need to know what you feel, and why you feel it, so I can at least try to make amends of some sort. Otherwise... I don’t know how this will turn out.”

At this sort of revelation, Spike expected some sort of apology, even some recognition.

Nothing: a big fat load of nothing. Trixie was knitting again, probably to keep her mind off of what he had just said. Meia looked at her hooves, unwilling to meet his eyes. But Asalah and Maria: they merely rolled over and looked the other way, as if his confession and quest for closure were unimportant.

Suitably, this made him mad. No, scratch that: it made him furious. They had become impossible to communicate with: they were driving a wedge between themselves and him and he couldn’t seem to do anything to stop it! Why were they doing it? Was it to spite him? Did they want to make him mad? Without saying another word, he got up and walked off, needing some more time alone. He disappeared from sight soon after, the light of the lamps giving the area an ethereal glow as the evening encroached on the land.

“I think he means it,” Trixie said quietly, looking up from her handiwork to make sure he was really gone. “I think he truly means it, with all his heart.”

“I am sure he does, just like he meant sorry when he married for a fourth time,” Maria said, not looking at the others as her unspecified accusation was sent in Asalah's direction. Her voice was as cold as it had been before, though there was a tone of hurt that had not been there before. Spike’s words rang true, and they did indeed sting.

“I did not ask for any of this,” Asalah said, rolling to face the others, her features still covered by her robes. Seriously, she never took them off: did she have something to hide? “I was content in my home, with what remained of my family.”

“But were you happy?” Meia asked, looking over at the zebra. She appeared to have been wholly unaffected by Spike's plea for forgiveness and the resulting fracturing of his emotions. “Were you truly happy, Asalah?”

“... truthfully, I do not know,” she replied, looking down at the sand in front of her. Lazily she began to draw some odd symbols into the sand with one of her fingers. “I loved my father: I still do. Only... I cannot understand my husband.”

“Honey, neither sex can understand the other,” Trixie said. “We are as confusing to them as they are to us. It’s all part of the great circle of life or something along those lines.”

“But that is it: I cannot understand why he acts the way he does,” Asalah said. “He is a dragon, a creature of legend in many parts of the world. Yet he does not command respect from anyone, least of all us. Father would have had his wives beaten for such impudence.” There she was, bringing up dear old dad again.

“He was raised differently than you, Asalah,” Trixie said. “Back in Equestria, stallions and mares have the same rights, the same basic roles in society. There is no clear division of who does what: Spike was raised to not be ruled by petty emotions and a sense of obligatory honor.” That was perhaps a stinging jab at Asalah’s culture, but the zebra did not say anything in return: she was thinking on it. Trixie looked over at Maria. “What about you, Maria?”

Maria let out a snort. “I’ll believe him when we need rescuing again and he proves to me that he can control his emotional outbursts,” the Spreigninsh noble said. “That dragon is too dangerous to be just let around on the loose whenever he gets like that. If we cannot at least convince him to be stronger for us, then we must at least try to make him see the error of his ways.”

“And what errors would those be?” Meia asked, a little heat entering her voice.

“He did not consult with us what we are going to be doing, for one,” the Spreignish unicron replied, even though she knew the argument was a weak one. “We are his wives, and I thought he would treat us as such. I believe he has a penchant, whether intentional or not, for saying exactly what we want to hear to get our compliance. He needs to learn self-control, and also to avoid wine, for starters.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about his emotions running rampant,” Meia replied, hoping to not have the conversation devolve into accusations and shouting. “We’re safer now than we were back in southern Prance: much safer.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” a calm voice said. All four mares turned to see a masked figure covered in sand-colored robes standing in front of them.

“Who... who are you?” Trixie asked, backing up into the side of the canyon wall with the others.

“The stallion who’s going to fetch a hefty sum from selling you four,” he replied. “Don’t even bother screaming: your guards are all unconscious.” He pulled a wicked-looking blade from within his robes and brandished it, the sight of the gleaming metal paralyzing the vocal chords of the four mares.

Not five minutes earlier, Spike found himself near the edge of the oasis, his mind swirling with anger and frustration. He was giving them all he could, baring his soul to them, and yet... they remained distant, aloof even! It was enough to make him want to pull his spines out of his back and toss them into the vast expanse of sand around them. He turned his head this way and that, as if trying to shake the anger building up inside of him. All of his emotions were tied together, as was the unfortunate way of his people. Luna had informed of such: a dragon’s well-being was intricately tied to its emotional state. That was why he had grown large when he got greedy: the bigger he had gotten, the more likely he could protect his treasure from those who wanted to stop him. That was why he had grown so fierce when his wives had been in trouble in Prance: it was so he could protect them better than he could in his natural state. Every single emotion of his had a different release, a different trigger.

The princess had always told him to remain calm as much as he could, since it took years for a dragon to master the impulse to hoard, to breed, or to fight, among other things. Spike had not had any dragons to teach him such control, and right now he really wished he had one to talk to him about it all. It was just... maddening, that he couldn’t connect with his wives. He knew marriage would never be an easy thing, but four marriages was beginning to feel too much for him to handle.

As he turned once more to try and clear his head, his vision was greeted by a large club swinging into view. Thankfully, it did not hit him in the face: instead, it crashed right into his chest, sending him sprawling. He wheezed slightly, the air trying to return to his lungs.

“I told you to knock him out! If he’s dead now, we’ll have to loot him and leave the body for the vultures!” a voice hissed. “A dead prisoner is worth nothing!” Blinking up through suddenly orange-tinted eyes, Spike saw the two robed stallions standing over him: bandits. Oh, Tartarus no: they did not just sneak up on him and try to knock him out.

“Don’t think of calling for help: the rest of your caravan’s guards are unconscious,” the one said. “They’re more valuable alive than dead.”

Spike opened his mouth, his teeth feeling longer for some reason. Something inside him had snapped.

“I said do not speak!” the one with the club hissed, swinging the wooden tool down towards Spike. Quick as a flash, Spike caught it in one hand: with a yank, he pulled it out of the surprised bandit’s hands. With a thrust of his wings through his robes, Spike rose from the ground and was on his feet within a split second. The startled bandits jumped back, going for weapons in their robes.

Spike glanced at the large wooden club in his hand, an obviously old weapon kept dry and hard by the desert heat and low humidity. It had likely been used for such a long time that it was as hard as a bronze war club, or perhaps even a steel hammer.

With one clench of his hand, it shattered into powder and splinters. The two bandits gasped as his now fiery-orange eyes looked into theirs.

“Big mistake,” he said, his voice descending into a growl. The two didn’t even have time to scream before he was upon them, his hands closing around their jugulars like steel traps.

There were two quick snaps and the bandits ceased to struggle. Dropping them like garbage, Spike moved back into the camp with a purpose in his stride and fire in his eyes. Not again: nopony was going to be taken prisoner again on his watch.

Four pairs of eyes looked at the bandit as more and more of his associates filtered into the camp, until there were so many gathered around it was hard to tell who was who. All around them they had brought the other members of the caravan, trussed up and gagged.

“That should about do it,” the apparent ringleader said, eyeing the four mares with disinterest. “I wonder what we will do with you four?” He didn’t sound nasty: it was the genuinely intrigued tone of somepony who hadn’t made a decision yet.

A bandit rushed up to his side: he whispered for a short while, the bandit’s expression changing from disinterest to outrage and confusion.

“Snapped necks?” he repeated. “But who-?”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence as a scream erupted from the far side of the group. Watching in horror, one of the bandits rushed past the others, ablaze as he burned. His robes had caught fire somehow, and yet it was an unnatural fire: it glowed a greenish hue. He fell over and thrashed some more until the smell of burning hair and flesh pervaded the area. The fellow then ceased to move: he was clearly dead, his burned features twisted into a cooked mask of pain.

Another scream and another burning bandit ran past, making it to the wall farther down the canyon before falling over, smoldering like a campfire. All around the camp more and more of the bandits started to move, looking for whatever was causing this.

“Oh no,” three of the mares said at once. Asalah, on the other hand, looked around confused and rather scared.

“What is it? What is going on?” she whispered.

“It’s Spike,” Maria hissed. “He’s transformed again!” Trixie nodded: she knew dragon fire when she saw it.

“No, this is something different,” Meia said, looking around as another scream spilled into the night air. “If he had changed again, don’t you think he’d have just wandered into their midst and starting beating them all senseless? You know, like he did in Prance?”

“So then what are you saying?” Maria hissed back. “Has he gone full-blown monster or something? He’s rarely ever used fire except for sending messages and starting campfires!”

“What are you four going on about?” the bandit leader said, suddenly remembering they were there. “What is going on?”
“Uh,” Meia began, only to have a shape fall down at their hooves. They shrieked and pressed themselves further into the rock, trying to get as far away from the...

It was a bandit all right, his face twisted into a scream of pain through his turban. However, something was missing, something rather vital in determining how he could have died.

His lower half was gone: it looked like it had been torn completely off.

The bandit leader almost puked at the sight of the blood leaking out into the sand. “Find whatever is doing this and kill it! I want its hide!” he shouted. More and more screams began to light up as whatever it was kept striking, fading away before it could be found again. It moved like a ghost among them, the lamps flickering as it ran past.

A bandit screamed as he was dragged behind a tent, his scream ending with a horrible crunching noise. By the time others got to him, his head had been crushed flat and the creature- no, the ghost, was nowhere to be seen. It was like the darkness of the night had spawned a creature with an other-worldly sense of destruction.

“What in the name of Tartarus is it?!” the head bandit shouted, just as another piece of a bandit flew through the air. It was a leg, and it smacked the head bandit in the groin, causing him to retch and howl in anger. More screams erupted from the camp as lone bandits were picked off one by one, until the remaining few stood by their leader.

A growl emerged from behind one of the tents, causing all of the bandits who had gathered around their leader to look over in fear. Lions could not do this: manticores would not. Just what was thing terrible creature they had stumbled upon?.

Stepping out from behind the tent, his clothes soaked in blood and covered in what could only be entrails, stood Spike. And yet, it was not Spike. Spike did not have blazing orange eyes or a maw sporting large fangs. He also decidedly did not have talon-like claws that would make a prehistoric dinosaur green with envy.

“Get him!” the bandit shouted, causing several of his fellow bandits to rush towards the dragon. Perhaps they hoped to be able to overwhelm the dragon with brute force.

The monstrous drake didn’t make a sound as he too moved. The first one to reach him didn’t even have time to swing his sword as Spike grabbed him by the throat and leg. In one swift motion, he lifted him high over his head and brought him down, moving a knee up at the same time. A sickening crack echoed throughout the area: Spike threw the paralyzed bandit down on the ground. The next bandit was grabbed by the throat and the sickening crunch that followed meant his neck had been snapped like a twig: he too was tossed aside.

The dragon hadn’t even broken his stride. Three more bandits rushed him, only to be met with a wall- no, a geyser of flame erupting from Spike’s snarling mouth. They fell to the sands, clawing at their clothes, trying to get them off. Spike merely stepped over their charring bodies as their struggles ceased.

The bandit leader had only a few left beside shim, and most fled, only to be shot in the back by fireballs erupting from the angry dragon’s mouth like heat-seeking missiles. They fell, burning in the sand like wax dripping from a candle.

“Get him!” the bandit leader said to his final compatriot, who had a wild and crazy look in his eyes. He rushed the blood-drenched dragon and swung his sword, only to slice through air. Looking in confusion, he turned to see Spike’s jaws close in around his lower arm. He screamed as the dragon’s immense bite force penetrated past the bone and cut the arm off completely, leaving a profusely bleeding stump. The bandit ran off, his blood squirting through the air as he ran: he didn’t go far before he collapsed.

The dragon turned to the last bandit, the former leader of the slain bandits strewn all over the camp. Some had had their backs snapped like twigs: others, their necks. Many had been burned alive, their clothes highly flammable and serving almost like wicks in the candle of their flesh. The rest had been torn to pieces, often being bitten to death.

“Come n-near me, and I-I’ll kill them!” the bandit leader shouted, rushing towards the four mares in hopes to ward off the demon. In the blink of an eye Spike was between him and his own wives, his body a blur as he moved. Reaching up, he grabbed the bandit by the shoulders and pushed together, effectively locking his arms at his sides. He squirmed and kicked, but the desert thief could do nothing as the dragon pulled him closer to his face.

“No,” the dragon grumbled simply, his eyes ablaze and his voice filled with a savagery that not even the fiercest manticore could hope to emulate. Opening his toothy maw, he clamped his jaws down on the throat of the bandit, who’s scream was cut off by a gurgling noise. With a great wrenching motion, Spike tore his clamped jaws away from the bandits, gore and flecks of flesh caught between his teeth as he did so. The bandit died quickly, gurgling as he did so.

Spike licked his blood-encrusted teeth and threw the bandit to the ground, his head turning to see several of the unconscious caravan members coming around. He turned to his wives and saw the fear in their faces, the sheer abject terror of being in the presence of a creature born from the nightmares of nightmares.

“Now you know,” he said quietly, taking off his blood-soaked outer clothes.

“K-know what?” Trixie asked, her mouth barely working.

Spike looked down at the ground, nudging the dead bandit with his foot. “Now you know why I cannot always be the biggest, strongest dragon out there. If I were to go down that road and permanently become what you had wanted, it would destroy not only me, but you as well. Such ferocity, like what you have seen here, is nothing new to my race, my wives. It is something within all dragons, just waiting to be let out. I let it out tonight to save you, once again, and to show you the price I pay to be kind, to be compassionate. If I were to do this on a regular basis, to gorge on the flesh of my enemies and to bathe in their blood, I would grow to crave it, to need it.”

He took a turn to look each in the eyes. “Nopony would be safe. I would have to be hunted down, slain by an army of enchanted knights, as have other dragons needed to be in history, or so I have been told. Do you understand now the price I truly have to pay? Do you understand now why I try to stay as happy as I can be?”

They said nothing, but not out of coldness of anger: they were silent out of pure fear. He knew this and did not expect them to respond.

“Help untie the others: I need to go wash this off,” he said, walking over to the wall. Spike looked back in curiosity. "Why didn't the three of you use any magic?" he said, referring to his three unicorn wives. They said nothing: obviously they had not thought to do so and were likely terrified beyond the coherent realm of concentration to do so at the time. Digging his fingers into the wall and shaking his head, Spike climbed up and over, the bloody clothing still binding his wings against his back scales. He disappeared over the top and was gone.

It was then that three of the mares vomited on the spot, both from the smell of the burning bandit fur and the scene they had just witnessed. And nerves: definitely nerves, as what Spike had said seemed to have touched a core deep within them all. Meia apparently remained wholly unaffected, though inside she felt she would faint if she took another step. All that power, that ferocity... to a changeling, it was like an concentrated aphrodisiac.

“I... What have I gotten myself into?” Asalah asked as she wiped her mouth with a sleeve.

“You got what you wanted,” Meia said, looking from Asalah to Maria. “Both of you did: a big, demanding, controlled monster who won’t be taking shit from anypony anymore.”

“But... but how can you remain so calm?” Trixie asked even as the other two looked at Meia. “He’s... he’s such a beast!”

“Dragons are indeed powerful creatures, but at the basic level they function the same way any creature might. They have basic needs and wants, and right now, Spike wants our forgiveness,” Meia said. “Right now, he’s likely burning his clothes and crying out in the sands.”

“But... but why would he be crying?” Maria asked, her breath slowly returning to her.

“Because in his heart, Spike is not a monster,” Meia replied, glad her disguise dulled her need to feed of off love. Right now, if she could feed off of anguish, she would black out from the amount pouring out of Spike. “However, something just as bad resides in his mind: he thinks he is a monster. Whether or not he believes this is irrelevant: he is afraid of just what he is capable of. He controls himself, or tries to, anyway, at all times, so this “monster” doesn’t emerge. He’s afraid he’ll hurt somepony close to him, or worse, if his emotions get out of hand. Haven’t you noticed how calm he tries to remain? Especially after Prance? He never raised his voice to any of us once!”

“Well, I d-did notice a bit,” Maria said, sniffling slightly as she realized just how wrong she had judged her husband. Judging from Asalah’s frantic movements of wiping her eyes, she was having the same thoughts too. “But... he still needs to confide in us...”

“He’ll confide in us when we have confidence in him,” Meia said. “As of now, he feels like he’s lost our trust, and in his male dragon’s mind, we’ll never bear his foals because of it. I know it sounds simplistic, but deep down, I believe that is what he wants the most.”

“To breed us?” Trixie asked incredulously. That did sound rather ridiculous...

“No: well, yes,” Meia replied, sighing. “I meant the part about foals: I’m not sure if you noticed or not, Trixie, but he’s been very careful around you. You are carrying his foal inside of you, after all. I can’t even imagine what he would do if some pony threatened you, of all of us.”

“I...” Trixie began before something clicked in her head. “We need to make it up to him.” Well, that was a quick segue.

“But... but how?” Asalah asked. “I... I think I understand where he is coming from now, but... what can we do?” Inside she actually felt rather bad. She had this dragon pegged all wrong: he showed compassion because his fierce and commanding side was too powerful and dangerous to wave around like a normal pony’s. To compare him to a stallion was not only borderline cruel, it had been downright ridiculous. Spike was a dragon: she should have known he’d act different from ponies. Now she wanted to make it up to him in some way, any way, really...

“Well, there is always the tried and true method,” Meia said, looking from Maria to Asalah and back.

“Yes? What would that be?” Maria asked. Her own thoughts coincided with Asalah’s: Spike could not always be the biggest or the strongest. If he was, then he simply wouldn’t be Spike anymore. He’d be a stranger, not the dragon she had fallen head-over-hooves for back in her home. Why did her pride have to be so difficult to control sometimes? SHe should have comforted him, consoled him when things had gotten out of hand back in Agrabah. But all she done had become cold and uncaring, two things she hadn't even known she was capable of. Right now, with a horrible feeling of guilt pervading her mind, she wanted to make it up to him: all of it.

“Think back to southern Germareny,” Meia said simply as the rest of the caravan freed itself. It seems they had not needed help getting out of their bonds.

Maria’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Oh, I see.”

Asalah looked between the two unicorns. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Meia looked her right in the eyes. “Asalah, get ready: tomorrow night is going to be like none before,” she said.

Meanwhile, off in the sands a ways from the camp, Spike kneeled in the coarse material, his mind and eyes returning to normal. He felt... sick. He had never felt such unbridled rage and anger before. What scared him the most was not that he had become a creature once again: what was the scariest part was that... he found it enjoyable. Spike had never before tasted the flesh of another creature and right now, he felt like would throw up. Those bandits... sure, they had been no good, but what he had done to him, the manner in which he doled out punishment...

It was scary, beyond any fear he had ever experienced before. All over him their blood and entrails draped across his clothes. He needed to be rid of them: now. With a great puff, flames washed over his body, hot enough to completely consume the evidence of his unbridled ferocity. Ash fell to that sands as he sat there, his wings flexing in the loght of the stars. He needed time to think, and hopefully his wives wouldn't abandon him out of sheer fright when they saw him again.

So he lay there, kneeling in silence as the night drew on. He didn't even hear the hoofsteps behind him until a robe was lain over his shoulders.

"I know you weren't your true self back there, Spike Dragul," Al Abbas said, sitting next to the dragon.

"How can you say that, after seeing what I've done?" Spike asked quietly, looking over at the scarred earth pony.

"The desert is a harsh place, sir. I doubt any of us would be going to sleep this night with our companions if those bandits had had their way," he replied, looking up at the stars. "From what I heard, they were going to sell us off as slaves: a most ignoble destiny, my dragon friend."

Spike was silent for a few more minutes. "How are the others doing? My wives, that is?"

"They await your return," Al Abbas said simply.

Spike was surprised at this: surely they wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. "Truly? After all they saw me do?"

"Truly," the earth pony said, rising to his hooves. "It would seem you have renewed their faith in you." He waved his hand when Spike opened his mouth to question him. "I overheard your conversation earlier, as well as theirs right before the bandits struck. Two of them seemed to be unable to accept that you can't be that... beast, all the time. I think now they realize why."

"Thank you, Al Abbas," Spike said, looking up at the moon in a silent thank-you. "I'll... be there in a bit."

"Do not tally too long, my friend. Four lovely wives won't wait forever, you know." With that, the caravan master left the dragon in the moonlit sands.

Spike rose to his feet a short time later, curling the robe tight around him. Walking back the same way Al Abbas had, he found the caravan asleep. Judging from the light of the lamps, he had been gone for quite some time.

Working his way over to his own area, he found all four of his wives fast asleep. in silence, he quietly kissed each on their forehead, earning soft murmurs from each. Walking over to his own secluded spot, he lay down and closed his tired eyes. The revelation of his wives' forgiveness did wonders for his troubled mind: he slept peacefully that night.

Author's Note

Well, it was about time I started living up to that gore tag. In the name of Celestia, why won't ponies learn it is never wise to piss of a dragon? Or worse, leave him to stir in his own confused feelings?

Also, much thanks to those who leave behind in-depth, thoughtful reviews. These help me right the following chapters better!

P.S. As many of you may have noticed, all previous chapters are slightly longer than they used to be. I've added things here and there, just to improve flow and such: thank God for that edit function.

P.P.S. This chapter was partly inspired by the amazing movie "The Ghost and the Darkness".

Four's Company

Chapter Nineteen

Four’s Company

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Meia asked, looking at Spike in confusion as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. The sun had risen some time ago and they were all done packing: they were only waiting for the okay to leave from Al Abbas.

“I can’t do it,” Spike said. “I can’t do what you want of me. I am sorry.” He sounded entirely sincere about the whole matter, which was the scariest part of the whole conversation.

“What, are we suddenly not good enough for you?” Maria asked, a tone of anger entering her voice once again. “Have you grown bored with us?”

“Far from it,” Spike replied, keeping his cool with some visible effort. “When I wrote back to my home after marrying Asalah, the receiver of my letter thought I was thinking with my “second tail”, so to speak.”

“And?” Trixie asked, wondering just what had Twilight done. She knew it had to be Twilight: nopony else would think of jinxing Spike for what they thought was a simple problem of miscommunication.

“She cast an erection-nullifying spell over me with an exploding note,” Spike said.

“What?!” three of the mares gasped in anger. Asalah was silent: she was beginning to wonder just how psycho this “friend” of Spike’s really was.

“Well, how long does it last?” Meia asked, clearly anxious to “apologize” to her husband for her earlier behavior. Man, going so long without a ride on his “love train” sure did make her want him all the more. What, was she becoming a sex addict now, and the only cure for her affliction was some hot dragon boning?

“She said a week, and that was around four days ago,” Spike said. “So if anything “good” is going to indeed happen and these “apologies” are going to bear fruit, you’ll all have to wait another seventy-two hours or more: I’m not exactly sure how exact this spell is.” Once again, the truth was bleeding through his words, an unfortunate problem when a solution to another problem was staring him in the face.

“Oh, when we I see Twilight next, I’m gonna jinx her quills to write backwards,” Trixie muttered, thinking of the worst things she could do to that purple unicorn. “Or maybe de-alphabetize her entire library. Or maybe turn her cutie mark into a picture of an ass, because that sure an ass move.” Trixie sure did sound vengeful: maybe it was the hormonal fluctuations within her.

“I think her friends may have beaten you to that, Trixie,” Spike replied. “I sent a message to Celestia informing her of that development, and as such I said I wouldn’t be sending anything else their way for some time. I’m not exactly sure if I’ll send something at all anymore, to be honest.”

“You did say you promised you would,” Trixie reminded him, thinking back to an earlier conversation. “I thought dragon’s had some sort of code of honor?”

Spike sighed: she did have a point there. “Fine: it’ll be a compromise of sorts. As soon as we’re out of the Samarea Desert, I’ll send something back. Is that good enough?”

“I should think so,” Meia replied. She saw a flag waving off in front of the caravan. “It is time to go, I believe: these are going to be three very long days.”

Well, she was right in a sense: the first day wore on like it would never end, as if time itself had been caught in a loop and everything blended together in a monotony that scorched the body and frazzled the brain. Through the sand and the rocks they traveled, the air oppressively hot and dry from the sun’s merciless rays. Every stop at an oasis was like a miracle unto itself: time spent away from one was torture that put the baron’s dungeon to shame. Who needed stone and iron bars when all that one needed to oppress somepony enough was thirst?

That ended the first day, though not without complications. One of the tents had caught fire at night from a fallen lantern: thankfully nopony had been hurt and none of the supplies had been destroyed. Still, as it was, several ponies would have to sleep out of a tent, and Spike had been the first to volunteer. His wives too, eventually, volunteered to sleep out of a tent: thankfully they still had the large blankets and pillows to sleep upon.

Spike’s stamina had been drained from his “bandit extermination” to so little that he could barely even eat and drink. Twice he fell from his camel during the journey due to falling asleep and as such he could do little more than talk most of the time. Al Abbas had recognized this and placed him on a diet of honey, oats and dried berries, so as to regain his strength.

The second day saw them arrive at a canyon with caves and an honest-to-goodness forest surrounding the local oasis. The canyon walls were littered with green, transparent glass.

“Likely left over from a comet,” Al Abbas said.

“Comets can hit the planet?” Spike had asked.

“Yes, though it has been a very, very long time since that has happened,” the earth pony said. “We astronomers have observed all sorts of celestial phenomena over the millennia: we have even seen asteroids impact the moon.”

“Huh,” Spike said, wondering if Luna had had anything to do with that in the past. Trying to launch herself back down to earth as Nightmare Moon, perhaps? “So, what is it?” he asked, handling a piece of the green glass.

“The comet hit hard enough to fuse the sand into glass, and the materials within lend it its color,” the earth pony said, taking a swig from a water jug.

“Interesting,” said Spike, placing a few of the more errant pieces in a bag of his. Maybe when things back home were sorted out and he could properly “function” again, he could send some of these back. He knew Celestia and Luna would love such extra-solar pieces in a museum.

After the second night, Spike had no idea just how antsy his wives were getting.

“Oh, I never thought I’d feel so anxious for something!” Maria said to Meia and Asalah as they traveled along with the caravan. This marked the seventh day since Spike had gotten his letter, but he had told them the magic would likely wear off sometime that night. As it was, the day dragged on even longer than usual for the four mares.

“Tell me about it,” Meia said. “Not only could we not enjoy him after our promise of “apology”, he would have been too weak to do anything since he lost so much strength from that bandit attack. It must have taken a lot out of him, to move around like that.”

That much was true: dragons had near limitless endurance for a fight when the situation called for it, but this situation had not called for him to chase down a fleeing carriage or something. As a result, he had the speed, but not the stamina to keep it up for long: luckily for him the bandits had been easy targets, or else he would have collapsed had there been many more. In a normal situation where he was at full strength and was well-rested, Spike’s stamina would be greater than many if not all normal stallions.

“I still don’t know,” Asalah said, looking at her hands as she gently held her camel’s reigns. “Should I wait a bit longer? I mean-,”

“We know how you feel, Asalah,” Trixie said, running her hand over her somehow still-taut belly muscles as her camel rocked from side to side. “It is an anxious wait to experience something like this, and to be perfectly honest, every mare wants their first time to be special.”

“Was yours?” Meia asked. “I remember you saying Spike wasn’t the first male you’d bedded.”

“No, not the first male,” Trixie said. “First dragon, maybe, and I must confess: my own first time was a bit of a let-down. Nice stallion and all, but he fell asleep after the first go.” She didn’t need to add Spike would be the last male she’d bed: that was obvious, her being his wife and all.

“That is all I heard from the female servants: stallions are notorious, in most cases, for being what they called “two-pump chumps”, or something like that,” Maria said. “I never really understood until recently just what they meant by that.”

“I have heard similar,” Asalah agreed. “Though from what I understand, Spike is not one of these “chumps”, as you call them?”

“Not even close, honey,” Meia said, smiling with fondness at the remembrance of her feelings of fullness every time Spike and her had had sex. They were all silent for some time before she spoke again. “Asalah, I know this might be personal, but I’ve heard zebra stallions are... gifted,” she said.

“Where did you hear this?” Asalah asked in surprise.

“Oh, rumors floating around everywhere about how... impressive male zebras are,” Meia said, thinking about Spike’s own “impressiveness” the whole time. It made her salivate slightly.

“I don’t know: from what I’ve heard, they are no different from other equines,” Asalah said. “Your information either sounds like a malicious rumor or has something to do with magical additions.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Maria agreed. “There are always those who feel the need to compensate for something, whether through magic, medicine or money.” She was likely referring to the Calrettos back in Spreign. Pompous, stuck-up nobles that ran with the same crowds as Prince Blueblood did: money and power were everything to the lord and lady of that house.

“I bet Spike could learn to change physically if we encouraged him to try,” Trixie said in a thoughtful manner. “You know: learn to control that instinct to transform and put it to better use.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Asalah said. “Isn’t it all tied to emotions?”

“Oh, I’m just simply saying-,” Trixie began, but was cut off by the blowing of a horn. All four looked ahead to see their next destination: the last of the oasis’s they’d encounter before Spike was ready.

Meia looked out at the horizon: the sun was still above it, but not by much. “Ladies, we’d best be getting ready,” she said, her words carrying two meanings. With gusto they went about setting up not only where they would “sleep”, but also helping other ponies and zebras set up their own tents. The moon would be out tonight, though not quite a full moon, and as such more stars would be in the sky that night.

Spike was off by himself, setting up tents while a few of the other caravan camels went to the oasis for a drink. It did not take long to set up, but just as he finished the last one, the night was already encroaching fast.

“My friend, can I talk to you for a second?” Al Abba said, coming over with something in his hand.

“Yes?” Spike replied as a familiar feeling washed over him.

“Oh... I see your “curse” has been lifted,” the earth pony said with a smile.

“How could you tell?” the drake asked. He had already told the pony about what Twilight had done to him: after laughing for a good minute, the earth pony had expressed his sincerest apologies and said he would make it up to him some day.

“That slight golden glow that just washed over you,” he said, holding out the thing he had been carrying. It was a small vial, perhaps blown from the same kinds of glass scattered throughout the desert. A pinkish liquid swirled inside.
“What is that?” Spike asked, taking it from the offered hand.

“It is a stamina potion: I am guessing you will need it tonight,” Al Abbas said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.
“How soon does it take hold?” Spike asked. “Will it even work on a dragon?”

“Ten seconds, and yes,” was the answer. “It is specially made to help all males with so much love to give. As it is, I bid you goodnight, my draconic friend. Sleep well, though personally I doubt you will be getting much of that.” Chuckling at his comment, the earth pony bowed and walked off, his hooves leaving behind little imprints in the sand.

Spike looked at the potion, a thought coming to his mind. A dragon’s biology was indeed different from a stallion’s, especially the production of sperm. For a dragon who had found no release after weeks of regular use, his “soldiers” must have been backed up halfway to his spine by now. Add to that the fact that both Meia and Maria’s cycles were going to start soon, and Spike had the distinct feeling that before he exited the desert, he would have three, not one, pregnant unicorns in tow.

Pocketing the potion in his robes, he made his way through the camp, over to a cluster of trees where he had been told his wives were waiting for him. Lo and behold, just as the sun set and the moon began to rise, he stumbled onto something out of a fable.

Trixie, Meia and Maria lay spread out before him on a pile of pillows and blankets, their bodies covered, or barely covered, one could say, in the same dresses they had been forced to wear back in Agrabah. Only now, with his mind completely sober, could he see just how amazing they looked: every curve outlined, no, accentuated by the clothing. Asalah lay amidst them, her glimmering eyes showing through her veil as her still-robed body was spread out before him.

“Asalah? Are you going to wear that forever?” Spike asked, his blood suddenly pumping down to a place that had been blood-free for what felt like ages.

“No, husband,” she said, reaching up with her hands as she sat up. “We drew straws to see who would be your first for tonight. I won for the first round, so finally you may see me without my robes.”

Rising to her hooves as Spike slowly removed his turban and upper robes, she pulled the hood-like veil from her head. Her mane cascaded onto her shoulders, the hairs alternating between black and white in a contrast like something out of a painting. Her eyes, exotic as the rest of her, were a deep blue, almost as blue as the Barnlantic Ocean. Spike felt like he was swimming in them, and to be truthful he wouldn’t mind if he never emerged from their watery embrace.

Until her agile hands undid the small silk belts holding her robes together, that is. With a slight flourish the robes pooled at her feet, revealing what Spike hadn’t even dreamed of: her body, full in its naked glory. Blood instantly plummeted into his groin.

Her breasts were large and very rounded, with the areola of the nipple being much larger than on any other pony he had seen, which basically meant his other wives. They did not sag in the slightest, and her waist... oh, it was ever slender, so that she had a vague hour-glass figure to her. But when his eyes traveled down her alternatingly-striped body, he stopped. Her hips and thighs... they were large, larger than those of the others. But they were not fat: no, they were muscle, inherited from an originally savannah-inhabiting race that had evolved to run more than most ponies due to the presence of more predators. As such, her legs were like they were sculpted from a surgeon’s handbook, with the muscles sticking out plainly from underneath the striped pelt.

Under his gaze, her confidence seemed to wither and she timidly covered up her marehood with both hands, the action unwittingly making her arms squish her breasts together. They poked forward and up, looking even more tempting that Spike had thought possible.

Reaching into his pocket, Spike whipped out the flask and downed the contents without a second thought, just as the sound of tearing fabric greeted all of their ears. Spike looked down in surprise as the crotch of his robes began tearing at the seams.

“Well, that’s new,” he said, dropping the vial onto a pillow. With a flex of his hips and tail, the fabric tore itself apart, falling past his ankles as his own monster was freed to the desert night air.

“...” was all Asalah could say, looking down in surprise as the behemoth before her. It... it was like an obelisk, the kind her father had built around the city. But it looked harder than the stone those had been made of, and the pendulous globes beneath them were swollen to what had to be an almost unnatural size. It was sticking straight out towards her like a python about to strike, with its natural shape giving it an ever-so-slightly upward curve.

“Spike? Why are your balls so big?” Meia asked in surprise.

“An erection-nullifying spell does not inhibit sperm growth,” he said, taking a step out of his tattered robes and coming closer to Asalah, who took a very hesitant step as well. “And dragons, as you know, produce vast quantities that last longer than any other species. So...”

“He’s packing heat tonight,” Trixie said with a blush as some drool slid from the corner of her mouth. Maria’s mouth was hanging open slightly as well, her tongue passing over her lower lips as she stared. Why couldn’t she have picked the winning straw?

Gently, Spike leaned in and grasped Asalah by the shoulders, pulling her closer to him as he captured her mouth in a kiss. It was her first kiss, so he went about it gentle, his lips gently nipping at hers when he made contact.

Asalah felt a chill tear through her body: she had indeed never been kissed, and Spike’s lips made her feel all tingly. She leaned into the kiss, her encouragement causing Spike to pull their bodies closer together. She could feel his muscles flexing under his scales, the heat coming off of him in wave upon wave. She felt like she could have stayed this way forever, nestled in his arms as their kiss deepened.

“Oh!” she said, startled by a sudden feeling of something sliding against her belly. She broke from their kiss to look down and suddenly remembered how erect he was: his shaft was forcing itself between them, the underside making an unusually pleasurable rubbing notion against her stomach.

Holding her gently, Spike lowered his fourth wife to the ground, he lips nipping at her neck as they settled down. Asalah shivered as his kisses peppered her throat, earning a slight moan from the zebra mare.

Then his tongue snaked out as he went lower, licking her nipples. She gasped and arched her back slightly at this, her hands forming fists when he took one nipple in his mouth and suckled on it. Oh, the feeling of the pull, of something wanting to suckle her made the zebra gasp and sigh softly, as he switched between breasts, kneading the other with his hands. He would even squeeze now and then, causing the flesh to deform and rise upwards, as if he were trying to get them to squirt milk: it felt natural, and so very, very good.

As he continued down, Asalah grabbed him by his head: she could tell she was ready. “Please, husband,” she said, softly and in a pleading voice. “Put it in me: I beg of you.”

Spike looked up, lust and a hint of confusion in his eyes. She didn’t want the full-body treatment? Oh well: he could show her later, perhaps. “As you wish,” he said, raising himself up over her body. Gently, he used one hand to rub the outside of her marehood with the crown of his dick, holding himself steady as her petals opening before him like a flower greeting a new morning. Fluids, all of them hers, began to leak out slowly as her hood filled with blood and expanded to greet Spike’s soon-to-be invader.

She gasped softly at this: she had thought her body ready, but as he was showing her, what she thought and what her body felt were two different things. She placed her hands on her stomach to ease the fluttery feelings within as he rubbed against her, the ridges on his shaft making her legs weak and her breathing heavy.

“Please, husband,” she squealed as a strange feeling went through her body. “Please, Spike.”

Spike looked down at her. She had not said his real name in a long time, usually referring to him as her husband: this was a sign of improvement. Gently, he pushed inwards, the great bulbous cap forcing the virgin zebra’s marehood apart.

She let out a scream at the sudden intrusion, her calls cut off by Spike’s mouth recapturing her own. Still her lungs burned as she tried to shout out, the feeling of her body filling and stretching feeling like nothing she had ever dreamed of.

Spike stopped the first two inches in, her tightness causing him some discomfort. He waited, leaving that bit in her as her body naturally adjusted to his size. The others watched with interest, noting how Spike was going slow and gentle: not many stallions in this position would have done the same.

Muffling her wails against his lips, Asalah looked into the eyes of her husband with her own, seeing something she had not expected.

Spike’s eyes contained no trace of lust or aggression: they were filled with concern, and through them, she could see the love he carried within himself. It was as if he were a massive lake, filled to the brim with water that had to be held back by a large stone dam. Every now and then he would have to release only a minute portion of his massive quantity, or else everything would come crashing down and he would cease to be. Right then and there, Asalah had never seen anything more romantic: she was looking into his very soul, and now she never wanted to part from him.

“M-m-more,” she whispered, her tongue reaching out of her mouth to interact with his own. He tasted a bit like metal, that sweet flavor when one sucked on a spoon or something similar. It was attractive: she plunged her tongue in some more to get at the flavor.

Spike slowly pushed into her, her request acknowledged in his mind. She tensed some more as the next few inches went in, but her body had had time to prepare and was far more stretched than it had been before. Soon enough, after a few more minutes of waiting, Spike pushed in the last few inches, hilting himself on her. His heavy sperm-filled balls rested against her large toned rump, which quivered every few seconds.

Together they just lay there like that, Spike marveling at her tightness and Asalah feeling like she might burst. She could feel his pulse within her depths, that monster inside of her not quite in her womb, but she felt like it was pretty damn close. Oh, such an exquisite feeling! How could she have never thought it would be like this with Spike? He had bared his soul to her, shown her the ferocity her inner demon wanted and the tender gentleness that every mare needed. She was in love, now more than she had ever dreamed of being.

“Move,” she whispered, her hands snaking down to feel her lower abdomen: it was tight, filled with the living example of dragon virility. Spike did as she requested, slowly pulling out before sliding back into her, her slick tunnel exuding juices as it made way for something a bit more solid. Her hands could feel her lower body swell with fullness as he entered her, the feeling so utterly erotic that she had no idea just how to respond. So she did the best thing she could think of: she bucked her lower body against his.

They both gasped as the sensation of slamming together hit them both, Asalah’s eyes rolling back into her head and Spike’s tail twitching behind him like a snake strike. Then, as he retreated and reentered, she did it again, and again, and again, until they had a rhythm going that had the zebra below huffing and puffing. Her mane felt sticky with sweat, her lower body began to feel sore, and something inside her was building. Her full breasts giggled in front of his face, bouncing up and down on harder thrusts as the drake altered his speed. She was building, building to what, though she hadn’t the faintest idea: all she wanted to was have him make love to her forever under those desert stars.

Just like that, on a particularly hard thrust, she came, experiencing her first orgasm. And boy, was it a doozy. Every muscle inside her clenched as jolts of what felt like lightning coursed through her: every nerve, every fiber in her muscles, every single bone felt electrified as she came.

Spike lost it when she clamped down on him hard. With a grunt, he came to, his balls emptying part of their load into his fourth wife. She looked down in her post-orgasmic haze to see her belly swell from the sheer amount of cum deep within her. That alone triggered another orgasm, her body shuddering slightly from the aftershocks.

Spike pulled out of her, still as hard as, well, a rock, with some of his seed still leaking from his member. He looked down at his wife, who seemed to be so wrapped up in her post-orgasmic bliss he doubted she could even hear him.

“I think she’s done,” Maria said, getting up. “I drew the next straw: my turn.”

With that, she nearly tackled the dragon, sending him onto his back as her mouth descended, not on his lips, but to his hard shaft. Like a child nursing from a bottle, she covered the whole head and sucked, getting the last bit of his pheromone-laced creamy concoction into her belly. Same chocolate taste, same amazing sweetness.

Pulling herself over his body, she pulled her clothes off along the way, the sheer fabric sliding off easily. Pressing her breasts against his chest, the unicorn raised her hips up so that her opening was positioned directly over Spike’s skyward-facing big purple rocket. With barely-constrained slowness she lowered herself onto him, moaning into his shoulder as he filled her up. Soon enough, he was as deep as he could go, her fluids leaking out all over his base and balls.

They stayed like that for a few seconds before she began to move once more, raising her hips up and pressing them back down to take that massive piece of meat in her again. Spike’s hands snaked around past her waist and firmly grabbed her ass, earning a hiss of pleasure from the Spreignish noblemare as he slowly began to push her up and down at a faster rate.

Trying something new, she rocked her hips from side to side, rolling Spike’s cock deep within her. It felt utterly amazing: it was as if a massive key was being fitted into a doorlock and all of the tumblers were falling into place. She rolled her hips some more, reveling in the feeling.

She could feel her orgasm building already, but she fended it off as best she could. No, she couldn’t be done this early” not yet! Picking up the pace, she began slamming herself down on him, her magic holding the orgasm at bay as she rode him. Her breasts slid up and down his chest, the scales providing friction to her nipples in ways that made her want to scream out.

Spike turned his head after a few minutes, a feeling of closeness washing over his senses. He looked down at her and saw her horn glowing slightly: she was using magic to hold back her orgasm, that little minx!

“We’ll see about that,” he thought, his tongue extending up and out of his mouth. With it, he wrapped around the mare’s horn and began to quickly stroke it, the slippery tongue lathering it quickly.

Maria’s eyes shot open at the new feeling. What was he doing?! She- oh, she couldn’t hold back that any longer! His tongue was interfering with her magic and worse, or better depending on how one looked at it, her entire body was on fire from the pleasure to her horn. It was one of the side effects of being a creature who did magic through such an appendage it was highly sensitive and was the focus of many a pleasure novel’s naughty bits. But this was better than any novel: it was without a doubt the honest-to-goodness greatest feeling she had ever had visited upon her horn.

With a squeal she came, her first orgasm in a long time followed immediately by another one. And another one, and another one, until they all seemed to blend together. Her body reverberated with the magic flowing through her, and as she clamped down again, she felt a boiling liquid enter her core.

Spike grunted as he poured out his seed into the vivacious mare above him, earning moans as it filled her too. Her belly now swollen, the mare rolled onto her side, Spike’s shaft emerging from within her with a wet plop.

Spike looked over at her, a smile on his face as he watched her twitch every now and then. Her body was still on a high and for the moment, it looked like she too wouldn’t be able to handle another session for a bit.

“My turn,” Meia said, standing up and walking over to Spike, her clothes disappearing in a flash of magic. She walked up to his side, but did not slide her now-swollen marehood lips onto his cock. Now, instead, she placed them over his face, with her own head sliding up next to his somehow still rock-hard shaft.

“We can both do something this way,” she said, licking her lips. Without so much as an order she began lapping at the rock-hard schlong, tasting on it the essences of both Asalah and Maria, with a bit of Spike’s gunk to boot.

Spike was intrigued: he hadn’t thought of this before. Raising his hands up, he spread apart Meia’s legs and buried his face between her thighs, earning a moan from the unicorn. His tongue flickered out into her core, swirling around inside.

Moaning as she was invaded, Meia took the head of Spike’s shaft into her mouth, sucking on it hard as she pumped the base with one of her hands. The other hand gently fiddled with his balls, noting how large they still were. Not as big as before, but still sizable.

Spike pulled Meia’s core closer to him, the force almost pulling her off of his shaft. Almost; she plunged her head down onto it, noticing how much heat it was giving off. She could feel every pulse of his heart through that pole, the sheer power an intoxicating feel. She had felt this way after he finished off the bandits: changelings were attracted to power, and the amount that Spike was giving off simply through his shaft was giving her a buzz like no alcohol could.

Still, it was times like these that she wished she could be in her changeling form. Spike's massive meat was too large for a normal pony throat to handle and her true changeling physiology would have had no problem swallowing him to the base. But that could not happen: not yet, at any rate. So for the time being, she was content to slide the massive dragon pole as far in as she could savoring the musky flavor as the pheromones played with her head.

She felt her stomach clench and as a result of not wanting to finish too soon, she rolled off of him. As he looked in confusion, she rolled back on and stuck herself onto his shaft, burying him deep within her. Before she could move, however, Spike’s wings thrust against the ground, launching them to their feet. Well, to Spike’s feet at any rate: in a flash, his arms had snaked under her legs, spreading her wide as he took a more staunch position. Throwing her arms around his shoulders for support, Meia marveled at the fact that he had managed to stay inside that whole time.

With a look of triumph in his eyes, Spike began to pump her up and down, his tail straight as an arrow behind him for support. Every thrust, every move, had him deeper within his wife than before. If she had been born with toes like a monkey, she knew they would have been curling.

Meia felt her stomach clench once more and felt an orgasm rock through her, just as Spike’s shaft twitched within her. With a gush he unloaded his spunk into her, her belly swelling like the others had. She lay against him for a few moments, trying to catch her breath. Spike felt some his essence drip down onto the ground, but instead of just holding her up like that, he gently kneeled down and lay her on her makeshift bed. Meia closed her eyes, the feeling of fullness making her drowsy.

Spike looked over at Trixie, who by now was exuding liquids from two parts of her body. “I take it you are next?” hee asked with a roguish grin. He was beginning to tire and felt like his pole was softening, but he had one good go left in him..

“Indeed,” the blue unicorn replied, turning over onto her belly as Spike approached her. Quick as a flash her clothes disappeared in puffs of smoke, leaving her toned behind exposed to him in all its glory. “Wait,” she said as he knelt down behind her. “I... I want to try something different.”

“Yes?” Spike replied, stopping before he could stick himself in her. Truthfully he was wondering if having sex this early in the pregnancy could affect the foal: would something happen if he stuck his giant dragon dong in her tunnel, knowing full well that his size could affect her in ways a normal stallion's never could?

“Put it... in my ass,” she said, sounding embarrassed to even be saying it.

By now, Spike’s mind was too far gone with lust and sexual energy to care what she said. If she had told him to stick his tail in her, he likely would have. “All right,” he said, lining himself up. With a slight push he entered her other hole, the immediate tightness and odd feeling of clenching being so different from anything else he had experienced.

Trixie moaned beneath him, her breasts pushing into the pillows as she felt him slide in her. He stopped after reaching the base of his shaft, which had taken a few minutes to accomplish. Leaning over her, Spike placed his hands alongside Trixie’s shoulders and began to pump slowly.

“Oh!” Trixie moaned, the feeling of being filled reminding her of just what he had been like back on the train. But he was far more experienced now, and he showed it: his fingers had moved down to her sopping marehood and were teasing the puffed-out hood, earning several gasps from her. He had gotten so good in what was truly such a short amount of time that she knew if he hadn’t gotten married or had royal obligations, he’d have been pleasing every mare he wanted from Manehatten through Las Neighgas, with Ponyville somewhere in-between that. Or he would be in adult films, though he'd likely be putting the other male stars out of business.

He pounded into her harder, the force causing her body to jiggle. From Spike’s point of view, the sight of her moving against him, with her ass smashing against his waistline, was unbelievably erotic. They continued like this for a few more minutes until Trixie spoke.

“Leave it in,” she said, and then her body clenched. Spike had had no idea she was so close, so that when the full force hit him, he couldn’t help but empty into her bowels. Trixie in turn threw her head back in a silent howl, no noise emerging from her mouth as she did so.

After shaking his head and looking through now-sleepy eyes, Spike could see the sides of her stomach bulge out slightly as he shot what felt like the last load for the night. He looked around as he withdrew from the blue unicorn: all of the others were asleep. He looked back down at the sound of snoring to see Trixie had fallen asleep as well, the look on her face one of peace and content.

“Goodnight, my wives,” Spike muttered, laying down on a few pillows. “Pleasant dreams.” With that, he too was asleep, the smell of sex and the feelings of love both pervading the area like a fog. Nothing disturbed them that night.

Author's Note

Whew! That was a marathon of writing... and of sex. Jeez Spike, save some for later, why don't ya?

Information and the River

Chapter Twenty

Information and the River

After getting an early-morning wake-up call by some passing camels, Spike set out for the day with the rest of the caravan, feeling refreshed and more alive than he ever had before. His wives seemed to be in much higher spirits than they had been before, and Asalah kept looking his way every now and then in an entirely seductive manner. To be truthful, Spike was entirely glad the caravan only stopped for the night or when they reached an oasis, which usually happened at the same time. Otherwise he might get chafed from constant sex. As it was, the had stopped at a small oasis in the middle of the day, with birds flittering from tree to tree. Spike was among the first to arrive and as such had ample time to set up his things before going off.

Feeling so good with his life at the moment, Spike couldn’t help but decide to write a letter. He had forgiven Twilight right before he wrote it, but as it was he couldn’t bring himself to write to her: who knows how she’d react. Instead, he addressed it to the one pony who he had not written to this whole time.

“Dear Luna,” he began, making sure he was alone when eveypony else had reached the rest stop. It was the middle of the day and frankly Spike had a feeling his wives would be too hot to want to have sex. It was so much easier when the cooler nights made it much less stressful.

“I assume by now that you have heard of my engagements and have also heard of my now two-month old journey into fatherhood. Trixie should be expecting the foal within nine months, give or take a week or two. I was hoping this journey would be over by then, as I sincerely would not want our first child to be born halfway from our true home.”

He paused for a moment, as if thinking on something he had said previously. “Twilight may have thought she arrested my situation when she placed that curse on me, but now that it has lifted, I must thank her. It allowed me to get closer to my wives, even though we were struggling for a bit. Plus, after it was done, they nearly jumped me when we made our stop. I cannot help but thank Applejack as well, for her helping me develop endurance by working for her on the farm: I truly needed it that night. Four wives is a tall order to please in one go, but it was no trouble at all.”

He grinned at this: that should give them all to think about. Oh, what sort of devil was he turning into, giving his friends the image of him rutting four beautiful mares into states of unconsciousness? “As I am a forgiving dragon, here is the deal: as soon as we exit the Samarea Desert, I will start sending some things back, souvenirs and whatnot. Just to show I’m not still angry over the “erection-suppressing spell”, like some would be if they had been in my position.”

He paused for a moment, a slight chill running down his spine as he remembered the incident with the bandits. “I know I wasn’t taught much about it princess, but I need to know more about my kind. If you could send back any scrolls you happen to come across, any at all concerning dragons, I would greatly appreciate it.”

As he wrote, there were a few calls from the birds above, but he ignored them. “As for the Elements of Harmony, kindly inform them that I have forgiven Twilight and they should too. Soon enough the journey through the Samarea Desert will be almost a third done, and I will send you another letter once we finally exit it along the banks of the Nile River.”

He continued to write some more, wondering how everypony was doing, if anything new had happened in the Crystal Empire, how Ponyville was doing: you know, basic, everyday letter kind of things. He had even asked how Discord was doing: last he had heard, that rascal was out helping the Appaloosans find wells of water for irrigation, though more than once they found wells of... chocolate. Still, it would be nice to see how everypony was and what they were up to.

“Sincerely, Spike Dragul.” With that, he rolled up the scroll and let loose a flicker of flame, the green fire transporting the scroll all the way back to Equestria. As he grinned about how the others back home would react to this new letter, he lay his head back against the tree and let his thoughts drift along, on to the future and the things to come.

Meanwhile, in the royal court of Canterlot...

Seven figures sat around the table, unsure as to why they had been summoned. Celestia sat at the head of the table, sharing in the perplexity of her sister’s summon. Surely this had something to do with Spike, or else none of the Elements of Harmony would have been needed to be present, right? The bearers of the Elements of Harmony were whispering amongst each other, with Twilight just looking ahead. The princess believed she had learned her lesson at the hands of her friends, what with their punishment.

Forcing Twilight to look into Pinkie’s crystal ball and see a terrifying alternate reality, in which there were no books. There was only a small, flat contraption made of metal and plastic called a “Kindle”. The sheer terror it induced in the unicorn was overshadowed by her acceptance that what she had done to Spike was overzealous and uncalled for.

Luna walked in, appearing a bit sleepy but still alert enough to let everyone see she meant business. The hushed conversations ceased as she closed the door behind her with Taking her place alongside her royal sister and co-ruler, she cleared her throat before producing a scroll.

“I recently received this,” she said, looking over everypony gathered before her. “And yes, it is from Spike.”

“It is?” Twilight asked, appearing rather surprised. “I... I thought he wasn’t going to send any letter our way for a while.”

“Indeed, sister,” Celestia said, quirking an eyebrow at her, well, sister. “What does it say?”

The wings behind the lunar princess rustled slightly as she jostled into a more comfortable position in her chair. “Well, the majority of it was simply a “how are you, what have you been up to” kind of letter,” she began. “I take it Spike does miss home and would like to know what has been going on.”

“Well, it has been rather uneventful around here, to be perfectly honest,” Rarity said, poking her chin in thought. “Other than the Grand Galloping Gala a few weeks after he left and that fashion show two weeks ago, not much has really happened. The Changelings haven’t been seen, Discord has been on his best behavior, and King Sombra has not been seen since Spike was younger.”

“What about that merpony sighting off of Manehattan last week?” Fluttershy asked.

“Fluttershy, merponies don’t exist,” Rainbow Dash said, though her tone was anything but serious. “Come on, those are just old pony’s tales.”

“I’m j-just saying, do you think he should know?” the yellow pegasus asked.

“Sugar, since he won’t be travellin’ by sea anytime soon, I’d reckon we just leave that part out,” Applejack said, removing her thought to scratch her mane a bit.

“Well, I still want to know about what he’s seen,” Pinkie said in another rare moment of sincerity and seriousness. That was gone in an instant. “Like, has he met any fun zebras who like parties? Does he need cupcakes? Oh no, I didn’t send any cupcakes with him! He’ll starve!” Her hands reached up to pull her mane out.

“Pinkie Pie,” Celestia said, her soothing voice instantly calming the pink earth pony. “I am sure he’ll be fine without your delicious cupcakes. When you see him next, you can bake him all the cupcakes you want.”

“There is more,” Luna said, apparently annoyed they were getting rather off-topic. “He also has figured out when Trixie’s foal will be due: in about nine months. He expressed concern for how long the rest of the journey would take.”

“Well, given his current rate of travel and how far he still has to go, he should be back in Equestria in approximately eight months, two weeks, five days and thirteen hours,” Twilight said, rattling off the numbers while she raised her fingers to illustrate her point. She stopped and looked up at everypony, who were all wearing masks of confusion and surprise on their faces. “Or so I think,” Twilight mumbled, her face darkening a bit with embarrassment.

“Uh, okay then, moving on,” Luna said, breaking the awkward silence. “He mentioned you specifically, Twilight.”

“He... he did?” the purple unicorn asked, clearly surprised by this piece of information. “What... what did he say?”

“He said, and I quote, “Twilight may have thought she arrested my situation when she placed that curse on me, but now that it has lifted, I must thank her. It allowed me to get closer to my wives, even though we were struggling for a bit. Plus, after it was done, they nearly jumped me when we made our stop.”

Twilight blushed at that last part. Truth be told, she hadn’t been thinking that much when she sent that spell: she had been tired and the night before an experiment had literally blown up in her face, so when she found that out... well, things hadn’t gone so well in her head.

Rarity cocked her head to the side slightly and turned to Twilight as if in confusion. “Twilight, I may not be on the cutting edge of social terms, but pray tell, what does “nearly jumped me” mean?”

“Uh,” the other unicorn began, suddenly feeling as though the room was getting hot. Was she really going to have to explain to Rarity what she thought she did?

“Spike also mentioned you, Applejack,” Luna said, clearly trying to avoid more embarrassment.

“He did?” the earth pony asked, putting her hat back on her golden mane. “Well, whadid he say?”

“I cannot help but thank Applejack as well, for her helping me develop endurance by working for her on the farm: I truly needed it that night. Four wives is a tall order to please in one go, but it was no trouble at all,” Luna said, a blush forming on her cheeks as her wings started to straighten out. Celestia’s eyes went wide at these words, and she too blushed and experienced an expansion of the wings.

“Oh... my,” Rarity said, placing her hand to her forehead as a blush spread across her like wildfire. “I feel... funny.” Without any more pretext she fainted away, a strange look plastered on her face as she slumped in her chair. Everypony else was either blushing, or in Fluttershy’s case, had wide eyes brought on by the shock of such details. Well, Rainbow Dash also had her wings fully extended like the princesses’, and her mouth was hanging open slightly.

“Whe... when did Spike become so... crass?” Twilight asked, feeling so embarrassed by the letter that she wanted to crawl under a rock and hide from the world. “What has gotten into him?”

“I believe it is the more dominant male part of his mind finally emerging from its shell,” Celestia said, slightly soothing her wings with a bit of magic: ha, shell, a good bit of draconic imagery there. “He had been with us for so long that he was subtly influenced by our social norms and ideas of proper etiquette to the point where he was what you might think of as a “beta-male”, or a rather meek and mild character. Though, judging from this letter, he is rapidly losing that state of mind and is more definitively becoming much more of an “alpha male”, if you see what I mean.”

“I think so, your highness,” Twilight said, still rather flustered by why everything seemed to be going by so fast. “But... I’m not sure if I understand just why Spike of all ponies-, er, I mean dragons, still had to go through with this, your highness.” It had been an issue she had avoided as long as she could, but now she just had to say something.

The monarch did not look upset at the questioning tone in Twilight’s voice. In fact, she sighed, the kind where there was going to be a lesson involved. “I had hoped to keep much of this a secret for a while, but it seems I no longer can. I am just glad all of you are gathered here, you included, Luna,” she said, turning to her sister.

“Tia, what is this about?” the alicorn of the night asked, using her informal nickname like they used to all the time.

Celestia smoothed out her wings and settled more firmly into her chair, her composure entirely regal and very inviting, if in a friendly sort of way. “As you all know, Spike is somewhat of an oddity for dragons: being hatched and raised by ponies such as ourselves.”

“Yes, I have heard of that: not many dragons are in such constant contact with out kind,” Twilight said.

“Quite,” Celestia said before continuing. “What many of you, or possibly all of you have not yet realized, is that the very fundamental state of our society, as it is right now, revolves around Spike and his actions.”

“Wha?” Pinkie and Applejack asked just as Rarity came to from her little “episode”.

“Spike has played an integral role in how so many actions throughout Equestria have played out, from the simplest of chores that would have otherwise distracted the Elements of Harmony from accomplishing something to helping save the Crystal Empire from King Sombra’s darkness. He has been there for everypony and has freely given what he could, when he could: a most noble quality, I might add.”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with now?” Twlight asked, confused as to why her mentor was remaining as cryptic as ever.

“Because Twilight Sparkle, Spike is such a rare individual, and to not have more like him would be a detriment to the land, if not the world. Tell me, my faithful student, what have you learned of draconic heritage?”

“Um, uh,” Twilight said, rubbing her head as she tried to remember: she hadn’t known there’d be a test on this! “That... dragons more often than not pass on what the core of their being is to their offspring?”

“Exactly,” Celestia said. “Examples like this have been played throughout much of history. Evil dragons would more often than not leave evil offspring, and kind dragons would leave behind kind offspring.” She cleared her throat. “But Spike is different, much more so than any of you might expect. As a creature naturally made of magic, he is also hatched from magic, something incredibly rare. As such, he has a powerful connection to the magic that resides within all things, living and nonliving. To pass on these traits, his strength in magic, his nobility, and his caring heart, is something that would strengthen and help to expand the love and friendship of Equestria.”

“I... I see now,” Twilight said, a light bulb ringing in her mind. “That was why you had me punished with that... dream (she involuntarily shuddered at the thought of that “kindle” device) for giving Spike that spell. It would have meant-,”

“That he could not pass on those characteristics to his offspring, or have any, really,” Celestia finished for her. “I was worried you might have messed up the spell’s longevity and had permanently gelded him, my faithful student.” Twilight blushed at this: she had been a bit overzealous in her method of dispensing what she had seen as a punishment, now hadn’t she?

The princess turned to the others, recognition dawning on their faces as the realization of Spike’s destiny began to come to light. “A dragon’s core being can be carried down through countless generations, usually through the mother’s line. As Spike is no ordinary dragon and has such a strong connection to magic, his own characteristics would be the ones passed down: think of it as a massive spell transferred from one generation to the next.”

With that, the conversation turned to all of the things they would write back to Spike about. Rarity seemed rather anxious to write back her own letter along with the one Celestia had advised each of them to write. As they left the room, Luna turned to her sister, her voice hushed as the door closed behind the bearers Elements of Harmony.
“When are you going to tell them?” she asked.

“Of what, dear sister?” Celestia replied. “You will go before them, remember? Only after your personal evaluation will they too be sent.”

“Yes, I know of that,” the blue alicorn said. “I was merely wondering when.”

“If all things proceed on schedule, then within six or seven months,” the elder alicorn stated. They were silent again before Luna spoke once more.

“And of their soon-to-be new duties?”

“Leave that to me, sister,” Celestia said with a sly smile. “Judging from the way things are progressing, they shall have no problem doing what is best for Equestria, and for themselves.”

“I can only hope you are right,” the smaller alicorn said as they both rose to their hooves. “Though, I must admit: their own choices have fallen perfectly in line with your plan. Did you by chance have something to do with that?”

“Of course not, dear sister: do you think me a tyrant?” Celestia replied with a smile. “I let the chips fall where they may and act upon those events. That is why I have ruled for so long without opposition: I never stick a plan bound to fail. I always plan ahead but remain flexible to change, to sudden intrusions in the grand scheme of things. And as you are probably aware, Spike is no doubt progressing better than we had hoped.”

“I know, sister,” Luna said, picking up the scroll. “Also, do you mind if I... keep this for a while? For personal time?”
“Of course, but only if you lend it to me when you are done,” Celestia replied with a great smile. Both sisters knew exactly what this “personal time” for either one would entail.

Meanwhile, sometime later back in the Samarea Desert...

Spike looked up at the sun through his turban-filtered vision. It was lower in the sky than it had been, but he still felt like it had not been long since they had left that last oasis. Also, he was beginning to wonder why he had not yet gotten a response back from Luna and the others. He had sent that letter well over a week ago, almost two weeks now, and frankly he knew he shouldn’t get worked up about it, and yet he was.

Still, after that magical night, his wives couldn’t stop wanting to go almost every night. Truth be told, he had no problem with that, but something was always on his mind when he was doing the nasty with his beautiful wives.

Asalah had exited her heat shortly before Spike had arrived in her home city. Trixie was pregnant and almost at the three-month mark to hoof. Meia and Maria had exited their heats a long while back, but since they had been getting their nightly rutting, they had been acting a bit differently. How so, Spike could not entirely tell, but to be perfectly honest, he was likely worrying about nothing.

So it was that this continued on, the repetitive traveling in the hot sun and stopping at night by an oasis. The days seemed to blur together, and Spike’s scales took on a smooth sheen wherever he left them exposed to the blowing sands, like they had been polished. Except for the exciting prospect of sex almost every night, Spike didn’t have really anything to do. No bandits troubled them, there were no signs of any large predators: heck, even the dangerous desert animals like scorpions were nowhere to be found. It seemed the only danger was the heat, and with the caravan runners always bringing water from ahead oasis before the caravan arrived, nopony went thirsty.

Still, Spike was glad when the climate and the terrain began to change bit by bit. The first thing he noticed was the eventual shift from sand and rock to hard clay and rock. Here and there desert shrubs populated the landscape, which meant they were not far from underground water sources. Soon enough more and more of these types of plants bounded, until there were larger plots of forest surrounding the oasis. Some even looked like jungles, growing thick with vines and an overstory that made the interior rather dark when compared to the surrounding bright dryness.

Almost two full months since he had left Roam behind, Spike found himself coming up over a hill, like he had been doing for what felt like forever. Did this desert just go on forever and ever? Was there ever an end to this monotony? Couldn’t they just...

“Oh,” he said, coming up over the side of the hill and seeing a sight unlike any he had before. Across the plains, which were filled with grasses, stretched a river. It was no ordinary river: it was large, imposing, and truly stunning to behold. Trees lined the banks here and there, with dense shrubbery and tall grasses eventually giving way to the dryer grasses between him and the water. There was a city along the banks, with bridges and aqueducts and irrigation canals and all sorts of other impressive architectural wonders. It was beautiful, really: to see such a work of art alongside something else deserving its own painting.

“Well, we are here,” Al Abbas said as he rode up alongside Spike. “Welcome to the city of Riyadh.”

“Riyadh,” Spike repeated, remembering an earlier conversation. “Wasn’t there a city named Riyadh in Saddle Arabia or something that sunk into the sands?”

“Yes, though this one is built on much firmer foundations,” the earth pony said. “Building over a natural cave system and draining the water supply was not a very good idea. Here, though, it is solid rock and all the water needs are met by the river.” He adjusted himself in his seat. “I take it you’ll be traveling by boat upstream? The current is rather weak at this time of the year.”

“Yes,” Spike replied, looking out. “Is this the Nile?”

“Yes it is,” Al Abbas replied. “Some used to call it the Neighle, but it fell out of use long ago.”

“The Neighle?” Spike asked with a derisive snort. “That’s a dumb name for anything, let alone a river.”

“I have to agree with you on that, my friend: a horrible name it was,” the earth pony said with a laugh. “Come on, I’ll take you and your wives to the house of my nephew. He runs one of the markets here and has connections that I believe you would find most useful. Boats are indeed a rare thing in this part of the world, after all.”

With that, the caravan went down the gently sloping hill, passing fields of wheat as they approached Riyadh. As they entered the designated area set aside for caravans, Spike found his wives looking over a few things at the market place soon after unpacking.

“Well, with what gold we have, we can afford to buy almost anything we desire,” Spike said to his wives, his smile returning at the thought of sending so much stuff back to Equestria after a month of absence. The pervasive smell of the river was a very calming and welcome odor, so much so that the city itself seemed relaxed when compared to Agrabah.

Maria and Meia looked at each other, knowing it was time. “Spike, we have something to tell you.”

“Yes?” Spike said, feeling a sense of dejavu sweeping over him once again. Could it be?

“We’re pregnant: both of us,” Maria said with a great big smile. Meia had one as well as she gently patted her stomach. “Meia performed a spell to check, as we had entered our second heat on that night your spell wore off.”

Spike was silent for a moment before he grinned so large his face might split. “That is wonderful!” he said, pulling them into a hug as Trixie and Asalah bought a few trinkets from a teller.

“It was simple, really,” the unicorn replied, knowing full well that this was the greatest thing she had discovered since, well, forever. Inside, and out, Chrysalis was happier than she had thought she could be, though there was twinge of sadness to it all. Spike would eventually find out her true self, and when he did, she had no idea how he would react.

But that was in the future: right now, she settled into her husband’s warm hug, content to feel the heartbeat of him, herself, and their unborn foal. Changelings could do that, you know.

Author's Note

Just a filler chapter with a bit more time (okay, a lot more time) focused on the folks back home. I don't know why, but every thoughtful or analytical review I see makes me feel... happy. Like I've been doing a good job with this story so far.

Share with me your thoughts on it all, if you wish.

Upstream Conversation

Chapter Twenty-One

Upstream Conversation

It was the following day, after much haggling and conceding on the price, that Spike and his wives bid goodbye to Al Abbas and set sail up the Nile in their boat. Well, not so much set sail as float with a little push from the winds and some magical oars rowing them steadily along. Still, it was a nice, relaxing ride, and the boat was spacious enough for everypony to sleep without curling up on each other, though Spike doubted any of his wives did not want to curl up next to him.

He sat near the front of the watercraft, content to feel the breeze brush past him as they journeyed up the river. Trees and long grasses dotted the winding path of the world’s longest river, with birds and savannah creatures coming along to drink from its watery banks. Here and there, and luckily with his camera, Spike would get glimpses of creatures he had only heard about in books: lions, flamingos, hippos, rhinos, even a few friendly groups of wildebeest and gazelles who would wave back as they collected water for their villages. they , along with the giraffes, were the natives that shared the continent with zebras and as a whole were on very good terms with their hooved brethren. Spike felt much more relaxed than he had in a long time. He was so relaxed, in fact, that he soon fell asleep in his seat.

At the far end of the boat, one of his wives was also fast asleep. Asalah had never been on a boat before and as such, the gentle rocking motion had induced her in her an irresistible urge to close her eyes. As she slept peacefully on top of some pillows and surrounded by silken curtains, the three unicorns comprising the rest of Spike’s harem were talking, although quietly.

“A colt or a filly, do you think?” Trixie asked, rubbing her belly softly. She now had the slightest bump, entirely noticeable but not distracting. In fact, it just looked like she had a bit more to eat earlier. In fact, she had eaten more earlier, as the foal’s growing body had induced in her a sudden desire to eat more. Not too much more, as the foal absorbed nutrients from her and the whole “eating for two” myth was just plain wrong in that regard.

“I’m thinking it’ll be a colt, myself,” Meia said, gently rubbing her own hand over Trixie’s belly. Maria’s hand joined her, feeling the life growing within the blue unicorn.

“I’m thinking filly: that way, at least one of us will be right,” she said with a smile, thinking back to her own prediction. The Spreignish unicorn had no doubt her first would be a colt: it just seemed so natural to her to bear Spike a colt first. If it was a filly, then she would be happy just the same and love and cherish the little darling with all her heart. She'd likely spoil the little filly rotten, just like her parents had done for her without realizing it. And yet, she had grown up just fine: she had known when to be good and when it paid to be a noble's daughter.

“Whether it will be a filly or a colt, I know Spike will love them,” Trixie said, smiling as she felt the warm hands rub her belly. It made her feel relaxed, part of the group: part of the herd, if you will.

“Of course he will,” Meia said, leaning back and looking down at her own taught stomach. She was only two weeks pregnant, and she knew she wouldn’t show for a while, just like Trixie. “He’ll love all of his children for who they are, as he does so for us.”

“Do you think the foal will look like him?” Maria asked, gently placing a hand on her own belly. Once again, as with Meia, nothing yet showing but the soft pelt and the underlying stomach muscles.

“I’ve been reading up on that,” Trixie replied, pulling a book out of her rucksack. “I hadn’t looked in it at all when we were going through the desert: maybe I should have, to have staved off boredom some nights.”

“Trixie, you and I both know you were too busy many of those nights to read,” Meia said with a smile, which caused Maria to blush and giggle slightly.

“Most definitely,” the Spreignish unicorn agreed. “I never knew dragons could output so much and regenerate so much in such a short time.”

“They are highly magical creatures, though in different ways than we,” Trixie said as she opened the book. “As for the foals, there is a special section for not only dragons, but for several different kinds of species hybrids. Would you care to listen?”

“Sure, why not?” Meia said, leaning back on some pillows to get comfortable, with Maria sidling up next to her.

Trixie cleared her throat slightly and shot out some magic from her horn: instantly, a small pair of reading glasses sat on her nose, making her look a bit like a schoolteacher. Thus, she began to read.

“Chapter Two: Dragons.” She moved a finger down the page, past several diagrams, until she reached the first paragraph. “Perhaps the most mysterious, oldest and most dangerous of the sentient races, dragons come in a few select varieties: those who inhabit water, those who have wings and those who do not or cannot do either. For the sake of easy explanation, we shall classify these dragons into three named categories: earth dragons, water dragons, and sky dragons.”

“Hmm, I never knew there were different types before,” Maria said, curling some of her mane between her fingers. “Also, why is the second chapter on dragons? What was the first one on?”

“Quite,” Trixie said, looking over her glasses at the noblemare. “Oh, the first chapter was simply an introductory one on relations between dragon and ponykind throughout the centuries: rather boring, if you ask me.” She flipped the page and continued. “Earth dragons are those without wings and are more suited for life on the ground, since they do not swim. They move on all fours, have thicker scales and on average have a cooler fire, though they are by no means less powerful. As their body type is more suited for the ground, they are faster runners and will move on all fours when they have to, greatly increasing their speed. They are also more slender and have a leaner musculature, so as to aid in such motion. Elongated tails aid by helping balance them while running, and any spines they have are usually far narrower and sharper than those of other the other species, so as to reduce wind drag.”

“So, Spike’s not an earth dragon, I take it?” Meia asked, although she already knew the answer to her question.

“No, he has wings, and several other key differences in body structure,” Trixie said patiently, without a modicum of exasperation or annoyance. She continued as if nothing had happened.

“They are by far the most unusual of dragons, as they will often and even regularly interbreed with other species. As a result of this tendency to crossbreed, there are relatively few truly pure earth dragons outside of their home range. Only there, where it is difficult for non-dragons to survive, can one find what are known as “pure-bloods”, an archaic way of stating one’s ancestry in draconic terms.”

“Well, I certainly haven’t seen one in Spreign before, and judging from her reaction to Spike, Asalah hasn’t seen one in her homeland either,” Maria said, gingerly stroking her stomach with a far-off look in her eyes. She must have been only paying half-attention to Trixie: the foal was one her mind and yet hadn’t been in existence for even three weeks.

“Well, there aren’t many dragons in this part of the world,” Trixie said. “The dragon homeland is back on the continent that Equestria is on, and frankly many ships probably wouldn’t have taken dragon passengers back in the day due to them being a fire hazard and all.”

“Yeah, the captain of the Crowhop had said something along those lines,” Meia said as she pulled out a comb and began moving it through Maria’s mane, who gave a soft neigh of thanks. It was a good method for bonding between the mares, as being part of a herd meant they were to share everything with one another. “Spells probably weren’t as advanced back then as they are now, what with new ones being formed every other day it seems.”

“Are by any chance a subscriber to Unicorn Annual?” Trixie asked. “They publish all the latest spells every year to keep unicorns up-to-date.”

Meia looked thoughtful for a few seconds as she combed Maria’s mane. “No, I don’t think I’m subscribed to anything. I think my mother was a long time ago.” Truth be told, there was actually validity to the words of the disguised Chrysalis. Her mother had been subscribed to one publication: Equestria Monthly, where she had learned all about the kingdom that many of her kind had grown to be jealous of. That publication had long since disappeared, but Chrysalis still remembered looking through the magazines as a little filly: the dresses had been very pretty.

“Oh, well, it is a good magazine, though some of the recipes are not what one would think,” Trixie said, returning to the book. “Sky dragons are simply dragons with wings and are more suited for life flying or at least flying a lot. As such, their bodies are lighter than an equivalent-sized earth dragon, but they are still very strong. They have powerful flight muscles and are considered the more dangerous kind of dragons, as they are more common due to the ability to spread and gather food and treasure more effectively. Whereas an earth dragon can only attack from the ground or a water dragon from water, a sky dragon can swoop down from on high.”

“Spike can swoop down on high for me any day,” Maria said with a smile. Meia giggled at this, was joined by Trixie, and soon all three unicorn mares were laughing. It was an enjoyable kind of laugh, of comradery and friendship and relaxation. They were bonding, becoming friends: just as those in a herd should. It eliminated the need for an aplha mare and as such improved the overall connections between the herd mares.

“Well, that is certainly the image I would not mind seeing,” Trixie said, her magic making her own brush push through her mane. “Let alone be a part of.”

“Indeed,” Meia replied, her magic bringing them a pitcher of water. They eat took a swallow before Trixie turned back to the book.

“They are also highly sociable and readily interact with others at a younger age, eventually decreasing in such activities as they grow larger and much older.”

“Define ‘much older’, please,” Maria said as she and Meia swapped positions: now she was combing Meia’s mane. “I doubt any of us will see Spike grow old and large enough to never want anything to do with any pony.”

“Well, it says here sky dragons live just as long as any other species of dragon,” Trixie said. “Many can and will live centuries and very well millennia or even longer, but it doesn’t say if there is a way to tell just how old one will live. I believe the oldest lived one million years, judging from what the authors could tell.”

“One million years?” Meia asked in disbelief. “How in the world could they tell it was that old?”

“They asked it, it says right here,” Trixie said, holding the book so she could point it out. “They were also using lie-detecting spells, and frankly that old dragon had told the truth with every question it had been asked.”

“Where is its body?” Maria asked. “You said it lived one million years.”

“He sank into the Barnlantic Ocean, it says,” the blue unicorn replied. “Apparently he was so large that one could have mistaken him for a large island when he was asleep on the surface.”

“Perhaps he was the inspiration for the legend of the kraken?” Maria said.

“That is possible,” Trixie said, turning the page: she cleared her throat.

“Water dragons are those who spend most if not all of their lives alongside or in bodies of water, ranging from rivers to lakes to the oceans. They have no wings, have relatively weak limbs when compared to other dragons, but their bodies are incredibly muscled so as to move more efficiently through the water. As compensation for no wings, they often have flippers or even wing-like structures, similar to those of manta-rays.”

“Oh, it would be so cool to see a manta ray,” Meia said. “I heard they are very gentle and graceful creatures.”

“I’ve heard that too,” Trixie said as she turned another page. “Water dragons cannot breathe fire but instead can use sonar and can hold their breath for long periods of time. They also have a variation of fire where they can heat up the water in their mouths and eject it as steam or even boiling water. The ones living in the oceans can grow to enormous sizes but usually tend to stay away from others, both out of not wanting to compete and a shy reluctance to be known.”

“Well, that would explain why they are so rarely reported or even conversed with,” Maria said as she finished combing Meia’s mane. Moving over to behind Trixie, she began to comb through the spots the blue unicorn had missed with her brush.

“Exactly, though you would think more would be seen now that ships are so much more common,” Trixie said.

“That is all very fascinating, but I think we know what we all want to know right now,” Meia said, patting her belly softly for added effect. “Tell us about their breeding.”

“All right,” Trixie said, turning the page. “Ahem: dragons can and will regularly interbreed with other species, including equines and similar folk. They do not engage in bestiality unless they are truly depraved, and rarely will one find a dragon that does so.”

“Well that’s comforting to know,” Maria said. “I t would be mortifying to find Spike out in the field ‘riding’ some dairy cow or a goat.”

“He’s not that kind of dragon: we all know that,” Meia replied, also thanking the sun and moon Spike didn’t have that weird streak in him. Spike then wouldn't even be a dragon: he'd just be some kind of animal who looked like a dragon. Not a good thing, to be perfectly honest.

“Moving on,” Trixie said, sounding a bit uncomfortable with the image of Spike rutting a farm animal. “There are countless examples of dragons taking unwilling brides in the far past, but times have changed and as a whole the species is honorable and tries to integrate into a society it lives in.”

“How exactly would a water dragon take a bride?” a voice asked. The three unicorns turned and saw Asalah walking towards them, without her usual robes and instead dressed like they were: simple. She sat down by Meia, crossing her legs beneath her: that nap had been relaxing, but she must have been awake for a few minutes to hear their conversation.

“Well, I guess they would keep them close to the portion of water where they live,” Trixie said. “No ponies can breathe underwater, so taking them with them under said water would be impossible.”

“What about merponies?” Asalah asked as Meia moved over to her side and began to comb her mane. The zebra shot her a look of thanks, an improvement over the dead stares she usually gave out.

“Well, if they existed, then they would likely be the best choice of an equine for an ocean-dwelling water dragon to marry,” Trixie said. “I still think they’re a myth.”

“While a pleasant idea, they do sound a bit far-fetched,” Asalah agreed, wondering why it was suddenly so easy to get along with these mares. All of the servants back home had been polite but distant, and her visiting aunts had been anything but nice. These three unicorns, on the other hand, connected better with her than she could have hoped. Maybe, in time, they would become good friends.

“That ends Chapter Two,” Trixie said, turning the page. She looked at the title. “Well, Meia, I believe this is the chapter you’ve wanted to know most about, and frankly, so have I.”

“What is it?” the unicorn asked as she continued to comb Asalah’s striped mane.

“Concerning Crossbreeds,” Trixie said. “Apparently it doesn’t just deal with dragons, even though they are what the majority of the chapter seems to be focused on.”

“Well, read on, then,” Maria said as she moved her comb down to Trixie’s tail.

“Of course,” the blue unicorn replied. “As you are most likely aware, many different species of creatures, both sentient and non-sentient, can cross and produce viable offspring, though it is still unknown just how this is possible.”
“I’m calling it: magic,” Meia said. “Definitely magic.”

Trixie quirked an eyebrow at this response, but continued anyway. “As a result, there are many characteristics possibly displayed in the offspring of a crossbreed, such as an earth pony with dragon wings or a dragon with something akin to mammary glands, AKA breasts.”

“Wait, female dragon’s don’t have breasts?” Asalah asked, sounding confused. “We all have breasts...”

“No, they are mostly reptilian in nature,” Trixie said. “So they would likely teach the young to find food or regurgitate it."

"Ew!" Maria whispered. Oh, sometimes her noble side really did shine though, such as then: a little filly disgusted at the thought of vomit. To be fair, nothing about vomit was appealing, but the others managed to keep their revulsion silent.

"Yes, vomit: reptiles do that some time. Though, I must admit, some of their features classify them as something not-entirely reptilian. I believe the term is reptomammals, or proto-monotremes, if you want to get extremely detailed.” Trixie sounded an awful lot like Twilight Sparkle, who none of the others (save for for Meia, as Chrysalis) had even met yet.

“Proto-whatsitnow?” Meia asked. Her eyebrows had shot up into her mane at that odd word: what?

“Monotremes: egg-laying mammals, like echidnas and platypus,” Trixie said. “Think... a beaver-duck.”

“So... dragons are like a cross between mammals and reptile, leaning more towards reptile than mammal?” Maria asked. “I always wondered how they could so readily interbreed with mammals.”

“Most likely, though I’m not entirely sure: I’ll have to send Twilight a letter asking for more information,” Trixie said. “Often there are three different “pure” forms offspring of a crossbreeding may take, though there is a greater chance of some taking random attributes of both parents in a way that will almost guarantee the survival of the offspring.”

“So, if we lived in a warmer climate, like here,” Meia said, gesturing to the lands around them. “Then the foal would more likely be like Spike than us?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Trixie said. “Maybe, maybe not: who really knows?”

“I think Spike’s foals would look like draconic forms of their mothers,” Maria said. “Seems the most logical thing to me, personally.”

“I’d have to agree with that, given what I’ve heard so far,” Asalah said. “Is there more?”

“Yes,” Trixie said, wondering why they kept getting sidetracked. She didn’t mind, she just wondered why. “Why few if any foals are ever born stillborn or deformed, it is unknown, but such things will likely be found out at a future date in time when science has sufficiently advanced far enough to tell us.”

None of the mares had anything to say about this. In their hearts, their greatest fear was giving birth to a deformed foal or worse: losing the foal altogether. To have such a dream shattered by a cruel twist in biology would undoubtedly crush their spirits.

Trixie cleared her throat and continued, trying to jeep the image of a dead foal from her mind. “The first possible “pure” form the offspring can display would be traits that are almost entirely that of the mother, with only a few key differences showing traits of the father. This could include a male minotaur crossing with a female earth pony and resulting in an earth pony with horns and a longer tail, but no other key differences.”

“That sounds rather silly,” Maria said, breaking the rather downtrodden atmosphere that the idea of losing the foal had brought upon them all. “An earth pony with horns? Sounds a bit like a costume, if you ask me.” She should know: Spike had proposed to her at a costume party.

“Well, that may be, but there is doubtlessly examples of this somewhere in history,” Trixie said. She turned the page. “The opposite would be where most traits are passed from the father and only a few are from those of the mother. This would be like a male dragon breeding with a female elephant and the resulting offspring would look almost entirely dragon, with the exception of possibly a trunk or a much larger body size. They’d also more likely walk on all fours if they were that much larger.”

“Okay, now that is a silly image: a dragon with a trunk?” Meia said with a little laugh. "If they breathed fire, do you think they'd have to move it out of the way every time they did?"

“Yes, and I’d imagine they’d inherit the big floppy ears, too?” Asalah said with a small chuckle, earning a few giggles from the other unicorns. That indeed was a silly image: a trunked dragon with big ears.

Trixie continued on, readjusting her glasses from her giggling episode. “The third and much more common “pure” form would be for the offspring to acquire often equal part maternal and paternal traits. Such an example would include a kirin, equal parts equine and dragon. Another example would be that between a minotaur and a griffin, with a horned griffin that has hooves instead of lion-like paws and has a penchant for eating more grass and plant matter: minotaur heritage at work.”

“Wait, griffins don’t eat plants?” Asalah asked. From the look on her face, she had never seen a griffin.

“No, though they can and will still eat what we eat,” Trixie said. “It’s just they also have a penchant for eating fish, what with their predatory bird-like ancestry.”

“As long as they don’t go after foals, I’ll be fine,” Maria said. “That would also explain why I’ve never heard of one in the interior of Spreign: they must live by the ocean or large bodies of water.”

“Quite,” Meia said, her comb moving from Asalah’s mane to her tail, earning a soft whinny of thanks.

The four mares sat in silence for a few minutes, each deeply wrapped in thought as to what their foal would look like. Truth be told, Meia/Chrysalis was wondering the most. Would it be a filly, as most of her family’s heirs had been? Or could it be a colt, the rarer of the two? Would it look like Spike or be an exact copy of herself? Would they have to lay an egg, or would it be a live birth? So many questions...

To be fair, Chrysalis had cause to worry. While a normal pony’s gestation was the same as hers, eleven months, a changeling had several different ways of expressing a pregnancy. Increased aggression, for one: that would come in a few months and she feared that she would be found out if she started acting hostile. Before that, however, came the joy and sadness stage: she’d fluctuate between happy and sad on an almost comical level, which could be bad for the trip. All ponies experienced something similar to this, but she, being a changeling, was more influenced by her emotions than normal ponies and would more likely act on her impulses. Things could become very difficult if she held up the disguise until then.

“Are you all talking about me?” a voice said. The four mares looked up to see Spike standing near them, a rested look in his eyes as he looked over his brides. “I thought I heard my name a few times.”

“We were just thinking about you, Spike,” Trixie said, putting an emphasis on “thinking”. “About the foals and our future, about all of it. I still hope we can get back to Equestria before we’re due.”

“Well, I hope you’ll be glad to hear I’ve been giving it some thought as well,” the dragon replied, stretching his arms. “I want you all to be the ones who decide on the names.”

“Really?” Asalah asked with a soft squeal of joy. That was so unlike her, it made everypony stare.

“Well, yes,” the dragon replied. "I'm not one to take charge over everything in a mare's life: I protect you and that's pretty much it, I guess. Oh, and love you all, of course: that's the biggest part." Jeez, did he sound cheesy.

“Oh, that’s one of the nicest things I’ve heard,” Asalah said, rising to her hooves and walking over to her husband. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a great hug, resting her chin on his shoulder. He looked surprised, but the dragon returned the hug, feeling his wife's body press into his own.

“Uh, what’s happening?” Meia whispered, quirking an eyebrow. "Did I miss something?"

“I asked Asalah before, and from what I gather, letting the wife name their foal is one of the greatest gifts a husband can give in her culture,” Trixie said. “It is what her father gave to her mother as a gift when she herself was born. So naturally she feels very happy right now: very happy.”

“Well, that is awfully sweet of him, but what is she doing?” Meia asked as she saw the zebra take the surprised dragon’s hand and lead him to the front of the boat. The other two looked at her with smiles, Trixie readjusting the small reading glasses on her snout.

“I’ll give you one guess,” Maria said with a twinkle in her eye. “All that talk of foals and the future have probably gotten her in “the mood”, so to speak. Let’s give them their privacy for now: I still want to hear more about dragon reproduction. So, Trixie: do all dragons lay eggs?”

The trio turned back to the book, ignoring the commotion at the front. Soon enough, the boat began to gently rock as soft moans sounded from the front.

Author's Note

Ah, a nice filler chapter to help with character development and a more in-depth look at this universe. There will be more to come, and for those who do not know, there will be no more wives for a while: any guesses will be appreciated though, as the list has gotten slightly longer already, just from ideas by readers like you! Thank you!

Oh God, I sound like a PBS commercial. XD

On the Homefront

Chapter Twenty-Two

On the Homefront

The skies above Equestria were clear that night, with the only lights being given off by the moon and the brightest of stars. The clouds of early morning were long gone, so that the moonlight shone through the windows of Ponyville’s library without distortion of any kind. Inside this library, a purple unicorn mare perused a few scrolls, a massive pile of already-searched paper off to her side.

“No, no, that can’t be it,” she muttered, her magic throwing the scroll on top of the pile. “Princess Luna said she wanted any information on draconic behavior, not history.” She floated several referencing books past her face, but the titles seemed slightly blurry.

The fact was the unicorn was tired, bone-achingly tired. She had been doing this all day long, and even the day before that, trying to find the information the princess had asked. After sorting through massive compendiums of work, knowledge not readily available to the common public and even some scrolls personally owned by Princess Celestia, Twilight realized something: none of it was doing her any good.

“Oh, Spike,” she said, looking at a framed photo of her and the dragon. “I do miss you.” The picture was from years ago: he was just a chubby little dragon back then, a helpful assistant and a good friend. But now, now he was gone: he had grown up sooner than she had expected and was already on his way to being a father. He was still a good friend, even a great friend: he had even forgiven her for overreacting to his marriage to a zebra. That kind of willingness to forgive and understanding nature was truly remarkable. But as with all friends, there was the fear of loss, and Twilight had had that in her heart since the day she had heard of his upcoming departure. The world was a dangerous place, and though she knew he was safe now, Twilight hoped he wouldn’t drift away due to his responsibilities.

Then again, she knew what she was doing would not make up for her mistake: it would take far more than sending him information for her to feel better about herself. To so alter another being’s body chemistry, and a very close friends at that, made her feel regret like she had never before. After hearing Celestia’s explanation of Spike’s role in Equestria’s future, she came to realize that it had not been mere coincidence Celestia had taken her under her wing when she hatched Spike. The alicorn had likely realized her to be the long lost Element of Harmony, Magic, to have such raw potential, and the unicorn had a funny feeling that the princess realized Spike’s role as soon as he had been hatched.

She looked over at the stack of books she still needed to look over and blew a few errant mane hairs out of her face.

Owlicious had gone out the study window to hunt for some mice or something: she was all alone in the room, and for once she felt rather sad about that. Usually when she was alone was the perfect time to catch up on some studying or do some quiet reading: but now, the library, her home, seemed... empty. As if it needed something to help fill it up, and for once the answer was NOT more books. The only problem was the purple unicorn couldn’t put her finger on what that thing was. She hated not knowing the answer to something, and right now she couldn’t stand to look at another scroll.

“No more for tonight,” she said, letting the scrolls and books drop into piles as she rose to her hooves. “I need my sleep.” With that, she got up and walked to her bed, her light nightgown rather see-through. She didn’t care, though: she was by herself, after all, and it didn’t matter what she wore to bed. That’s what beds were for: they were an ultimate form of quietness and solitude, shared only between the closest of friends and lovers.

Slumping over onto the bed with a slight groan, she rolled over and pulled a blanket over her body. With that, she fell asleep, her soft snores soon filling the room.

A ways across town, another unicorn was having a similar problem. Rarity was sitting by her sewing machine, barely managing to keep her head up as her magic kept the thing running. She did not have any deadlines or customers waiting: there was no colt or mare for that matter in the other room waiting for her, either. Opal had long since gone to bed, and Sweetie Belle was on a sleepover over at Sweet Apple Acres with her friends.

So why was she up? Once again, a certain dragon was on her mind. Spike had been in her thoughts every now and then for the last few weeks, ever since she had found out he was going to be a father. She knew there would be a proper herding ceremony when he got back with his wives, and alongside her normal projects, she had been working on a suit specially fit just for him. But every time she got it close to being done, she’d undo it all and start over again, suddenly unsatisfied with a design she had been praising mere days before.

It was driving her crazy: why was she feeling like this? She had always known of Spike’s infatuation of her from the start: likely everypony had. But she had kept him in a relationship strictly limiting them to being friends. She had felt their relationship would be ruined if they ever progressed past the “friend-zone”, as Dash called it, that they had placed around themselves. They had both been comfortable with it: Spike’s apprenticeship under Luna had left little-to-no time for relationships anyway, and Rarity had become far too busy to even be in a relationship for the longest time. She was a lady, and did not need to be constantly at somepony's beck and call in some relationship.

He had always been so generous, always giving: he had even given her the fire ruby she still had in her nightstand drawer. Every now and then she would take it out and look into its gleaming surface, almost as if trying to see Spike’s reflection in it. She missed him more terribly than she had dared thought she would: to see his smiling face, to hug his strong and warm body, to have him help her around the boutique without any sort of recompense or payment, just like he used to...

“Oh, this will never do,” she said abruptly, her magic separating the clothing she had worked on for the last few hours in a mere matter of minutes. “His wings are larger than that: come now, Rarity, you know these things.” She slumped in her chair in frustration, several mane curlers falling out due to improper fastening.

She turned to look in her mirror and was met with a rather ghastly sight: her mane was all frazzled, her eyes were bloodshot, and- celestial bodies forbid! -there were bags under her eyes. She looked and felt more tired than she ever had been, with everything she was going through taxing her to no end.

“I believe I shall call it a night,” she said to her reflection, the light shutting off by magic as she made her way to her bedroom. The floorboards creaked slightly underneath her hooves as she slowly walked, not even having the energy maintain a fast lady-like pace. Even as she walked through the moonbeams shining through her window, she felt distant from the world she inhabited, as if she belonged somewhere else. Then Rarity did something completely unlike her: she did not change into her sleepwear. Instead, she simply stripped off the dress she had been wearing for the whole day and crawled under the covers, her magic slowly taking the remaining mane curlers off of her head. She closed her eyes, and like Twilight before her, she was soon fast asleep, her very soft (and entirely lady-like) snores drifting through the room like musical notes.

Speaking of Sweet Apple Acres, there was one pony there that was up far past her bedtime. No, not Applebloom: she and her two friends were already fast asleep after eating marshmallows and telling stories. No, the pony in question was Applejack, carrying a small lantern with her as she made her way past the newest additions to the orchard.

The seeds Spike had sent back several weeks ago had already sprouted and were growing into fine young saplings, the leaves a good, green color. Applejack’s eyes were drooping as she made her last patrol, but she couldn’t help it. She just had to check that the newest batch of the seeds Spike had sent back were growing.

“Ah’m getting’ too old fer this,” she muttered as she slowly walked along, her hooves leaving soft imprints in the ground. Truthfully, she was not getting too old for this: she was only a few years older than Spike and she was in the prime of her life. Heck, she would be for a few more decades before she started to feel like Granny Smith. It would take been longer than that before she started to look like her granny, who was so old nopony bothered to ask any more for her specific age.

Crossing the last marker dividing the edge of the older orchard and crossing into the new set of trees, Applejack walked slowly down the rows, looking through heavily-lidded eyes at all of the tiny trees Spike had sent back.

Spike: she couldn’t have been happier for him, to be honest. Well, she was the Element of Honesty, so it wasn’t that hard for her to admit it. Here he was, married (and hopefully happily, too) to four beautiful mares, who were coming back to Equestria with him. “He’s already gonna be a daddy in nine months,” she thought with a tired smile. “I plum reckon he’ll have a dozen of the little fellers runnin’ around. Maybe when they get older, he can show ‘em how good, hard work on a farm can give ‘em the tools they need in life ta succeed.” Tools being a relative term: she was really talking about work ethic, if it wasn’t obvious enough.

She did love foals, especially whenever the newest batches of the Apple family came over for reunions. There were countless nieces and nephews she met every time they gathered around, and every time she saw them she got the feeling of want. She too wanted her own foals someday, but there was always so much work to be done, and none of the ponies in town caught her fancy. That, and she couldn’t find that special somepony who would be able to help on the farm: most folks weren’t cut out for that kind of labor.

She did miss Spike, as did Applebloom and her friends: shucks, they all missed him. He had been one of those things that you always appreciated but never realized just how much until it was gone. Shoot, when he had been helping out on the farm after Big Macintosh got hurt, the Apple family had come to realize just how useful he was. Using his flames to start campfires or the stove when the lighter wasn’t working, pulling heavy loads neither of the Apple sisters could, even helping make cider when the situation called for it.

Applejack walked past the last row of saplings, glad Fluttershy had managed to control the animals well enough to keep them out of there. Rabbits and deer always had a tendency to try and eat the shoots of newly-growing trees, and fences were hard to put up. Never mind that half the time they didn’t work: Fluttershy’s stare was a much easier way of solving those problems.

She came to the last spot, where one tree in particular was growing strong. She had forgotten the name of the species, but to her, the tree itself was more important. It was growing strong, same rate as the others, though the trunk did seem a bit thicker at this stage. The small leaves were the right color, the outermost bark had a healthy look to it, and she could tell by the way it stood tall that the root system was doing great.

“Goodnight, Spike,” she said softly to the little tree. With that, and a dimming lantern in hand, she set off for the house, until only the light of the moon shone on the rows of seedlings.

Off a ways, in a cottage not too far from Sweet Apple Acres, a lone candle flickered in the window. The animals inside the house, a few small songbirds and a white rabbit, were fast asleep in their small beds. Why they were in beds and not, say, nests or a burrow, was something only the yellow pegasus could explain.

Fluttershy walked past the window in her evening wear, a rather plain but nice green gown with frilly edges and large sleeves. She had been in her study for the past hour, poring over the tomes and photographs she had been receiving from her draconic friend. As a rather lonely pony, through choice and not circumstance, she took up an interest in literature pertaining to animals. They were, after all, the basis for her cutie mark, so it seemed natural that she found herself fascinated by them.

Her largest project had begun almost as soon as Spike had sent back the first tidbits on information. On the walls of her study were copies of the maps of the world Celestia had sent her. It had been a polite and rather timid request, she had to admit: she could barely speak in front of other ponies, let alone the royal alicorn princesses.

Along with these maps were tacked-up pictures of the animals her dragon friend had sent back: mostly birds and sea-going creatures, like some dolphins and whales. There were scatterings of some land animals, though Europe was not necessarily known for a lot of large native creatures.

“Oh, I can’t wait for some new pictures,” the pegasus said softly to herself as she picked up the candle. She knew Spike would deliver something amazing: he always had. “Hopefully he’ll have some pictures of hippos.” Sure, she sounded rather underwhelmed at the prospect of new photos adding to her collage and compendium of creatures, but to be fair, Fluttershy had never been an excitable pony. Easily frightened, perhaps, but never really excitable: the closest had been when Rainbow Dash had wanted a pet.

Wandering up the stairs and towards her room, the pegasus stopped for a second, a thought entering her mind. Spike had a zebra wife now, and the pegasus had told Zecora all about that. She had seemed rather happy, more so than most ponies would likely be: perhaps the thought of somepony similar to herself was making her feel like more of “home” was being brought back. Fluttershy felt good that she had told the zebra of that bit of news: she rarely got out much and it felt good to socialize, even if it was with close friends.

But then again, she rarely socialized with anypony who wasn’t a close friend: her and Zecora both. Fluttershy entered the bedroom, softly blowing out the candle since the light of the moon was more than enough to illuminate the darkness. She lay down on her bed so that her wings were to the window.

She never could sleep on her back like most ponies could. She had wings to contend with, after all. That, and a certainly substantial pair of “assets” in her dress that she did her best to hide. Corsets could only hide so much, but the bindings did their job and she never forced herself to try and look smaller than she really was. It would have been a lie, and Fluttershy really did hate lying. It made her feel sad, the same kind of sad a pony felt when a good friend left.

To be entirely truthful, she missed Spike in a way most different from the others, if she knew how they missed him. She missed him not as a companion, not as worker or not even as an assistant. She missed him as a friend, one of her admittedly few in the whole world. He was close to her without trying to cross a boundary, a boundary that admittedly Fluttershy hadn’t realized until she had heard of his marriages.

Most ponies would not believe she had only a few friends: her figure alone would have had stallions from all over drooling over her. But her shy nature and her feature-hiding clothes did little to help her make any friends of either gender, and she had no stallion friends to speak of. Big Macintosh was a good friend, but a close male friend... not so much. He was nice and all, and a very hard worker, but his single-minded determination seemed a bit intimidating to the shy mare.

Still, when she closed her eyes, she was smiling. The next day would undoubtedly bring news from Spike, who was off somewhere in Neighypt, or so she believed.

High above that lonely cottage, a floating city lazily passed through the night skies. Cloudsdale, made entirely of, you guessed it, clouds. The architecture, the walkways, the houses, the furniture: everything was a cloud. It was in one of these cloud homes that a certain blue pegasus stepped out of her shower, her towel doing an adequate job of drying out her pelt.

Rainbow Dash loved water, even though she’d never admit it: she did have an image to maintain, after all. The feeling of it running through her fur, soaking into her skin underneath, the way it buoyed her whenever she took a bath... It felt great, to be honest.

That being said, there was a new Daring Doo book that she had been dying to read, and so far had made it almost half way through after getting her hands on it. Crawling under covers, she picked it up off her sheets and placed it on her nightstand, having read enough for the night. On the cover Daring was up against a horde of reincarnated Roaman legionmares, the byproduct of black magic and science gone wrong. It was simply titled Roam of the Dead, a rather corny title, but effective at showcasing the action of the book. She was already past the part where they had risen from their graves, but now Daring Doo had to escape from the horde in order to find the weapon to put them back to sleep.

“They have the coolest armor,” she thought, her fascination with military history a rather new development in her life. Along with aspiring (and looking like she was going) to be a Wonderbolt, the blue pegasus loved all things historical. She had started feeling this way all the way back when she participated in the jousting tournament in the Crystal Empire, and then it had sort of built up from there. It didn’t help that Spike was feeding this newfound addiction: heck, she had made a small journal of the pictures he had sent back detailing the armor of his Spreignish wife’s ancestor.

To be honest, Dash wanted to meet this “Maria” just to hear of her family’s history. To think, Spike had married into a unicorn family that had ancestors who included a famous general in that part of the world. She couldn’t wait to meet her and the rest: she was sure they would all become good friends, given time.

“I wonder what they’ll be like?” the blue pegasus thought as she lay on her side. Her bed was a bit on the small side, but it wasn’t a matter of convenience: it was simply a matter of space. Her room didn’t exactly have a lot of, well, room, so to speak, and it wasn’t like she had any visitors staying the night with her.

She frowned slightly at this, a recent gossip article popping up in her head. There were benefits to being famous, and as always there were downsides: this was one of those. Why did some articles always say she was a lesmarian? She never had a problem with the term, as she had several good lesmarian friends. She had a problem with that these so-called “journalists” were always speculating what mare she was sleeping with or something along those lines.

“No-good punks,” she muttered, fluffing up her pillow. She wasn’t a lesmarian: ponies just assumed she was due to her more tom-coltish attitude and athletic prowess. Why? Maybe they were threatened by her strong femininity and lack of “curves”, as they put it. What, just cause she was toned and slender meant she didn’t like stallions? The mere thought was a bit insulting, and worse of all, the previous article had put her in a possible relationship with, get this, her friend Applejack.

“Ugh,” Dash thought, remembering the look on Applejack’s face when she read the article. Luckily Twilight had resolved the matter before the editor of the article had gotten seriously hurt by either of them. That sleaze ball would make up anything to sell a few papers; maybe that was why he and his partner-in-crime, Diamond Tiara, got along so well.

Still, when the pegasus looked back at her Daring Doo book, she couldn’t help but smile. She had thanked Twilight more than enough for turning her on to reading, but maybe she’d have to thank her again sometime in the future.

Far below Cloudsdale, a bakery was closing up shop for the night. Why it was still open that late was anypony’s guess, as the rest of the town had gone to sleep hours ago. The twins Pumpkin and Pound Cake were fast asleep, and their parents were doing the same. The only awake pony in the building had just finished the last of her dessert, a triple banana-split sundae topped with crushed walnuts and a cherry. Oh, and the chocolate sauce: she poured it all over that dessert like she couldn’t get enough of it.

“Time for bed,” Pinkie Pie said. Whereas the sheer amount of sugar she had just pumped into her body would have kept any other pony up for the next week, Pinkie had a peculiar metabolism. Maybe it went along with her Pinkie Sense: she could eat almost anything sweet and feel no real side effects afterwards.

Still, she bounded up the stairs in a way that should have been as silent as a rhino rampaging through a glass house. Yet, somehow, her hoofsteps barely measured above the noise level of a sneezing mouse. When she hopped into her bed, she did a 360 back-flip pirouette into the covers, somehow landing without making the entire bed bounce like a rubber ball.

“Party tomorrow,” she said to herself as she mentally checked off her internal calendar. Tomorrow was the mayor’s birthday and as a special request it was going to be a masquerade party. Pinkie normally wouldn’t have had the supplies to put on so extravagant a celebration, even with her amazing partying skills. But thanks to Spike and all the things he had sent back from Europe, it would be an easy feat to accomplish.

Even as she closed her eyes, the hyper pink pony was going over everything in her mind. All of the masks would have to be passed out and/or selected by the guests, as it would be silly if everypony looked the same. The catering would be taken care of by Sugarcube Corner and Sweet Apple Acres, who Pinkie remembered had just harvested a fresh batch of apples for pie and cobblers. She licked her lips at the thoughts of all those sweets: perhaps she could sample some of them before the party.

No, that would be rude: Pinkie hated being rude, and being rude was just one step away from being a mean old grumpiepants, like the no-good griffin Gilda. She was glad Spike had married only unicorns and a zebra so far: a griffin might trigger Pinkie’s instinct to dislike the griffin, even though nopony had seen beak nor feather of that meanie since she left that day.

And then, just like that, she was asleep.

High above the town of Ponyville, in the highest tower in Canterlot, the two royal sisters looked on from their bedroom balcony.

“They are all asleep, sister: I now know of their dreams once more,” Luna said, looking over at the tired Celestia. Both had rather plain nightgowns for princesses, with Celestia's being a very dark red and Luna's a pleasant shade of light green, almost the same green as fresh spring grass.

“Excellent, though I do sometimes wonder if we do the right things by intruding on such private thoughts,” the elder sister replied. She was indeed very tired: all of the work involved in running a smooth and efficient kingdom was not the hard part. The hardest part was working with the nobility and their wealthy friends who were constantly butting heads with one another. There were even questions as to what the new addition for the castle was for, even though the princess had clearly stated there would be an extension to the royal family sometime in the near future.

The truth was, none of the ponies knew what that truly meant. They all assumed that some distant relatives of the princesses were coming to stay with them or something. They had an inkling Spike was gone, but to where, they still did not know. It was one of the best-kept secrets in the kingdom: everypony knew Spike was on a mission, but nopony knew where. There was wild speculation he was off in the land of the dragons, visiting the Crystal Empire or even mapping out the surface of the moon.

That last rumor had made Luna laugh when her sister had informed her of it. She knew the surface of the moon like the back of her flank. There was nothing new to discover up there: that was certain.

“What we do is for the best of our subjects and the kingdom,” Luna replied. “You and I both know this.”

“Of course, of course, but sometimes I just wonder,” Celestia said. “Tell me, what are their dreams of?”

“Rarity and Twilight dream of Spike, sister, though their settings are vastly different.”

“How so?” the elder sister asked.

“Twilight is apologizing to Spike for her actions, and right now it seems like he is forgiving her, though she has had this dream in the past and it turns dark near the end. Rarity, on the other hand, is... dancing with Spike.”

“She is?” Celestia asked, a twinkle in her eye.

“Yes, though it would seem it is at the herding ceremony that is to take place when he gets back,” Luna said. “The others are similar or typical dreams. Fluttershy is dreaming of the animals Spike is undoubtedly seeing and Applejack is working with Spike in the fields.”

“Does she ever stop working?” Celestia said with a smile.

“It would seem not, sister,” Luna replied. “I have also observed Pinkie’s dreams of masquerade balls and Rainbow Dash is currently... fighting off Roaman Legionmares?”

Both sister chuckled at this, settling into their seats for some times. Luna, however, could sense an uneasiness coming off of her sister. “Is there something that bothers you this night, Tia?”

“I don’t know: King Sombra hasn’t been seen in ages, and Discord has been behaving himself admirably.” Celestia knew something was brewing out there, but for once she hadn’t the faintest idea of just what it was.

“I noticed, though those Appaloosans didn’t like those chocolate wells,” the princess of the night said.

“Yes, well, even they could stand to have a little fun every now and then,” the princess of the sun replied. “I was thinking more along the lines of... the changelings.”

“Ah,” Luna said, understanding. “I too have noticed their subdued presence. It is as if they are hiding, preparing for something.”

“But what that is, I don’t know,” Celestia said, leaning back in her seat. “Ever since the failed invasion all those years ago, surely they would have tried to come up with some plan to try again. Their queen is a crafty one, and I have no doubt whatever she has come up with will be something none of us could have foreseen.”

“Indeed, though perhaps we over think their capabilities,” Luna said as her sister yawned. “They took us by surprise back then, and now we have many more spells and safeguards against such infiltration. Come now: get to bed, sister. I will watch over the night.”

“Yes, yes,” Celestia said with a smile, hugging her sister goodnight. “Keep watch over my little ponies, Luna.” With that, she walked into her room and closed the door behind her.

“Yes, I will,” Luna said, looking out over the dark horizon. Somewhere out there was her pupil Spike, and as luck would have it, it was night for her when it was day for him. Her powers could not peer into the dreams of others during the day, so she could not contact him. But she would see him again, before he returned home. She had some business to take care of in the Far East, and it might do him some good to see a familiar face or two...

Or six.

Author's Note

There, a chapter entirely dedicated to the Mane Six and the royal sisters. There will be more snapshots and such in the future, just to give the story a bit more depth. Maybe its about time I started showcasing more of what they are doing and less of Spike shagging his wives.

Then again, that's what a lot of readers want to read, right? XD

Of Letters and Friendships

Chapter Twenty-Three

Of Letters and Friendships

The Nile River was a pleasant river to travel upon when the spring rains didn’t turn it into a raging torrent. Luckily for our five (or should I say eight) travelers, the waters were mostly calm as they wound their way further and further up the river.

It had been a week since they had started the journey, and Spike had to say he loved every minute of it. The weather had been pleasant, even with the high temperatures. Luckily, thanks to the cooling effect of the river, the air was not nearly as oppressing as it had been in the desert, and some nights it was even a bit chilly. Not that his wives minded that, of course: any excuse to snuggle up to their dragon was good enough for them.

Still, after sending that last letter, Spike had been in a bit of a rut, so to speak. He felt like the ponies back home would only be getting a glimpse of what he was seeing and the ponies he was meeting, but he wanted to give them more. They wouldn’t teleport here: that would be far too complicated and dangerous, since teleporting between rooms in a library is not the same as teleporting several thousand miles away into the middle of a foreign country.

He had an idea, but it would take much magic to accomplish. So he began to write a letter in the middle of the day, while his wives were taking a small nap.

“Dear Celestia,” he began, pausing to watch a flock of colorful birds pass overhead.

“I know this may sound a bit overzealous, but I was hoping to introduce my wives to the rest of you, in hopes of creating friendships between themselves and you. I would hate for there to be resentment, or even worse, dislike, between any of you and my wives. I do not know of any draconic magic I can use to do this, but would there be a way for everypony who is interested to greet us through the mirror spell?”

To be truthful, he had no idea just how his friends would react to his wives, and likewise. Would they hate each other on sight? Would their personalities clink together and would in turn facilitate friendships? Celestia was all about making friends: that was the primary reason for sending Twilight and Spike to Ponyville in the first place. The whole “preparation for the Sun Summer Celebration” was just a coincidence.

“Sincerely, Sir Spike Dragul.” With that, he rolled the small bit of paper and lit it aflame with his breath, the scroll disappearing into the breeze as it was teleported. All he had to do now was wait and perhaps doing so would do him some good.

But for once, he did not receive a letter back in a short amount of time. It did not arrive in minutes, or even hours. In fact, Spike was wondering if Celestia had even gotten his letter at all.

“Spike?” a voice asked, causing the dragon to turn around. He saw Meia rising up from the pillows, with Trixie, Maria and Asalah doing the same.

“Have a nice nap?” he asked with a smile, getting up out of his seat and sitting down by them.

“Very much so,” the unicorn said, her magic summoning a jug of water and several glasses for themselves. “Did you do anything interesting while we were asleep?”

“Oh, just sent a letter,” Spike said. “Meia, if you and the others wouldn’t mind, do you think you could get ready?”

“Get ready for what, Spike?” Asalah asked as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She had taken to wearing less robes and while still dressed conservatively, she no longer was completely covered up.

“Well, I asked my co-sovereign if it would be possible for you to meet my friends from home,” Spike said.

“What? They are coming here?” Meia asked in a voice that sounded a bit too startled.

“No: that wouldn’t be possible,” Spike said calmly, noticing the slight worry in Meia’s voice. She was probably just nervous about meeting them. “Instead, I hoped we’d talk with them through the mirror spell.”

“What is that?” Maria asked as she delicately sipped some water from her glass.

“It is simply a spell that works like a two-way mirror: one side can see and talk to another side, and vice versa. This way, they could get to know you before I bring you back to Equestria.”

“And why would you have us do this?” Trixie asked. “Not that I mind, of course, but I’m just speaking for the rest of us.”

Spike scratched his strong chin. “I was hoping that by getting to know you, my friends would warm up to you. I don’t want them to think of you all as total strangers when we arrive back in Equestria, and I wanted you to meet the ponies who helped me become what I am today.”

‘Ah, so “introducing us to the family”, so to say,” Maria said. “I’ll have to admit: we might have trouble befriending this “Twilight Sparkle” if she is even half as crazy as that spell she put on you made her out to be.” The others nodded in agreement: that spell sure had put a damper on things when they had forgiven Spike.

“She’s already received her punishment for that, I assure you,” Spike said. “She’s also apologized profusely, or so I have been told, and she’ll no doubt do the same once she sees us again.”

“Anything else we should know?” Meia asked, seeming much calmer knowing these ponies wouldn’t actually be there with them.

“Well,” Spike began, scratching the back of his neck. “I was... hoping you’d also write to them.”

“What, like pen pals?” Trixie asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” Spike said a bit sheepishly. There was silence for a few moments as the mares digested this small request.

“I see no reason as to why not,” Maria said. “Although I would like to know whom I’m writing to, if you don’t mind: we should know each other beforehand.” The others nodded in agreement at this.

“That is part of the reason for the mirror spell. This way you can all decide who you’d like to write to, and about what,” Spike said, knowing most, if not all of them, would hit it off rather well.

He felt a sudden surge in his stomach. “Speaking of which,” he said, opening his mouth. Out shot a small tongue of flame, from which a scroll emerged. Snatching it up, he opened it and began to read.

“Dearest Spike, I apologize for not responding as quickly as I normally would to your letter. Upon receiving said letter I immediately contacted all those who might want to talk with you. The Elements of Harmony responded quickly, along with their friend Zecora and what I am told are the founders of the Cutie Mark Crusaders: sisters, I believe, of two of the Elements and the adopted sister of another.”

Spike was indeed surprised by this: here he had only thought the princesses and his six closest friends would want to talk with them. Sweetie Belle, Applebloom and Scootaloo were not too much of a surprise, but Zecora he hadn’t expected. He continued down the letter.

“As you undoubtedly know already, the mirror spell is not difficult to perform or maintain, but it does drain a pony’s energy if used too often. With everything going on nowadays, we will not be able to do this sort of face-to-face communication often: every two weeks or so, if you are available. That is, if you wish to continue doing this sort of thing.”

“Sincerely, Celestia.” Well, of course Spike wanted to do this every now and then: there was still so much more to explore and discover, and frankly telling a pony about something was better than writing a letter. Plus, he wanted to see his friends: it would help tide him over until he was at last home.

Then, however, he felt a tingle all along his body. Opening his mouth in curiosity as a feeling of surging power rumbled in his stomach, he was surprised to see another burst of green fire shot from his mouth. Only this time it did not coalesce into a scroll; instead, it seemed to hover in the air before stretching and bending, like putty. Soon enough, to the surprise of both him and his wives, it stretched and stretched until it was at least as seven feet across and a good three feet high. The fiery disc, for lack of a better term, seemed to solidify but remain floating.

The image inside changed from a bright blue to a clear, glass-like sheen as the image coalesced into what looked like a room. Then a figure walked into view, the tiara gleaming in the light.

“Hello, Spike,” Celestia said, her horn ceasing its glow. “It has been a while.” She was smiling and looking around, seeing the faces of Spike’s wives for the first time. It was the same for Maria, Asalah and Trixie: they had never met or even seen the princess of the sun before, much less an alicorn.

Meia had, but nopony except for herself knew that.

“Hello, Celestia,” Spike said, glad he was sitting down with his wives: the mirror was too short for him to stand and talk. “Thank you for this opportunity: it has been too long.” Months may not seem like a long time to some, but going that long without seeing the faces of one’s friends and family could truly be a bit of a downer.

“Spike? Is that you?” a voice sounded off-screen. There were a few hushed whispers off-screen, through which Spike could clearly hear “you go, no you go, all right fine” and other such nonsense. Celestia nodded to her left and Twilight Sparkle slowly appeared on-screen, making the motion like she was being pushed against her will.

“H-h-hi there, Spike,” she said nervously. “H-h-how are you doing?” She almost sounded like Fluttershy with her stuttering: she really was nervous about this whole thing.

“Pretty good, considering past circumstances,” Spike said, turning to his wives. “Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to Twilight Sparkle: I lived with her for most of my life while I was growing up in Ponyville.” He looked back to Twilight. “Twilight, this is Trixie, Maria, Meia and Asalah,” Spike said, gesturing to each of his wives when he said their name.

“H-hello,” the purple unicorn said, giving a very small and timid wave.

“Hey Twilight,” Trixie said, giving a wave from the far side of the gathering. “How have you been?”

“F-fine,” the purple unicorn said, looking over each of Spike’s wives. “Listen, I’m so sorry for what I did before, I know it was-,” she spluttered out, only to be cut off by a cough by Maria.

“Twilight, we’ve already heard this from Spike, and though it wasn’t easy, we forgive you for that little “transgression” you inflicted on our husband,” she said, looking through the mirror with a look of curiosity on her face at Twilight’s attire. “We were planning on giving you a month-long heat curse, but we’ve figured that would be a bad way to get to know you. Plus, from what we’ve heard, your punishment was far worse.”

Twilight blushed furiously at this, looking embarrassed enough to want to hide under a bed for the rest of her life.

“Still, I must ask: just why did you do it?” Meia asked, trying to seem like she was interested in the conversation. Truthfully she was afraid she could be detected at any second or something, even though the magic of the portal would only show her Meia disguise. Thankfully they were not actually there, or else she’d be discovered for sure.

“Well, Meia,” Twilight began, regaining a bit of her composure. “I w-was under the assumption that Spike had been married under some false pretense: that his flashy nature and looks got the sultan to practically “give” Asalah away.”

“I assure you, it was nothing like that,” Asalah said. “Spike consumed much wine and reacted strangely to it, from what I’ve heard. That is how his marriage to me started: he didn’t know about the customary room-sharing proposal.”

“Wait, Spike drank wine?” a voice said, and a mass of pink curly hairs seemed to obscure the screen for a moment.

“PINKIE PIE!” Twilight shouted as the pink pony looked through the mirror, her face taking up a good chunk of the space somehow.

“How was it, Spike? Was the wine good? Was it strong? Where was it from? Could you-,” the pink earth pony was cut off by a hand clamping over her mouth and pulling her back: Applejack struggled to keep the rambunctious pony under control.

“Yes, Pinkie Pie, I had some wine: trust me when I say I won’t again,” Spike said, feeling the urge to face-palm.

“And why would that be?” another familiar voice said. Rainbow Dash walked into frame, practically dragging Fluttershy and Rarity along with her.

“Rainbow Dash! A lady does not just waltz right into a conversation! She must show elegance, poise-,”

“Ah, you must be Rarity,” Maria said, looking over the unicorn with a mixture of interest and sincere civility.

Rarity stopped mid-stride, finally wrenching herself free from Rainbow’s grasp to look at the Spreignish noble. “Would you be Maria Almareconraddo Del Rivioso?” the white unicorn asked, her voice sounding a bit breathless. Rainbow merely blew a bit of her mane out of her face and went off screen.

“The very same,” was the reply. “Though, I guess it is Maria Almareconraddo Del Rivioso Dragul now.”

“Just how did you know my name?” Rarity asked. She hadn’t sent a letter or anything to this particular unicorn.

“Well, I guess the fact that Spike told me of having two close unicorn friends, and since we already were introduced to Twilight, it only made sense you would be Rarity,” Maria said. “Besides, he told me you were all about high fashion and quite the designer, too.”

“He did?” Rarity asked with surprise as Rainbow Dash came back in frame with a few more familiar faces. It was all so chaotic on the Equestrian end, with ponies bunching up together to see everypony else.

“Hiya Spike!” Applebloom said, looking at the dragon with her two friends, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo.

“Hello indeed, Spike the dragon,” Zecora said, her smooth voice sending a slight chill up Asalah’s spine. “Are you perhaps traveling by wagon?”

“No, Zecora: we’re on a boat,” Spike said, feeling introductions were in order once again. “Everypony, these are my wives: Asalah, Trixie, Meia and Maria,” he said, once again gesturing to each and every pony when he said her name.

“Hello,” everypony in the mirror said, though Fluttershy’s hello was closer to a whisper than an actual greeting.

“Greetings,” the four mares said, visibly relaxing: meeting so many new ponies at one time could be stressful for some, but these four were with their husband. No real need to feel tense, after all.

“Ladies, these are my friends from Equestria,” Spike said to his wives, motioning to the mirror. “You have already met Twilight, Pinkie Pie and Rarity, but these three are Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy and Applejack.”

“Howdy,” Applejack said, tipping her hat after letting go of Pinkie Pie. “It’s a pleasure ta make yer acquaintance.”

“S’up?” Dash replied, reaching out a hand to grab Fluttershy’s shirt, so as to pull her back into frame. She had been trying to sneak away, likely too intimidated by these four mares to want to say anything.

“H-h-hello,” the shy pegasus said, gingerly waving through the mirror.

“These three fillies are Applebloom, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo,” Spike continued, pointing out the three founding members of the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

“Spike, we ain’t fillies no more: we’re almost grown-up mares!” Applebloom said with a tone of indignity in her voice, though her smile said otherwise.

“And this is Zecora,” Spike finished, pointing out the last of the gathered ponies through the glassy surface. The zebra in Equestria bowed politely.

“I trust your time has been well spent?” she asked. “I am sure I could have guided you along, if I had went.”

“This journey will be only more difficult if more and more ponies join it,” Meia said. “I am sure it would have been a delight to have you as a guide, Zecora.”

The zebra nodded as three faces filled the screen once more. “So, Spike: I’ve heard you’re going to be a dad. Is this true?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Yes, though I do have some more news,” Spike said, watching as the three fillies stepped back so everypony could see.

“Yes?” Celestia asked, having been content to remain quiet for the time being.

“We’re pregnant: Meia and I,” Maria said, gently patting her stomach. “We’ll be due about a month after Trixie’s due date.”

“Spike here is going to have quite the herd of little ponies to look after,” Trixie said with a chuckle, rubbing her own hands over her belly.

The ponies in screen exchanged smiles and squeals of glee at the news, with a rush of congratulations and questions on the name spilling forth like a tidal wave. They continued on for a short while, not really wanting to think of names until the foals were almost due. Celestia seemed the happiest, though when asked why, she merely stated something about "new royals in the palace once again", a cryptic a answer as ever.

So it was that with introductions now out of the way, the rest of the meeting could take place. Rarity was overtly fascinated by Maria’s ties to several designers, through her parents of course.

“So you have definitely seen the Cheneighlt line of silken cloaks?” the white unicorn had asked.

“Seen? I own a few,” Maria said, smiling. “Fashion may not be my biggest hobby, but it is a good thing to enjoy.”

“So you’re a descendent of a Roaman general?” Rainbow Dash asked as Rarity took a step back.

“Yes, Ms. Dash, though I think you’d like to hear more about it in pony,” the Spreignish noblemare said.

After that, the questions became rather broad-based per pony, with Rarity, Dash and Pinkie Pie taking a liking to Maria right off the bat for their own reasons. Rarity desperately needed a mare with equal knowledge of fashion and design, and Rainbow Dash of course wanted to hear all about her family history. Pinkie Pie was ecstatic about how much Maria knew about parties and balls and masquerades, so much so that she wanted to throw them all a special party when they saw each other next.

Fluttershy and Zecora instantly took a liking to Asalah, who had never known of another zebra living in Equestria. It was a relaxing notion to have somepony who was likely related, though distantly, to be waiting for her when she arrived in her new home. Her exoticness also attracted the Cutie Mark Crusaders to her side, who planned on telling her all about Equestria and the ways to fit in. They had almost taken over the conversation with tips and tricks to befriending other ponies, right up until their older sisters (both blood-related and their adoptive) had nudged them off to the side.

After that is was Trixie who caught up with Twilight and Applejack for a while, with Applejack finding out that Trixie had indeed run across the Flim-Flam brothers through her travels. Settled down with their machine and making quality cider through a process highly similar to the Apple’s own way: seemed they had learned their lesson after all. It was all very nice, though the conversation took a weird turn when Trixie asked Twilight for some more “private” reading material. Applejack had hurried the Cutie Mark Crusaders out of there at this, though their questions would undoubtedly be unending for a good while.

Meia had almost been entirely ignored until the very end, whereupon Twilight asked her a sudden question, startling her out of her own private thoughts..

“Where are you from, Meia?” the purple unicorn had asked after the others had left. They all had things to do and had already promised each other to start sending letters as soon as they could.

“T-Trotten,” Meia said, surprised by the sudden question but immediately putting on her “game” face.

“Trotten, as in New Jersneigh?” Twilight seemed a bit too focused on this, but in a friendly way. That made it even weirder, like she was trying her hardest to find out everything she could on the pregnant mare.

“Yes, the very same,” the disguised changeling queen replied.

“Do you miss your home?” the mare asked. “Spike did write back about how you seemed to be having problems with your family.”

Meia was silent for a few moments. “Truthfully, no, I do not,” she said. “My home is with my husband Spike: where he goes, I go.” While this could have been a simple lie trying to placate a curious unicorn, Chrysalis truly meant it. In her mind, it was possible she might not go back to her kingdom, but chose to live with Spike: if he accepted her in her true form. The notion of revealing herself to him was always in the back of her mind, pervading her thoughts, but she forced it away every time.

Twilight smiled at this, the first genuine smile she had plastered across her face in a long time. “That is quite a romantic thing to say, Meia,” she said. “I do so hope we can become good friends.”

“As do I,” Meia replied, suddenly curious as to why Twilight wanted to be her friend. This was the same unicorn who had ruined her chances at her brother’s wedding: but she didn’t know Meia was Chrysalis. The only pony, or ponies, one could say, that would be more angry with Chrysalis than Twilight would be Cadence, Shining Armor and Celestia. If she ever did reveal herself in the future, that would be the most awkward meeting ever.

“Well, I think it is time for some of us to depart from these delightful introductions,” Celestia said, looking around at the remaining ponies. “I do hope that you will all keep in contact with each other through letters of friendship. Spike, do you have any qualms with this idea?”

“No, Celestia,” he said, noticing how the sun was beginning to set more deeply on their end. “I was hoping for something along those lines. Do any of you have any objections?”

No,” his wives said, with Meia being the last to do so. With a smile from Celestia, the mirror image winked out of existence as the sun finally slipped over the horizon.

“Well, I am exhausted,” Trixie said with a yawn. Asalah and Maria nodded in agreement, giving Spike their goodnight kisses before heading off to their pillows. Trixie, with some difficulty due to her tired legs, managed to crawl over to Spike and give him a good lick across the lips before settling down.

Meia leaned across and kissed her husband goodnight, all of them too tired to do anything “fun” for the time being. Meeting and introducing oneself to so many new ponies sure did drain a pony.

“Goodnight,” they all said to one another, with Meia sleeping on the outside of the group: she preferred it that way.

Night befell them as the skies became darker and darker, until the only lights were those of the small magical lanterns that gave the boat a slight glow. The light itself was magical, so as to repel mosquitoes.

Soon enough, everypony was fast asleep, along with their draconic husband. Except for Meia: she had the distinct feeling they were being watched...

A hunch that was proven to be correct when the slight humming of wing beats greeted her ears. Looking up, she saw a black shape land on the front of the boat without so much as making a sound. She knew that noise: she would always know that noise. Getting up quietly so as to not wake the others, she walked over and looked down at the kneeling figure.

“I bring you a message, my queen,” the changeling drone said. It looked different than the normal ones, but the last time Chrysalis had checked, there had been no new mutations in their species.

“Speak, my drone: what news do you bring?” Meia dared not changed her disguise, for fear of discovery, but she let her true voice shine through.

“There are events happening in the kingdom beyond our control, my queen,” the drone said. “The last several batches of young are different than what we have been for the longest time.”

“Different in what way?” Chrysalis was no stranger to change, but her species changing was indeed big news.

“They are stronger, sleeker, with longer wings and tails,” the drone said. “They fly less erratically, with a more pronounced buzz. Their fangs are gone, replaced by rows of normal incisors, and their horns have curved forwards. Bony ridges along their spines, and as I understand it, their eyes are less compound then before: they have irises, though many.”

“This is indeed troubling,” the queen said. “We must remain vigilant against outside threats. If any ponies were to learn of our current evolution or worse, my plans, we would be destroyed. You may go now, but be careful: there are eyes watching our every move.”

“Yes, my queen,” the drone said, flying up and out of sight. Meia continued to look up at the night sky, thoughts blazing through her mind like a grassland wildfire.

Her species was not one to change so rapidly or greatly in so short a span of time. She knew the princess of the night, Luna, was watching her kind. She was still undetected, and as of now, the changeling drone had made no mention of any security breaches. Her entire hive had no idea where she was save for a select few messenger drones, like the one that had just visited her. For all intents and purposes, she was still in hiding, plotting and planning for a new and glorious age for their kind.

Truthfully, though her kind did not know it, her plans had taken a back-seat. No, scratch that: they had been dissolved to the point of almost not existing. She was too focused on staying with Spike, staying with the dragon she felt love for, that she would not risk the safety of her foal or its father for some grandiose plan.

But when would she reveal herself to him? Would the others turn on her, or would they understand that true love had indeed conquered all of her hate and prejudices? She knew she would survive the encounter physically, but emotionally, spiritually... she didn’t know. Nopony could see the future for what it was, as it was always changing: just as her species now was.

As she walked back to her spot by the group, Meia rubbed her hand over her belly. Would her foal be like this? A new breed of changeling, combined with the draconic features of its father?

Author's Note

Well, there we go: a bit of a rapport being established between the ponies back home and Spike's harem. Will they get along? Will Meia's future be bright or an everlasting darkness? Who knows?

God, Zecora is so hard for me to write.

Letters of a Safari

Chapter Twenty Five

Letters of a Safari

When Spike awoke next, the sun was still high in the sky. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour or two, though the clouds that had rolled in had definitely not been there when he fell asleep.

“Well, that wasn’t a very long nap,” a voice said. Spike looked over to see Wells sitting up, his back against a crate as he finished bandaging up his side. The cloth looked clean, so at least the bleeding must have stopped.

“Well, I wasn’t that tired anyway,” Spike said, looking around. Asalah and Meia were grooming Maria’s mane, and Trixie merely rolled over in her sleep, muttering something about “bottles”. Maybe she was thinking about when it came time to nurse her-, no, their foal.

“I thanked your wives for their assistance,” Wells said, nodding in their direction. “Without their care, I would have undoubtedly bled out in my sleep.” The pony did look a bit pale under his pelt, though he would have undoubtedly been paler had they done nothing.

“It was the least we could do for the pony who saved us from that sandstorm,” Maria replied as Meia gently bunched up parts of her mane into braids.

“Yes, well, don’t count on being saved for too long. Undi won’t be too happy his only son is dead,” Wells said softly, examining the locket in his hands.

“His son was a villain, just like you described: how much worse could Undi be?” Spike asked.

“Much, much worse,” Wells said, slowly getting to his hooves and walking towards the controls. Fiddling with a few knobs and levers, the craft began to slowly descend.

“I see a village down there,” Asalah said, looking over the side as the airship continued its downward movement.

“Yes, we are in the lands of the Marsabit tribe,” Wells said, pulling another lever.

“Marsabit?” Spike asked, scratching a bit. Some of his scales were beginning to shed, but for the moment they stuck fast in with the rest of them.

“Yes, the Marsabit tribe,” Wells repeated. “A tribe of zebras who specialize in captive breeding of local birds: they are quite good at it. They also excel in potion-making and have a fascinating linguistic vocalization.

“A ling-what?” Meia asked, smoothing out her clothes as Trixie rose with a yawn.

“To put it simply, they speak in rhyme,” Wells said. “Truly, to be among them is like stepping into another world. If you have no idea how to rhyme or understand it, you might not want to say anything.”

Two thoughts struck Spike at this, with the foremost being asked first. “How do you know all of this?” Spike asked the earth pony stallion as the craft gently touched down on the surface of the ground.

“I’ve traded with them before,” Wells said simply, wincing slightly as he stepped away from the controls and grabbed some rope. “Help me tie this craft down, would you please? I need to see their shaman.”

Spike did as he was asked, helping strap the machine down to the ground with a few hard-driven stakes and a few large rocks here and there. As he did, though, he couldn’t help but mull over in his head what Wells had said: these zebras spoke in rhyme.

“Is this Zecora’s native tribe? Her ponies?” Spike wondered as his wives got off the airship. They were dressed in loose robes and veils similar to a turban in design, though the colors were very pale. It helped disperse the sun’s harsh rays and make sure the wearers didn’t suffer heatstroke.

Wells pointed out towards a cluster of trees in the distance. “There is their main village: we’ll be there in an hour or so.”

“Are you sure you should walk with your injuries? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just fly there and land the dirigible nearer the village?” Trixie asked in curiosity.

“Last time I tried that, I had three spears thud into the bottom of the hull,” Wells said with a weak laugh. “They don’t mind strangers, but I’m afraid my craft was too alien for them to just accept like one would a carriage. Even now I don’t think they’d let me “park” my airship so close. Don’t worry: it won’t be long.”

So they began to walk, Spike carrying the camera around his neck, snapping pictures as they went. A weaver bird here, a wattled crane there: heck, even a few rhinos off in the distance. Even farther off, a few giraffes looked in his direction before turning away: they seemed to be heading for a river even farther off.

As he snapped more and more pictures, Spike realized his mind was off somewhere else. These Marsabit zebras could indeed be Zecora’s tribe, but how was he going to ask without sounding like a complete buffoon? Even more pressing, how was Asalah going to react to these zebras? She had confided in him that she had only known zebras living in cities like other ponies: these were possibly related to her ancestral ponies.

Any historian or archaeologist worth their salt knew that the zebra race evolved from pony-like ancestors that migrated from a place in Central Asia or somewhere close by: nopony knew the definitive answer. They were cousins of earth ponies, though how close yet remained unsolved. They could regularly interbreed and produce viable offspring, though that wasn’t too common. Most zebras stayed in Africa, after all: it was their home and many just didn’t want to leave.

Spike mused on this information until he gently bumped into Maria, who had stopped. Softly apologizing, he looked around: they were already at the village, with Wells speaking with a rather old zebra a ways off from the rest of them.

“Spike, come on over: I’d like you to meet somepony,” Wells said, looking back at the dragon. After Spike walked forward with his wives in tow, Wells looked between the dragon and the elderly zebra.

“Spike, this is Kalahari, the chieftain of the tribe,” Wells said.

“Hello, sir,” Spike said, politely offering his hand to the elderly zebra like any gentledrake would. Just then, though, a thought occurred to him: what if they didn’t know how to shake hands? What if there was some local custom where they had to stomp their feet, or worse, that shaking one’s hand meant a marriage proposal to one’s daughter? Oh no, not agai-,

His thoughts were cut off by Kalahari shaking his outstretched hand. “A pleasure meeting you, young drake,” the zebra said. “It seems your thoughts are very much awake.”

“Oh, yes,” Spike said: had his thoughts really been that transparent? “If I may introduce you, these are my wives,” Spike said, redacting his hand and gesturing towards the four curious mares behind him. Some of the local zebra mares had approached them and were poking at their unusual clothes, as they themselves wore simple loincloths and toga-like clothes. “Maria, Meia, Trixie, and Asalah,” Spike said, each mare nodding in return when her name was spoken.

“Quite the herd you have, master dragon,” Kalahari said, smiling again like a kindly old grandfather. “Please, allow me to roll out the welcome wagon.” He raised his hands up and gave three short claps, and suddenly Spike, Wells and the four mares were completely carried off by dozens of zebras. For some reason, they were all mares, though the fact that no stallions could be possibly feeling up his own wives put Spike’s mind at ease.

Soon enough, as if in the blink of an eye, they were all around a fire, rather plain rugs underneath their posteriors so as to not terribly dirty themselves. The ground around them was bare, as if the surface had been compacted for a very long time by the movement of countless hooves. Wells was whisked away to a small hut, where an even older-looking zebra was waiting for him.

“Worry not for your friend,” Kalahari said as he wobbled his way towards Spike and his wives. He used a small stick almost like a crutch: he was old, give him a break. “A simple task, it will be, for his body to mend.”

“Thank you, sir,” Spike asked, glad he had grown up around Zecora: he could at least understand rhyming better than somepony or somedragon with no experience. “How long have you known Wells?”

“Oh, a few years, I believe,” the zebra said. “To live in this place, so far from home, is quite a feat to achieve.”

“Yes, well, after this, I think he’ll be heading back,” Spike said as three zebras came by with a few bowls of fruit. Thanking the mares, Spike’s wives eagerly began to eat the sweet-smelling fruits: Spike snagged one with his tail and popped it into his mouth.

“Sir, if I may ask, where are all of your stallions?” Maria asked after she had finished her small mango. Indeed, besides Kalahari and the shaman now helping Wells, they hadn’t seen a single zebra stallion in the entire village.

“Out into the fields, I sent them. Some to farm, and some to investigate an airship with a strange emblem,” Kalahari asked, apparently not offended that a mare had spoken in his presence: obviously culturally different than Asalah’s own zebras.

“That would likely belong to the thugs that attacked us,” Meia said with a small scowl as she reflexively rubbed her hand over her belly. “Spike and Wells drove them off: their leader, the one called Bara, perished in the attack.”

“Ah, this Bara I know,” the chieftain said with a small scowl of his own. “I still find it hard some parents can let such an evil grow.”

“Have you had problems with him and his zebras in the past?” Spike asked as his wives sidled up next to him. He hoped those fruits didn’t have an aphrodisiac in them, or else things might get very embarrassing for them.

“Yes, they have been troublesome before, though for now they trouble us no more,” Kalahari said. “I would like to ask why you are here, sir Spike. In fact, I believe all of your reasons must be alike.”

Spike looked at Meia and Trixie, as Asalah and Maria were whispering about one particularly juicy fruit they were sharing between themselves. His two attentive wives nodded: they could trust this zebra.

“Well sir, you see, I’m sort of on a journey around the world,” Spike said. “I’m heir to a seat of power in the lands of Equestria, and one of the requirements was that I marry at least three ponies to help expand my line. I got four,” he added with a slightly sheepish smile.

“Ah, Equestria I have heard much about,” Kalahari said. “I wanted to visit sometime in my youth, but at home sadly, there was a drought.”

“That reminds me, sir,” Spike said, thinking about visitors to Equestria. “Would you by chance happen to know of a zebra named Zecora?”

“You have seen her?” the stallion asked, his eyes widening in surprise. “When? Where? Was there anything wrong with her fur?”

“Wait, what?” Spike asked. “No, last time I saw her, her pelt was just fine. She lives in Equestria now, and has been since I was much younger.”

“Oh, well now I know where she has gone,” Kalahari said, wiping some errant sweat from his brow. “But enough of that: the past is something we do not usually dwell on.”

“Why is that?” Meia asked.

“I believe I can answer for Kalahari,” a voice said. Several heads turned to see Wells emerge from the shaman’s hut, looking quite a bit better than he had when he went in. “You see, this “Zecora” of which you speak, is likely his daughter, also named Zecora. She left the tribe many years ago to find her own place in this world.”

“Zecora is Kalahari’s daughter?” Spike asked, feeling about as shocked as he had when he found out about his own marriage requirements. “Then... why doesn’t he want to talk about her?”

“The Marsabit zebras believe you take away the power of a ponies’ name when you say it too many times,” Wells said. “They are just fine when others say names of those who are not there, but to repeatedly say somepony’s name, especially a dead or far-away pony, is to show them a bit of disrespect. Nothing terrible, of course, but something somepony would consider a tad rude in their own culture.”

“Oh, well I guess that makes sense,” Asalah said, realizing just how different zebras on the same continent could be. She had been braiding Trixie’s mane during this time, with Maria fixing her own with a bit of magic.

“Kalahari, if I may ask,” Spike said, another thought crossing his mind. “I am a dragon, a relatively rare sentient creature. Yet, you don’t seem that off-put or weirded out by my appearance. Why?”

“Simple, you oh-so-rare drake,” Kalahari said with a smile. “Many others like you have made a similar, if simple, mistake. We do not see what one looks like as a judge of one’s being. To judge on the inside, and have such a realization, to many, is quite freeing.”

“Ah, I see,” said Spike, just now understanding why he felt such a kindred spirit in Kalahari. He didn’t judge others based on appearance or the way they seemed: it was all on how they acted and who they were, inside and out.

“It is getting late, my honored guests,” the elderly zebra said, rising to his hooves. Indeed it was: night was beginning to fall and already zebras could be seen approaching the village: the stallions who had been absent were returning. “You will sleep in the central hut: it has less pests.” He made a motion for them to follow him, which they all did.

“Pests?’ Spike whispered to Wells.

“Oh, you know: ants, flies, the occasional snake,” Wells said. He saw the look in Spike’s eyes. “Don’t worry: out here, poisonous ones are so rare it’s a miracle if you find one.”

“Why’s that?” the drake asked as they entered the hut after Kalahari. It was rather roomy, and the wooden bed-like structures were off the ground. Spike set the pack he had brought with him on the ground next to the largest one.

“A disease wiped many of them out a few years ago: nopony knows why,” Wells replied, thanking Kalahari. He talked with the zebra as Spike turned to his own wives.

“Well, there are five beds total, and unless one of you is willing to sleep on the floor, I’ll be sharing with one of you,” he said.

“Well, Maria had you last time, Meia before that, and I myself before her,” Trixie said, counting themselves off of her fingers. “I guess that means it is Asalah’s turn: wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, yes,” Asalah said, her mane done up in a rather unique and beautifully braided pattern. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Just as they finished the decision-making process on who would sleep where, Kalahari bid them goodnight and left the hut. Wells walked over to them, his hand fiddling his necklace once again.

“Well, he said it was a three day’s ride from here to the coast, as you did say you wished to go to Maredagascar from here,” the earth pony said.

“That is correct,” Meia said as she climbed up into her own bed. “By ride, do you mean the airship?”

“No, by ride I mean we’ll be taking the local means,” Wells said.

“And that would be...?” Spike asked.

“Elephants: there’s a small tribe of them nearby that loves to take travelers across the plains.” Wells stretched a bit before surveying his bed: clearly he was wondering just how hard or soft it would be.

“There is?” Maria asked from up in her bed, clearly astonished such a thing was real. “I thought only elephants in India did that sort of thing.”

“These elephants learned to do this many years ago: from what I hear, it was an alicorn who informed them of such a lucrative means of gaining money and food,” Wells said as he finally climbed into his bed.

“Is anypony here not too tired yet?” Spike asked. His wives shook their heads: they were still rather awake. “Good: I think now would be a good time for those letters you all promised to send.”

Retrieving the ink, quills and papers from his pack, Spike equally handed them out to his four wives. Settling with his own, he began to write.

“Dear Celestia, things sure do have a rather odd way of fixing themselves when a problem arises. Earlier today we were assaulted by bandits after being saved by a Mr. H. G. Wells, who used his airship to save us from a sandstorm. We fended off the pirates, one of whom just so happened to have a priceless heirloom of Well’s that they had stolen before. We are all okay now, though Well sustained an injury getting his heirloom back and is talking of going back home to Equineland.”

He paused for a moment, deciding it’d be best not to tell Celestia about Bara’s threats. “In a few days I’ll be sending back anything I’ve collected since my last “deposit”, if you will, and much of it will be or Fluttershy, as she is the one making a collage on animals, I believe?”

“Sincerely, Spike Dragul.” As Spike finished with his letter, Maria was going over her own, the thoughts of what to say echoing through her mind. She had never had a pen-pal before, let alone three, and she had written one slightly longer than she thought she would.

“Dear Rarity, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie, I do say this country has its own beauty in it. Trust me when I say, though, that I doubt I will ever be coming back here. Today we were accosted by a rather nasty thug and his cohorts: only the brave actions of Spike and our companion, a Mr. Wells, saved us all from a most unpleasant fate.”

Her eyes glazed over slightly as she recalled the memory that had been an experience only several hours ago. “I won’t go into the details in this letter, but suffice to say Spike is certainly coming into his own. He is becoming braver and more confident since I met him in Spreign, and I do so hope he will continue to show just how wonderful a husband he is. I can’t begin to tell you all the little things he does: the hoof massages after a long day’s walk, the way he sets us up for bed before falling asleep himself, the tenderness he shows for us...”

She stopped right there, feeling a bit embarrassed she had written that. “But enough of that: I hear Maredagascar is a wondrous place, filled with history, culture, and exquisite fashion for the region. Should we come across more of it, I would be delighted to send you back anything and everything I can.”

“Sincerely, Maria.” She reached down and tapped Spike on the shoulder, handing him her letter. He took it from her, his lips grazing her soft hand ever-so-slightly. She giggled softly and lay back on her bed.

Trixie and Asalah looked over their letters together, trying to find anything amiss in either ones’. Trixie looked over Asalah’s, which began simply enough.

“Dearest Fluttershy and Zecora, it may surprise you that I am sending this letter from the very village of the Marsabit zebras. Are you, Zecora, the daughter of the chief, Mr. Kalahari? I am amazed how different he treats others: it is really a very wondrous thing, to be honest. He is so polite and soft-spoken: he almost reminds me of you, Fluttershy.”

Trixie paused for a moment as she continued to read the letter: with a small burst of magic, the ant that was crawling up her back flew out of the hut’s door. “We have only been here a short while and I already can feel a bit of my ancestral lands calling to me. I will stay with Spike, that is for certain, but still I cannot help but feel strangely at peace in this place. When I get to Equestria, I would like for nothing more than the three best tour guides to help me “fit in”, as they said.”

“Sincerely, Asalah.” Trixie turned to the zebra, who was just finishing up on Trixie’s own letter.

“This is a very nice letter, Asalah,” Trixie said softly as she handed it to Spike.

“Thank you,” Asalah said as she finished reading Trixie’s. “Yours is as well, though I must ask: why all the double-speak and asking for these “secret” books?”

“Spike won’t want to risk upsetting the pregnancy, Asalah, and a mare has needs even when she’s carrying a foal,” Trixie whispered. “Just because he can’t put his “soldier” where I’d like it most doesn’t mean he won’t be able to use it somewhere else.”

“Your pregnancy could be damaged if he had sex with you the normal way?” Asalah whispered, her eyes going wide. “I never knew that could happen.”

“Oh, it’s normally not a problem, but with a dragon as well “equipped” as Spike, it would be taking a chance neither of us would want to risk,” Trixie said, though she smiled as Asalah handed the letter to Spike. “This way, I’ll find any new ways of “spicing” up the marriage in the future, should we grow tired of the same routine.”

“I doubt I could grow tired of him,” Asalah whispered with a small smile. Ever since the trip up the river, she had been smiling more and more: it really did accentuate her exotic beauty.

“I know: good night,” Trixie whispered, climbing up into her bunk. Asalah slid down and lay in the larger bed, waiting for Spike so she could snuggle up against him.

Meia looked at them all from her spot, and then back down to her letter. She had taken longer to write it: not because it was longer, per se, but because she had needed to more carefully word it in case somepony found her origins a tad suspicious.

“Dear Twilight Sparkle and Princess Luna, I have to admit I am rather anxious about the pregnancy. I know next to nothing about dragon physiology and patterns of inheritance, save for what Trixie has taught us in her own little book on dragons. If it would not be too much of a bother, do you think you could write back with some helpful tips on what to do during a pregnancy?”

This part was true, as much as it could be, in fact. Chrysalis was terribly anxious to be a mother, and she truly didn’t know what she was going to do. In fact, she was more worried about what her offspring- no, foal, would look like. Her baby would not be called a creature or a thing: it would be her and Spike’s foal, and any who called it something else would be met with severe pain.

On another note, she had no idea what to expect of the birthing process, as her mother had oh-so-fortunately never told her about that particular aspect of the queen caste. She was terrified her foal would come out a monster: a changeling and a dragon had never bred before, according the ancient lore of her people. Add to the fact that the queen or king of the changeling race was always a little different in physiology from the rest of the hive, and there was no telling what her foal would look like.

“Also, as a close friend of Spike’s I was hoping you would be able to tell me more about where he grew up and his life before we met, Twilight. I do so hope you don’t mind me calling you Twilight: we’re practically sisters now, through my marriage. I do want to get to know you better as well. I have heard you are incredibly talented at magic, and I was hoping you could maybe teach me some spells when I get back home?”

She paused again, her magic vaporizing a small insect crawling up her leg: she didn’t have time to just send it flying off. “Princess Luna, I have always been fascinated with the lore behind stars. Whether it was fortune-telling, prophesying or merely telling stores, I have always loved looking at the night sky. I never got to stargaze much at my old home, and I have heard the view is spectacular from where Spike is from. When we meet in pony, do you think you could show me just what I’ve been missing out on?”

Sincerely, Meia Dragul.” She handed the letter to Spike, who had been patiently waiting for her to finish. By now, they were all much more tired than they had been when they started writing the letters: a common side effect of calming down when night approached.

With a small burst of flame, Spike sent the letters into the magical transporting dimension through which all magically transported items went through. He watched as the smoke shot out through the entrance to the hut and out of sight: it would be in Equestria very soon. After learning of the time zones, Spike knew it would well be daytime in Equestria still, but the fact that he wouldn’t be able to talk with his friends and family immediately did not concern him. He needed his sleep: that much was evident,

“Goodnight everypony,” he said softly, climbing into bed next to Asalah. Quietly, he whispered “I love you” to his wives. They each responded in kind, their soft voices like music to his ears. As Asalah snuggled up next to him, her soft body matching the contours of his own, Spike closed his eyes and fell asleep, drifting off into a peaceful dreamland.

Soon enough, his wives were asleep as well, their soft snores filling the hut. Outside, the rest of the camp was silent as the night closed in on Eastern Africa. The stars shone, the crickets sang, and the softest of breezes caressed the tired bodies of all gathered there. It was a good, silent night: all was calm.

Author's Note

Oh, to be in Kenya would likely be one of Flutterhsy's wet dreams...

Not that I know anything about that, of course... (^_^)

Also, sorry I didn't update as quickly as I normally do. Tons of college work and I was bitten- nay, INFECTED- by the writing bug and have quite a few more stories in development. Oh, what hath Fimfiction wrought? As such, my updates may no longer be within the same week: sorry to all those who check their favorites list daily.

Compared to Zecora's, Kalahari's rhyming was fun!

Set Sail

Chapter Twenty Six

Setting Sail

It was late in the morning that Spike and his wives awoke from their deep sleep. Late being a relative term: they rose shortly after the sun had, and already the village was abuzz with movement. Such ponies were not the kind to sleep in, especially when the majority had to either gather food, supplies, or tend to the small farms along the rivers.

Asalah was the first to rise, her head feeling fuzzier than normal. Truth be told, she had been feeling rather odd for the past few days. It as if she had drank a strong potion and was experiencing the oh-so-infamous “side effects” that so many doctors talked about. She hadn’t been in heat since before Spike married her, and therefor she knew she wasn’t pregnant. She just felt odd, and hungry at times that seemed very odd to her.

She looked across her husband’s chest towards the door, but her eyes were immediately obscured by shadows flickering across the hut’s entrance. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sudden change in brightness, to see several zebra foals looking at her and the others, who were also rubbing their eyes. They were all staring at the ponies and dragon as if they had never seen them before.

Which, in all likelihood, they never had: except for herself, that is. Other than that, and aside from the fact the village knew about an earth pony like Wells, three unicorns and a dragon were likely a very rare sight to come by in these parts.

“Can we help you?” Asalah asked as the others looked at the zebra colts and fillies. In response to her question, the little zebras merely giggled and ran off, only to have their entrance blocked by a familiar face.

“Come now, time is of the essence,” Kalahari said, beckoning them forward. “The elephants will not want to travel by the moon’s luminescence.”

“This is where we must part, my friends,” Wells said, shaking their hands in fond farewell. “I will rest here for a week or two before heading back home. Perhaps it was time I put down some roots back in Equineland.”

“It was a pleasure travelling with you, Mr. Wells,” Maria said. “I speak for all of us when we say thank you again for saving us from that sandstorm.”

“It was debt that was soon repaid, my dear,” Wells said with a smile. “If not for your dragon Spike and all of your magic and help, I surely would have died up there in my dirigible before arriving in the Marsabit village.”

As soon as they exited the hut after Kalahari, Wells turned and went off towards the same hut that he had gone in the night before: that of the shaman. Spike and his wives grabbed their supplies and followed Kalahari, who was soon escorted by several... giraffes?

“An honor to make your acquaintance, the one called Spike,” one of the giraffes said, bowing down and looking Trixie in the face.

“Oh, uh, I’m not Spike,” Trixie said, a slight blush forming on her face.

“You are not?” the giraffe said in surprise. “But you have a spike on your forehead. Or is this one Spike?” the giraffe asked, swinging his head to the side enough to look at Meia.

“No, that’s Meia,” Trixie said. “I am Trixie, this one is named Maria, and this zebra is Asalah. That is Spike,” she said, pointing over at the real Spike.

“My apologies,” one of the other giraffes said, swinging her head down next to the other’s. “Hodari here has excellent eyesight, but is a tad slow.” She leaned in a bit closer and whispered. “Hit his head a few too many times when necking, you see.”

“I can run plenty fast, Zuri,” Hodari responded. “So, Spike,” he continued, looking over at the real, draconic Spike. “I bet you’re wondering why we’re here, right?”

“Well, yes,” Spike said, rubbing the back of his neck again. He couldn’t help it: some of his scales were shedding. It was almost random, like whenever some pony had a bit of their mane fall out.

“Giraffes have some of the best eyesight of all the hooved creatures in Africa, Spike,” Zuri said, looking over at Spike as well. “Our height means we can spot any dangers farther off than most creatures, and our eyesight is not based as much on color, but more on texture.”

“How would that help?” Maria asked. "I mean, I'm not totally knowledgeable about African mammals, but that seems a rather odd adaptation."

“Our eyes can tell the difference between a field of grass and the lion hiding in it,” Zuri said. “Since they are roughly the same color and harder to tell apart when the grass blows in the wind, we hire ourselves out travelers who must cross large stretches of such land to reach a destination.”

“Will you be travelling with us and the elephants?” Spike asked. It would always be good to have extra eyes on a journey.

“Of course: we work as a team, us giraffes and elephants,” Hodari said. “We serve as moving lookouts, and they in turn are protection against any nearby predators.”

“Protection how?” Meia asked, knowing full well their magic could deal with a few stray lions.

“Have you seen an elephant up close, unicorn?” Zuri said with a gentle tone of cautioning fascination. “They are among the largest creatures on the planet, next to a hydra, large manticore or an old dragon, of course,” she added. “That, and their tusks and brute strength are usually enough to ward off any predators during most times of the year. Be thankful it isn’t the dry season, or else we’d really have to be on the lookout.”

Before Trixie could ask what this “dry season” entailed, Kalahari stepped forward. “We must go now, as there is no time to lose.” He looked over at Spike. “We must get to the elephants; I hear they have news.”

“What news?” Spike asked, only for Kalahari to walk away and lead them off. Shrugging, and thinking to ask the zebra later, Spike walked off, his wives following close behind.

So they walked, over hills and under the limbs of trees, where the giraffes would stop for a bite to eat every now and then. Here and there tall patches and fields of grass could be seen, but they steered clear of these. No lions or hyenas jumped out at them, though a leopard did snarl at Hodari when he awoke him from his tree-based nap.

“Um, Zuri,” Trixie called up as they walked on, the dry heat refreshing when compared to what they had endured in the Samarea Desert. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly,” the giraffe said, swinging her head down a bit lower so she wouldn’t have to shout. “Go right ahead.”

“Just how much do you eat? I couldn’t help but notice how you thoroughly stripped all those leaves off those tree branches,” the unicorn asked, her steady hoofsteps easily keeping up with the long, slow strides of the giraffes.

“Oh, around 140 pounds of food every day, though a day for a giraffe is very different than a day for ponies,” the giraffe replied with a smile.

“How so?” Asalah asked, listening in on the conversation. How could a day for a pony be different than that of a giraffe?

“Well Asalah, we giraffes only need around 20 minutes of sleep per day, so we can spend the rest of it eating and doing other things,” Zuri said, her long tongue licking her lower lip.

“Only 20 minutes?” Trixie asked in disbelief. “How do you do it?”

“No idea, though it may be our extra-large hearts,” the giraffe said, swinging her head up to swipe some leaves from a tree. “A lot of blood being pumped up there and all that: more oxygen to our brain.”

“How do you know so much about physiology and biology?” Maria asked, surprised a race of intelligent but hand-less hooved mammals knew so much.

“We spend time in the arts and the sciences, though occasionally we dabble in potions,” Zuri replied. “With our long necks, we can reach certain ingredients in places most ponies couldn’t, even if they tried.”

“We are here, my friends,” Kalahari said, bringing the group to a stop. “I am afraid this is where my journey with you ends.”

Spike and his wives thanked the zebra, who said he was fine walking back to his village all by himself. Two giraffes already at the meeting place insisted they go back with him, a request he begrudgingly accepted. He seemed more embarrassed than mad or anything: he wasn’t that old.

Spike and the others talked with the elephants after Kalahari left. It seemed a bout of good fortune had stricken them: the weather appeared clear, and as the rivers were not flooding, they would arrive in two days’ time at their destination along the coast.

The ride, in and of itself, was rather enjoyable. For one of the few times along the entire journey, Spike actually felt like a prince. Riding with his wives on a herd of large animals, with several others keeping lookout: a shady tent on each elephant’s back, small enough to be lightweight but large enough to shelter each of them from the sun. All that was missing now was golden streets, fanfare and peacocks.

Spike didn’t want all that extra stuff, as that was for the bit more extravagant royalty. He was fine with roughing in on foot or by plain enchanted cart.

So it was that the first day came and went with no trouble whatsoever. The riding was smooth, the elephants were polite, and everypony of Spike’s entourage got along just fine. Well, except for one pony in particular...

“Gah, why do I feel this way?” Asalah asked, her voice a loud whisper to the other mares as they gathered around one of the fire.

“What way, Asalah?” Maria asked as she helped herself to some of their provisions, passing them around for the others as well. Hodari, Zuri and the other giraffes were off eating some leaves from some nearby acacia trees, and Spike was off talking to the lead elephant, an elderly matriarch by the name of Margaret.

“My vision goes so blurry I can’t see straight, my body feels odd, I have a headache, I sweat uncontrollably sometimes, my lower back gets very itchy, and these symptoms only occur around the same thing every time I see it!” The zebra sounded frustrated beyond compare, as if her own body was trying to tell her something.

“What would that be?” Trixie asked. “It sounds rather serious.”

“Spike!” Asalah whispered, furtively looking around to make sure none of the others were listening in on the conversation.

“Spike?” Maria asked. “Tell me, Asalah, when was the last time you’ve been in heat? This simply sounds like the need to breed, ponysonally.”

“A week before Spike arrived in Agrabah, to be precise,” the zebra said. “It’s not my heat: it can’t be. I’m not showing any of the other symptoms and I don’t feel the slight pain that comes with it. Or at least, the same kind of pain: this all feels so different.”

“You’re not in heat?” Meia asked in surprise, softly rubbing her stomach: she was not yet showing, and Maria still had the same taut stomach she did from when Spike first met her. “Then what could it be?”

“I don’t know!” Asalah said, looking around again. “I was hoping you could tell me: I feel these odd urges, this odd set of aches and pains, and above all that, I want to jump him more than normal. Why is that?”

The three unicorns were silent as they pondered this set of information. There wasn’t any pony-born or any other animal-born disease that had these symptoms and caused this, love spells didn’t leave behind such physical evidence, and-

“Magic,” Trixie said suddenly, causing the other three to look at her. “It’s magic.”

“Magic?” Maria asked, glancing up at her horn. “How is it magic? We’ve never cast a spell on Asalah, and I can’t think of any unicorns who could have.”

“That’s just the thing: we’re not casting spells,” Trixie said. She looked over at Meia, who’s eyes carried in their depths a confused look. “Tell me, Meia: what do you know of your own biology?”

“Unicorn biology? It’s been a while since I studied...” Meia muttered, trying to think back on some her studies as a little changeling filly. “Our magic isn’t always cast, right?”

“Exactly,” Trixie said. “We’re responsible for you condition, Asalah,” she added, looking over at the zebra.

“What? How?” the mare asked, her black and white pelt looking beautiful in the light of the small fire.

“It’s our magic, my dear,” Meia said. She looked over at Maria, whose look of comprehension was spreading across her face. “I think Maria knows what we’re talking about.”

“Indeed I do,” she said, turning to look at the zebra mare. “Asalah, you know about hormones and similar biological influences, right?”

“Yes, of course: my tutors taught me all our people know,” Asalah said.

“Well, for unicorns, it is a bit different,” Maria said. “Our magic, as is the magic in all species, is tied to the well-being of our bodies. A unicorn’s magic is also intricately tied to not only their mood, but to their blood, through which all important things flow. Our blood, as in Meia’s, Trixie’s and my own, are now filled with the hormones associated with reproduction and foal development. Our pregnancies are causing change within us, including the production of many different hormones.”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with me?” the zebra mare asked.

“Our magic is naturally exuded, so as to not build to a dangerous level,” Meia said. “To hold in our magic, to hide it and never use it, would be like never going to the bathroom for a long time. Eventually, well, it’ll “explode” out, usually with horrible consequences.”

“As Maria said before, our magic is influenced by our biological state,” Trixie said. “The thing is, with our pregnancies, our exuded magic is spilling out of us and into you, my dear, as the hormonal imbalance is causing an excess expulsion of magic. Your close proximity to us all the time is likely the cause for it going straight to you.”

“...what?” the zebra asked. “But... how?”

“Through the air we breathe, Asalah, through the jugs of water we share: possibly even through the clothes we exchange. I must say, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it right away, but I never expected us three unicorns to be putting out so much excess magic that it was spilling over into you. Again, my apologies my dear,” Maria said, softly rubbing her stomach.

“So... your hormonal changes are affecting me as well, through your expelled magic?” Asalah asked, glancing over at Spike, who was still deep in conversation with the elephant matriarch. “So why isn’t Spike being affected?”

“I don’t know, but I believe I have two theories as to why,” Maria said. “He’s a dragon: reptiles produce and respond differently to hormones. Second, he’s a male: half of our hormones would have no effect in his body even if he were a stallion.”

“So... what am I supposed to do? I mean, I can’t keep going around like this!” Asalah sounded even more frustrated than she had before. "I can't concentrate on anything for very long, and even now I'm having trouble focusing on something besides Spike!"

“Well, as with all things, there are certain actions that can soothe excessive magic build-up,” Meia said, a small smile forming on her face. “For us unicorns, it is as simple as performing magic. But you, a zebra, cannot do this: you have no built-in magic “relief valve”, as some call our horns. There is, however, another way...”

“How?” Asalah asked, sounding almost desperate.

“Have sex: pure and simple,” Meia said. "Magic is exuded in many ways, as it is within the fluids of our bodies. During sex, some of the more powerful unicorns have actually cast spells mid-orgasm from their fluids alone."

There was silence as the fire crackled, the silence enshrouding them like the quiet after a storm. Nopony spoke for a while, with Asalah being too stupefied to form a coherent sentence.

“... really?” she asked, her voice almost a squeak. “That... that’s all it will take? A roll in the hay, as I have heard it put?”

“Well,” Meia began, clearly seeing a problem that could arise should Asalah rush into this. “It can’t be like what you did back in the Samarea Desert.”

“What? How am I supposed to do... it... different?” Asalah asked.

“More than one “romp”, if your symptoms are truly as troublesome as you say,” Trixie said, a small brush levitating from her satchel and combing through her mane. “You’ll likely have to go at least three times, if my memory on magic expulsion is correct. The body can only release so much in one go, and if what you say is indeed true, you won’t get this under control unless you “do it” more than once.”

“Three times? But... but I’ve only ever lasted once!” Asalah sounded rather embarrassed by this confession, as if she didn’t want any other only to know she didn’t have much stamina in bed.

“Asalah, nopony should be expected to be able to go more than one round in bed,” Meia said. “The same goes for stallions: usually both of the sexes take so long to reach their peak, everything works out after just one time.”

“But, as with any rule, there are exceptions, and there are many mares out there, like us, who can go more than just once,” Trixie said. “We, unlike they, have lucked out with having a stallion who can keep up with us, if not exceed our pace.”

“But... what am I supposed to do? I can last one round, and if I push it, maybe two... but three? What if I pass out halfway up to the second part? What if Spike blames himself, feeling as though it’s his fault I couldn’t go more? What if-,”

Maria gently placed a finger on Asalah’s lips, silencing the mare. “Asalah, relax: we’re unicorns, remember?” she said. “There are plenty of potions we could brew like that,” -she snapped her fingers at this- “that can give you the “inner fire” you need to achieve your goal. All we’ll need is a day to prepare it.”

“One day?” Asalah asked, her voice containing a trace of an adorable whine. “Well, I guess I can hold out for one more day...”

“Good, because I doubt Spike would want to try and have sex on an unwilling elephant’s back or out in the grasses,” Meia said. “He may be a male, but unlike most, he cares about the wants and needs of others all the time.”

“Very well: one more day it is,” Asalah said. “But what about-,”

She blinked: she was no longer around the fire. She was boarding a ship, leaving a port that she had no recollection of entering. Seagulls cawed in the air and the spray of the western Indian Ocean splashed against the deck of the ship. The smell of salt, heavier than that of the Meditermanean Sea, seemed to soak into her very bones. How in the world had she gotten here?

“Asalah, come on! We’re casting off!” Meia said, pulling her towards the steps leading to the lower decks.

Asalah blinked again: had she been daydreaming the entire time? Why had she chosen now, of all times, to think back on her conversation with the others around the fire?

Meanwhile, down below...

Spike looked around the cabin he had been given, making a mental note of everything that had been placed there. It wasn’t much, and the majority of what he had brought with him was in the cabin’s closet.

The journey had been easy that day, and ponysonally, Spike was thankful he had been given the good fortune of having great travelling weather. The city, whose name he had forgotten, looked rather beautiful in the setting sun. It wasn’t polished like Agrabah or industrious like the coastal towns of Equineland. It seemed more... rustic, more rural: small fishing boats lined the docks as far as the eye could see. The porthole through which he could see all this was rusted slightly around the ring, from the amount of salt water this ship had endured in its voyages.

Speaking of voyages, Spike had a funny feeling something... strange was going on. Like there was something happening under his very nose, and yet he couldn’t make out just what exactly it was. If Pinkie Pie was here, her Pinkie Sense would likely tell him it was going to be a doozy: he felt so sure that whatever was going to happen, it would be huge. Maybe one of his wives would have twins?

He smiled sheepishly at that thought: he was already going to have three bouncing baby dragon-unicorn hybrids in a little more than eight months. Did he really need to wish for another any time soon?

There was a knock at his door: the captain had told him that he and his wives wouldn’t be disturbed, so he had no idea just who it was. Walking over and opening it, he was surprised to see...

“Asalah? What... what brings you here?” Spike felt his tongue flop around in his mouth: she was wearing some rather... figure-hugging clothing that made him feel suddenly hot under the collar. “Are you all settled in?”

“Yes, Spike,” she said, having foregone calling him “husband” a few days ago. “We are all settled in, but I was hoping to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Spike said, stepping back to let her inside the room. The sun’s rays disappeared over the far horizon, as the night began to deepen over the harbor. The ship lurched as it moved amidst the waves: they had finally cast off and were heading towards Maredagascar.

“Could... could I spend the night with you? Just with you?” Asalah asked, as the four mares had been allocated to a larger cabin built for four occupants. She blinked innocently as she asked, taking a step towards her dragon husband.

“Oh, uh...,” Spike said, suddenly feeling really hot under the collar. Well, and hard: definitely getting hard under the... belt. “S-sure: let me get the bed r-ready.” He turned away, suddenly feeling like a school-colt whose tutor was hitting on him like a sledgehammer. Asalah was never this forward: either he really had underestimated her, or she was really, really horny this night.

With his back turned, Asalah withdrew the small flask the others had prepared for her, her stomach all a flutter with excitement. Would this finally do it? Would her aches, urges and feelings finally become subdued enough for her to function properly? With a quick motion she emptied the contents into her mouth, feeling the warm liquid burn down her throat and into her stomach.

Instantly she felt a change come over her: it was almost as if her eyes had been opened to the wonders of the opposite sex. Spike’s muscles moved enticingly under his shirt as he began to pull back some of the covers on the bed. They looked firm, hard, strong: the kind of muscles every mare dreamed her dreamstallion would possess. His tail moved behind his behind, swaying to and fro like some large, scaly tree trunk waiting to be climbed. Almost as a reflex, Asalah locked the door behind her without even looking. Then, in a flash, her hands were on her dress, pulling it from her body like it was burning her.

Spike looked up as he finished removing his shirt, hearing the rustling of fabric. Turning around, he was met with a blur of black and white pelt crashing into him. With a muffled shout, muffled by the pressing of soft lips over his own, Spike fell backwards onto the bed with his wife in tow.

“Asalah! What has gotten into you?” Spike asked after she had removed her lips from his own. She tasted... different, though thinking about how she tasted touched on something Spike had been wanting to give her since that night in the desert.

“I’m not sure,” she said untruthfully, rubbing her naked body against the bare chest of her husband while her hands snaked downwards. “I want you to know how much I love you.”

“I think I can see how much,” Spike said, feeling suddenly feeling protective after she said that. By Celestia’s gleaming white flank, was he always going to be this possessive whenever his wives showed a little affection?

They lay like this for a few minutes, Asalah rubbing her soft body over Spike’s scaly chest as her hands snaked down and undid his pants. Lifting himself off the bed with his wings and tail, Spike slid them off, his evident erection slapping against Asalah’s firm rear. Asalah moaned heartily at this, grinding herself against his erection. In her head, she knew she had to achieve three orgasms for the excess magic built up within her to be expelled, and from the way things were progressing, it wouldn’t be a difficult task at all.

Just as she finished thinking this, the ship lurched slightly: Spike took advantage of this action and spun them around in bed, so now he was on top. Asalah giggled like a school-filly, clearly not minding how their positions had been reversed.
“Asalah,” Spike said, nuzzling behind the sensitive flesh of her ears with his lips.

“Yes?” she asked, slightly out of breath. How in the world did this dragon know about all these erogenous zones?

He slid lower until his lips were pressed against her stomach, the soft fur of her pelt tickling his nose. His legs had slipped off the bed and he was now leaning over her, his feet flat on the floor. “Hold on.”

Without another word Spike arms snaked under her thighs and picked her up, the zebra suddenly finding herself vertical. As the dragon’s hands steadied her new position by holding her up along her lower back, Asalah gasped as he stood up and walked her away from the bed. A dresser, several feet high, stood in a corner. With due purpose, Spike set her down on the flat surface, her back pressed against the wall.

“Spike?” the zebra asked softly, not sure where this was going. Spike only responded by gently spreading his wife’s thighs, exposing her hot core to the world. She was swollen and leaking slightly, and now she would feel more of his love.

“Spike?” Asalah asked again, suddenly feeling nervous: was this some new game? “What are you... ohhh,” she moaned, her question cut off as something hot and very long entered her nethers. He had never done that before.

“Shh,” he muttered into her thighs, his tongue retreating enough for him to speak. “Just sit here and let me take care of you.”

“But, Spike, I- ahhh,” she moaned again, her words cut off by the feeling of Spike’s long, sinuous tongue entering her once more. She tried to squirm, but Spike’s hands held her legs in place, keeping them open enough for him to effortlessly explore her depths.

In a matter of minutes, Asalah was leaking all over her husband’s face, though the dragon paid it no mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy is, judging from the way he slurped it all up: he even licked his entire face clean with his dexterous tongue. She struggled, she squirmed, she squeezed his head between her muscular thighs, but it did nothing to relieve the pleasures coursing through her lower body. Asalah’s hooves twitched with every lick, her fingers curled whenever Spike slurped: by the sun and moon above, it was torture. Pleasurable, unbelievably amazing torture.

Why hadn’t she let him do this that night back in the Samarea Desert? She could have been flopping like a flounder on the desert sand beneath his ministrations, and instead she had chosen to only go with what little she knew of sex. She did not regret that one bit, but this... this was something she couldn’t believe she had missed out on.

She felt the tongue retreat slightly, causing her to blink in confusion. “Spike? Wha-OH!” she almost shouted when she felt him nibble the edges of her exposed core. He nipped here and there, soft at first, but eventually those nips becoming harder and harder, until he was munching on her with his lips and teeth. Nothing hard enough to draw blood or leave a mark, of course, but it was an assault she had definitely not been prepared for.

Asalah was panting as though she had run a mile in under four minutes. Her back was pressed against the wall, the sweat surely soaking into the dry wood as the ship rocked beneath them. The zebra’s buxom chest heaved, her lungs burned for air, and with every nibble she felt shocks shoot through her body like an electric eel had been shoved in the very place Spike was tending to.

A sudden lurch of the ship sent Spike’s face right into her sopping wet opening, his nose and mouth buried in her folds. He must have thought fast, for in that split second, he started to hum, the vibrations proving too much for her body to resist. The sensation of so large and warm an object, punctured by the added momentum of it moving so fast and vibrating, sent Asalah over the edge for the first time that night. With a noise hallway between a squeal and a cry, she clenched, juices flowing out onto her husband’s face and head. Her muscular thighs clenched harder, the gripping action forcing Spike’s face a little deeper into her.

After her body quit convulsing, Asalah gently pried her legs off of her husband. Spike, his long tongue swirling over his face to get every last bit of her nectar, took a step back and helped her off the dresser.

“You still up for more?” he asked, giving her a devilish grin that made her already-rubbery legs go weak with need. She looked down to see him as hard as he had ever been, his proud shaft standing at full mast.

“O-of course,” she said, embracing him and trying to force him into her. She burned with need, and right now she wanted to be filled, to be pleasured by his giant dragon-

It did not go in. Spike had moved slightly to the side, so that when she went against them, it slid up between their bellies. Asalah looked at her husband in confusion, wondering why he had suddenly done this.

“Spike?” she asked as his hands gently moved up to her shoulders. “Is... is something wrong?”

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong,” Spike said, capturing her lips with his for a few moments. When he retreated, his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“Yes?” Asalah said quietly.

“What do you want me to do, Asalah?” Spike asked, his voice becoming heavy with lust. “What do you want me to do to you?”

Oh wow, Asalah had never thought Spike’s voice could sound more sexy than when he spoke to her like that. Deep, rich, with a luxurious quality the likes of which could bring lesser mares to orgasm by merely hearing it. “I... I want you to take me,” she said, pressing her body against his so that their curves meshed. “I want you to make me moan, make me scream your name. Ravage me!” With that, she pushed against him, a sudden tilting of the ship sending them rushing backwards. With a thump, Spike landed against the wall, his surprised lips recaptured by Asalah’s.

“Mmph,” Spike said, spinning them both around so that Asalah thumped against the wall instead. They both knew the others were in the room next to them, through that very wall, but neither cared.

“Mmm,” Asalah replied, the heat in her body soaring once more as Spike’s hands roamed over her body until they gripped her by the waist. Her moans turned to a shout of surprise when he spun her around and pressed her buxom chest to the wall, her ass sticking presented before him.

“Spike, what-,” she began before being cut off by two of his fingers plunging into her core, making her almost jump. Then, as quick as they had been plunged in, they retreated. She tried to speak again, but Spike’s breath became hot on her neck as his wet fingers slid up her body and onto her mouth.

“Lick them,” he said softly, his voice beyond mortal sexy and now just entering into the realm of sex god... sexy. Asalah’s mind, hazy with lust and the driving need to be rutted, wasted no time in slobbering over her husband’s juice-coated fingers, tasting herself. Spike’s response was to slide the fingers into the corner of her mouth, causing Asalah to suck on them like the breasts from which she nursed.

She never felt so dirty in her life, licking the very fingers that had played with her marehood. The mere thought of doing such a thing was so taboo in her culture that actually doing it gave her a rush like nothing before. The taste, the feeling of her husband’s fingers in her mouth, his throbbing cock rubbing along her ass...

Wait, what?

“Spike?” she whinnied through his fingers in her mouth.

“Asalah, you said before what you wanted me...” Spike slid his shaft up her backside.

“Yes,” she gasped, sucking in a lungful of air after he removed his fingers. “I... I said I wanted you to... ravage me.”

“Request accepted,” Spike whispered in her ear, his hands snaking down until they rested on her taught stomach, the crooks of his elbows holding her sides. Sliding backwards and lining himself up with her still-dripping core, Spike thrust his hips forward, driving home.

“Oh, oh... oh my!” Asalah shouted, the force of Spike’s sudden thrust making her breasts rub against the wall. She was so full, so suddenly, that she swallowed another set of moans, lest she break down and just moan for the rest of the night. But after that first delicious, swift thrust of a strong, pulsating shaft, there wasn’t anything else: he had stopped. The horny zebra looked back over her shoulder to see her husband looking down at her firm backside. “Spike?”

“Your ass,” he muttered, pulling out some more before ramming his shaft back inside her.

“Y-y-yes?” she moaned.

“It’s... amazing,” he muttered, pulling out once more. As he slammed back in, he pushed against her with his entire body, pushing her into the wall. “So firm,” -thrust- “so muscular” -thrust- “so... jiggly”.

Every punctuated sentence was met with a powerful thrust, each one making Asalah squeak. Her rump would jiggle with every thrust, Spike entranced by the firm flesh moving in such an erotic way. Lowering one of his hands from her side, Spike grasped the underside of her thigh and lifted it up, allowing him to penetrate deeper than before. This shift in her stance mad her hit, tight canal even tighter, so that he actually had to put in some effort to slide in. And slide in he did: slurping noises accompanied him every time he shoved inside his fourth wife's glorious marehood.

They rutted like this for several more minutes, the combined squelching, squeaking and dripping of their mingling juices the only noise in the room. It was, at least until Asalah felt something stir within her. It was another orgasm: not as monstrously strong as her first, but enough to make her squeal. With a whinny she kicked against the wall with both hooves, repeating this as her entire body jiggled and twitched with her release. Spike thrust upward at the same time she clamped down, his shaft erupting within her as he pushed her up the wall. Thick, virile seed spilled forth into her, mixing with her own copious sexual fluids. A bit leaked out onto the floor, running down their legs as it did so: they didn't care.

Belly swelling with seed, breasts aching, legs cramping, muscles spasming: by the sun, Asalah was in heaven. She fell back into Spike’s arms, the weight of her making them stumble back onto the bed. Spike still lay inside her, still hard after one go.
“Spike, I love you,” she whispered, laying back as the dragon propped himself up.

“I love you too, Asalah,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. Seriously, if he kept this up, by the time she entered heat, he'd get her pregnant with sextuplets or something.

She sighed, feeling full, satisfied, and happy... until she realized her predicament. She had gone twice: she needed to go one more time before her magic buildup went away. If Spike fell asleep, there was no telling when he would be able to go-

“Spike? What are you doing?” Asalah asked as she felt him slide up in her once more. That small thrust, nothing compared to any before, was still enough to make her breasts bounce in her field of vision, if only just. The large striped globes, if she had been pregnant, would likely have been lactating, a thought she sensed would be an unbelievably erotic sight.

“Finishing the job,” Spike said, turning her around while she was still impaled on his rock-hard shaft. Soon enough, she was lying on his chest, her ass up in the air as his hands raised her up off him. Her nipples, so hard it almost hurt, rubbed against his chest as he pushed her up and down, his shaft eagerly entering her love tunnel.

“Spike, please,” she moaned, snaking her tongue out across his cheek. From this angle, it felt even more different than she thought it would: it was is he were reaching up into her womb and tenderly caressing it with his soft but firm dick, a feat she knew neither of them could handle. “Make it last.” She never wanted the night to end: it was magical, it was perfect, it was what she had always wanted.

“I will.” He gently moved her in time with the boat, their bodies rocking to the gentle beat of love.

Author's Note

Well, after a hiatus caused by college work, laziness and rewrites, there it is: some clop. Don't worry: there'll be more soon, and to quote Pinkie Pie, it'll be a doozy!

And to those who wonder where I got the names for the giraffes, I volunteer at a local zoo in the summer. We have two giraffes there named Hodari and Zuri, which are Swahili for "brave" and "pretty". I worked the feeding station long enough to get to know them: they even recognize me whenever I come back!

A Well-Deserved Honeymoon Interlude

Chapter Twenty Seven

A Well Deserved Honeymoon Interlude

Surprisingly, Maredagascar, or at least the place the ship landed on, was not too different from Agrabah. Marble columns, gold-covered domes on the towers and palace, gardens here and there, pools for swimming... It seemed that Spike’s arrival had been told of, for the minute Spike and his wives left the ship, they were greeted by a colorfully-dressed...

“Um, sir: who are you exactly?” Spike asked the odd pony-looking fellow. The pony was indeed odd, as he had the upper half of an earth pony and the lower half of a zebra. Plus, he had instantly welcomed them to the city, the name of which none of them could pronounce, as well as into his home. Then, without any segue, had started babbling on about trade and exotic goods.

“Oh, my apologies: I am Sultan Abd-Al-Karim: I trust you too received the letter?” The skinny equine seemed almost overjoyed to see Spike.

“What letter?” Spike asked, unsure why this... pony was inviting them into his home. He had heard of zebra/pony hybrids but didn’t know the name of them.

“Oh, you didn’t get one?” the hybrid asked, his smile faltering slightly as confusion too overtook his tone. “Your Princess Luna sent me one, asking me if you would like to use my palace as a place for your honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon?” Spike asked, not mentioning Luna, as he was too confused as to why she hadn’t sent him the letter. “Well, only if you’re offering: I don’t want to intrude.”

“You could never intrude, Spike Dragul,” the sultan said. “It is my most humble pleasure to welcome you, and your wives, into my home,” he said, putting emphasis on “your wives”, in an apparent attempt to appear even more polite.

“Well, then, I thank you, sir,” Spike said, feeling a bit overwhelmed again. Wow, was he going to be treated like this in every city with a powerful ruler? “Where will we be staying in your... palace?”

“The guest rooms, of course: they have the best view in the city,” the stallion said, gesturing for them to follow.

They had not gone far before Spike turned to Asalah. “Asalah, have you ever seen a pony like him before?”

Asalah’s eyed were glazed over as she walked, though she quickly shook her head to clear up her thoughts. Obviously about last night, if her smile was any indicator. “He’s a zhorse, Spike: it’s what happens when a zebra mates with an earth pony.”

“Ah, so that’s what he is,” Spike replied.

Meanwhile, far away in the land from whence Spike came...

“It’s nice to see you again, Cadence,” Celestia said as she sipped her iced tea. The three princesses had gathered in the royal gardens and were currently shaded under a large, almost cloud-looking patio umbrella.

“It is nice to be back in Equestria, Tia,” Cadence replied, sipping her iced tea as well. “For once I was able to get away from all the hustle and bustle of running a kingdom. I don’t know how you do it, let alone having done it for so many centuries.”

“Well, with great power comes great responsibility, niece,” Luna said. They were all wearing light, somewhat frilly outfits, the kind one might find in a wealthy pony’s fashion catalog. “Besides, everypony needs a break from work, us included. Your husband must have his hands full, watching over both the security of your kingdom and your little foals.”

“Too true,” Cadence agreed, setting her cup down. “He’s taking it in stride, though: he has had so much more energy after they were born, I don’t know where it came from. So... I know I’ve been out of the loop for quite some time now: has anything major happened since the last time I was here?”

“Well, you know of the newest troubles brewing in the lands of the minotaurs,” Celestia said.

“Yes; they have been having problems with the current leadership, and as of now there have been smattering talks of rebellion. Anything else?” Cadence was usually on the cutting edge of news pertaining to her old home, but for a while she hadn’t been as privy to such news. Raising her foals had taken much of what little energy she had left after running a kingdom.

“Well, Spike has been married,” Luna said.

“What? Spike got married?” Cadence asked, almost dropping her iced tea. “When? To whom?”

“We told him about his royal duty and sent him on a world-wind tour,” Celestia said. “As of now, we believe he is somewhere in Maredagascar with his wives.”

Cadence had been in mid-sip when the word “wives” entered her ears. Barely suppressing the urge to spit, she swallowed and look at her aunts. “He has more than one wife already?”

“Four, to be exact,” Luna said. “Three unicorns and a zebra. Two of them are natives to Equestria, with the other unicorn being a Spreignish noblemare and the zebra, a sultana. One of them has been with him since he left Manehattan.”

“Well... wow,” Cadence said, a stunned look gracing her features. “I... I guess I never thought little Spikey Wikey would grow up so fast.”

Off in Ponyville, Rarity suddenly punched a hole in her bathroom wall for no reason.

“Well, I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did without a relationship,” Celestia said. “He grew into quite the looker.”

“That’s something, coming from Miss “No Coltfriend for Me”, sister,” Luna said with a giggle. Celestia’s complexion reddened slightly at this.

“Luna, we agreed we’d never talk about that.” She sounded embarrassed, and a little peeved as well, as if it had been a promise made in great secret with few still alive to know it had even happened.

“It’s not my fault you never found somepony good enough after him,” the younger princess said, apparently not noticing her sister’s peeved expression.

“Tell me more about Spike,” Cadence said, interrupting what was sure to become a very awkward conversation. The last time Celestia and Luna had gotten into a fight, it had taken the servants three days to clean all the desserts and bagels from the dining room. Every now and then, they still found some, usually under a desk or behind a curtain.

Celestia breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for such a distraction. “Well, the palace is currently being renovated, with a few new additions being put in place for Spike’s eventual family. We’ve even begun adding rooms for the foals.”

“Foals?” Cadence asked, her eyebrows almost disappearing into her mane. “Is... is Spike going to be a father? Already?”

“Yes,” Luna said. “All three unicorns are expecting. The first will be due around the time they all finally arrive in Canterlot, in about six or so months.” She and Celestia smiled in unison at this: they were going to be aunts all over again. It had been a terribly long time since they had last seen Cadence’s own foals, and seeing as Spike would be staying in the castle, they could see his foals whenever they wanted to.

“What about the other two?” Cadence asked, not believing she was going to be an aunt in half a year.

“They’re due about two months after that,” Luna said. “So we’ll have three new nieces or nephews: that is, if Asalah doesn’t become pregnant before she arrives in Equestria.”

“Who’s Asalah?” Cadence asked.

“The zebra mare Spike “accidentally” married, though I don’t think they view it as that anymore,” Celestia said, sipping some more of her iced tea.

“What do you mean by “accidentally” married?” Cadence asked. Had Spike been forced into it, or had Asalah?

“The local custom involving the suitor sleeping in the daughter’s room: Spike was drunk and awoke in there,” Luna said. “From what I understand, the other three didn’t handle it too well for a while, but they “got over it”, as you say.”

“What are the names of these other three?” the princess of the Crystal Empire asked.

“Trixie Nixiuba is the one most along in her pregnancy,” Celestia said. “The others are Meia Morphos and Maria Almareconraddo Del Rivioso.”

“Trixie Nixiuba? As in the famous show-stopping traveling pony?” Cadence asked. “I thought she was just on a hiatus after her last tour. How did Spike manage to snatch her up?”

“They met on a train and things got... passionate,” Luna said, blushing slightly. “When her heat hit, she became almost instantly pregnant: she went all the way to Roam to tell him, and they were married there.”

“Well, while I don’t condone the means through which their foal was conceived, I must commend Spike for being a true gentlecolt and marrying her.” Cadence adjusted her wings slightly behind her back. “These other two: is the named Maria the one from Spreign?”

“Indeed,” Celestia said, her voice slightly hushed from the mentioning of Roam. That was where the head of the Church of the Maressiah was, after all...

“Then what about this Meia Morphos?” Cadence asked. “She’s nopony I know of.”

“She is just a normal unicorn from Trotten,” Luna said. “Though if Spike’s letters are anything to go by, he’s totally smitten with her: with all of them, to be exact.”

Cadence was silent for a moment. “Smitten? How smitten?” she asked.

“Very much so,” Luna said, her tone taking on a slightly confused tone. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if he could be... under a spell,” Cadence said, a slight edge coming into her tone.
“What makes you think that?” Celestia asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think it is a little too convenient that some pony he just happens to meet in Manehattan would travel so far with him and become one of his wives? What do we know of this Meia?”

“Cadence, mind your tone,” Celestia said, a slight edge coming into her own voice as well. “Are you insinuating that this Meia could be an imposter?”

“Well... I don’t know,” Cadence admitted, some of her confidence leaving her. “I just... I just had a horrible thought about the Changelings, and how they tried to ruin my wedding, and how their queen is so devious that she’d no doubt take advantage of a well-meaning dragon like Spike. Am I wrong for thinking of that?”

There was silence for a few moments. “No, dear niece: there is nothing wrong with having a little skepticism,” Luna said. “Besides, if Spike truly were under Queen Chrysalises’ control, do you think he’d have married three other mares? She’d have wanted all his love to herself and couldn’t afford to have him give it to others.”

“I... I suppose you are right,” the alicorn princess said, finishing her iced tea. “I’m just a bit worried for him is all: he’s going to be a father, after all.”

“We all care for him too, Cadence,” Celestia said. “We all want him to come home with his wives, all safe and sound. He has important duties in his future, as will his foals when their time comes.”

“Ah, those duties,” Cadence said. “Have you begun making all the necessary preparations?”

“Entirely,” Celestia said. “There’s a nice palatial cottage higher up in the mountains that would be an excellent spot. I’m just not sure it’s for us: maybe Spike would like it as a small vacation home?”

“Yes, no doubt: that is where he’d likely conceive more heirs with his wives,” Luna said with a snicker.

Cadence looked astonished, but her smile grew as well. “Dragons do have the habit of begetting many offspring,” she said, snickering.

“Ladies, please,” Celestia said in a tone that tried to be stern, though her smile said otherwise. “I am sure Spike can restrain himself from having twenty heirs.”

Meanwhile, in Maredagascar...

The city was a nice place to find exotic goods, which was why Trixie and Maria gladly went off with several palace servants to peruse the goods. This left Spike, Asalah and Meia lone in their room.

It didn’t take long before things got heated.

“So, I grab it like this?” Asalah asked, slowly clasping her hand around Spike’s erect shaft. Well, tried to, anyway: it was too wide for her to entirely wrap her hand around it. The aforementioned dragon let out a small grunt of pleasure at her touch: her hand was incredibly soft.

“Exactly, though not too tightly,” Meia said, gently guiding her own hand over the zebra’s. She had decided it was time for Asalah to learn more about the “carnal arts”, as she called them, and right now she was going to teach her three important skills. Well, the only true three she had a leg up over on the zebra in terms of pleasure, but she had practiced enough to know she’d be a good instructor. “Now, gently, and I muss stress the gentle part, slide your hand up and down.”

“Like this?” Asalah asked, pumping her hand her hand up and down Spike with much fervor.

“No, no, that’s too fast, too early,” Meia said, arresting the zebra’s hand. They looked up in time for Spike to wince from the sudden motions. “Asalah, you need to start out slow.”

“Okay,” the zebra said, pumping the shaft, this time much, much slower. Spike let out a low hum of pleasure, the sound sounding once again like a violin.

“Yeah, he does that from time to time,” Meia said when Asalah looked at her in confusion. “Keep going.”

Asalah continued to slowly pump her husband’s shaft until Spike thrust forward slightly with his hips.

“That’s the signal to go faster,” Meia said, guiding her hand over Asalah’s to make her pick up speed. The zebra did so, maintaining a faster pace than before. She did this for some time until Meia removed her hand.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” Asalah asked.

“No, dear: it’s time for the next part,” Meia said, nuzzling up next to Spike’s erection. “Here, smell your husband’s musk.”

Asalah was hesitant to do so, but she slowly placed her face alongside her husband’s dick and inhaled slowly. His thick, masculine scent filled her nostrils, making her legs go weak and her head spin. He was a testament to dragon virility and endurance, as any lesser creature would have come at the sight of two such beauties nuzzling their dick.

She could feel the softness of his scales, their minute size meaning it felt almost exactly like skin. The texture aside, his loins were warm, almost hot to the touch: not that she minded. The overall texture, combined with the pleasant heat and dominating size, meant she was very, very turned on by her husband’s genitalia.

Then she heard a slurp. Looking over in surprise, she saw Meia licking up and down their husband’s shaft, earning a slight groan from Spike in response.

“What are you doing?” Asalah whispered, her hot breath unknowingly washing over Spike’s balls: his tail twitched slightly at that.

“Preparing you for the second lesson,” Meia said, slurping up and down the piece of meat like it was candy. “Here: you try.”

“I... I don’t know,” Asalah said, looking at the bulbous cap of her husband’s love stick.

“Just try it: it tastes better than you think,” Meia replied.

Asalah looked at Meia, then to the giant cock in front of her, and then up to her husband’s face. His eyes were closed in pleasure, and his breathing, though quick, was deep: he was having a great time, so why shouldn’t she try and make it better?

Tentatively, the zebra mare let her tongue slide out and brush up against her husband’s pulsating dick. After a few licks, she retreated her tongue back into her mouth, as if sampling the flavor.

“Well?” Meia asked.

“It’s... it’s rather... good,” Asalah said, sounding a bit puzzled as she opened her mouth again and began to lick in more earnest. “Why is that?” she asked between licks.

“Likely the dragon pheromones: each of us tastes something different,” Meia replied, joining her in the licking. Soon enough, with the build-up of saliva, their licks grew longer, covered more area, and became sloppier. Slurping noises pervaded the area as they serviced the dragon, whose breathing was becoming quicker and quicker.

Meia removed her tongue and moved her mouth over the crown of Spike’s swollen cock. “Now, like this,” she said to Asalah, pushing herself down onto the dick. She made it about halfway before she could go no further, but judging from Spike’s sudden spike in humming, it didn’t matter.

Asalah watched in rapt fascination as Meia sucked Spike’s cock with her whole mouth, drool leaking from the sides as she slid up and down. Her hand worked its way to Spike’s base and began pumping hi as best she could, all the while she moaned into the pole of meat stuffed in her mouth.

Spike thrust ever so slightly at these ministrations, which lasted a few minutes until Meia retreated, taking a deep breath to soothe her lungs. “Now it’s your turn,” she said, gently pulling Asalah closer to the slick rod.

Asalah looked at the giant pole, a hungry gleam spreading through her eyes. Without hesitation, she took the head into her mouth, stretching wide to fit it all in. her own drool leaked form the corners of her mouth, sliding down the drool still left behind by Meia. Then, slowly, she began to go down... and down... and down... until she was farther than Meia had been: significantly father.

“How... how do you do that?” Meia asked in disbelief when Asalah let the cock slide out of her mouth.

“Do what?” Asalah asked, popping Spike’s dick back in her mouth, causing the dragon to wince: he almost exploded right then and there.

“Take him so... so... deep,” Meia said. Asalah made no motion she had acknowledged her, as the sounds of her slurping had grown rather loud.

Spike was in heaven: why was it every single little thing that went bad in life could never equate to even the smallest smattering of love he felt, and showed, and was shown by, his wives? Either Lady Luck had a severe crush on him, or he lead a very charmed life.

Asalah’s ministrations continued for several minutes before Spike let out a groan. “Ladies, I’m... I’m...”

Meia pulled Asalah off of their husband, the shaft exiting her mouth with a loud pop. Before the zebra could protest, Meia pressed the zebra’s breasts up against Spike’s swollen love stick. She then did the same.

“Pump!” she said to Spike, putting emphasis in her words. Spike all-too-gladly complied, the fire in his loins threatening to burn him from the inside out. With a snap of his hips he thrust one, two, three times between the heavenly globes that were the breasts of his wives, and then he came.

It was not like before, a hose or anything: to Meia, it was like a blast. Hot, sticky seed shot forth from Spike’s dick with enough force to sting, almost like rain in a driving wind. It hit her and Asalah square in the faces, making them both gasp in surprise. The next blasts went into their open mouths, which closed in surprise and glee, at least in Meia’s case.

The blasts became a steady stream, the thick ooze covering the necklines and breasts of the two mares. Some of it even leaked between them, slowly running down their bellies. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of oozing cum, Spike’s penis stopped and began to soften.

“Oh my,” Asalah said as she swallowed the baby batter. That was... that was entirely unexpected. “Spike, why does your semen taste like honey?”

“Like what?” Spike asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Honey: it tastes like the sweetest of honeys,” Asalah said, wiping some from her stomach and brining it to her lips. She sucked it off gleefully.

“It’s those dragon pheromones at work again, Asalah,” Meia said as she too licked herself clean, her tongue lapping up all the creamy substance she could. “It is different for every pony: I taste strawberries, Maria tastes chocolate, and Trixie told us it was like cream.”

“Well, if any of you mares ever get the sweet tooth, you just let me know,” Spike said with a wink, glad to have “been of service” to his wives. “Come on: we should get cleaned up. The others will be back soon and I doubt they’d react well to finding out they missed out on some “sweets”, as you called them.”

The two mares, after licking what they could off of themselves, agreed and went into another room to wash up. Spike washed up in another room and got dressed, glad he had no obligation to leave Maredagascar any time soon. It would have taken away from the beauty and splendor of living in a palace where he wasn’t in danger of getting drunk and marrying another sultan’s daughter.

When he exited that room, he found himself swarmed by his now-four wives, who proceeded to drag him out of the palace and to the market, where several stagecoaches were waiting for them.

“These will be for the luggage,” Maria said. “There’s a lot of things to buy down in the markets that would look absolutely fabulous in our home.” She had been bitten by the spending bug, and it looked like the infection had spread to the other four.

Spike groaned in his head: this was going to be a long day.

Several hours later...

“Ugh, my feet,” Spike said, wincing with almost every step. They had just gotten back and his wives had rushed off to bed, tired from shopping all day. He, on the other hand, had been dumb and/or chivalrous enough to carry their goods back to the carriages. The number of trips he had taken back and forth...

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” he muttered, his words becoming like a mantra as he walked to their room. They were all sleeping in separate beds, more for the sake of room and less for the fact that they each needed space. Sitting on his own bed, Spike removed his clothes and threw himself back, intent on sleeping as the moon shone in the night sky.

However, fate had others plans, as did a pair of eyes watching him. Slowly, quietly, a figure approached him, the clothes rustling ever-so-slightly in the breeze as they did.

Spike heard the rustling and sat up, looking over at where the figure was. “Meia? Is that you?” he asked.

“Yes Spike: it’s me,” she said, her voice sounding... off. He could see her just fine, but... had she been crying?

“What is it? Is something wrong?” he asked, getting up and walking over to her. She sniffled slightly and let him put his arms around her as the moonlight bathed them in an ethereal glow.

“Come on, you can tell me,” he said, gently hugging her against his solid chest.

“No, no, I can’t,” she whimpered. Just hours ago she had been happy as a clam, and now she was crying?

“Yes, you can,” Spike said, putting a slight bit of sternness into his voice. “Couples don’t keep secrets from each other, my love: you know that.”

This only made her choke back another sob, but she did stop crying. They stood in silence for a few minutes, her breathing returning to normal. She was stalling, steeling her nerves for something: but for what?

“Spike?” she said, looking into his face with teary eyes. “Do you remember where I told you where I was from?”
“Yes: Trotten, I believe,” he said softly.

“I... I lied: I’ve never been to Trotten,” she said softly. “In fact, the first time I ever went to eastern Equestria was the day I met you.”

“You... you lied to me?” Spike asked, confused. “What do you mean, you’re not from where you say you are?”

“Spike, do you love me?” she asked. Okay something was definitely up: something big.

“Yes,” Spike said. “You know I love you: so very, very much.”

“Spike, will you still love me, even after I tell you something?” Meia asked.

“Yes, of course: I could never stop loving you,” the dragon said softly.

Meia sighed: it was now or never. Gently pushing herself back from her husband, she looked him in the eyes. “Promise me you won’t shout.”

“Wha-?” Spike began, but never finished. There was a shimmer over the pelt of his wife, as if she were water that had suddenly been disturbed. The moonlight highlighted everything he saw, and yet... he didn’t know what he was seeing.

Her eyes were green, but her green pelt... it was gone, replaced by sleek, black fur that shimmered like silk. Her horn, as short as any unicorn’s, grew long and developed a jagged nature to it. Her mane, once black, became a shimmering shade of green, almost like spring grass. Out of her back emerged a pair of glittering wings, looking as frail as a snowflake on a winter morning. Her hourglass figure, complete with incredibly perky breasts and well-toned thighs stood out in the dark.

Meia was gone: before him, in the same clothes his wife wore, stood...

“Chrysalis,” Spike said, his voice a whisper.

“Hello, Spike,” the queen of the changelings said, a single tear rolling down her snout. “I’m... I’m sorry.”

Author's Note

Well now, I bet none of you were expecting that at this point. Truth was, me neither: I was planning for this to happen about nine chapters from now, but looking back on it, I think it'll fit in better at this point.

The Games We Play

Chapter Twenty Eight

The Games We Play

There was silence as the dragon looked at the stunning mare before him. It was complete, deep, pervading the entire room like a cloud of smoke. The moonlight shone through the large window, glinting ever so slightly off of Spike’s spines and the changeling’s wings.

“Chrysalis?” he asked. “Where... where is Meia?” His voice rose slightly. “Where is my wife?”

Chrysalis blinked in surprise and fear when he took a threatening step towards her. “I... I am your wife, Spike Dragul,” she replied softly, wiping a few remaining tears from her face.

“My wife is Meia Morphos, as married to me by the power of King Louis of Prance,” Spike said, his tone becoming less calm with every passing second. “What have you done with her? Where have you taken her? Answer me!”

“She is me!” Meia said, her voice a little louder than she had wanted it to be. Looking over at the others’ rooms, she looked back at Spike and took a step forward. “Meia is me, I am Meia: we are one in the same!”

Spike stopped mid-step at her hushed tone, the gears turning in his head. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he abruptly turned around and walked back to his bed, a deep growl emanating from his throat. The Queen of the Changelings could hear him grinding his teeth in barely-suppressed rage from all the way over there.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “Where is the mare I married? Where is the mare I love?”

“She is here, Spike,” the queen said, pressing her hands to her heart. “She is a part of me: she always has been. I am Meia Morphos: she is Chrysalis, Queen of the Changelings.”

Spike seemed to descend into another silent rage, though he didn’t say anything for a while. He was too focused on something in his head, something he apparently didn’t want her to know about just yet.

“Tell me the truth: when did Meia come into existence?” he asked, turning on a heel and pointing at the queen he was married to. “When did my... wife, become real?” There was a dangerous look in his eyes, a look of hurt, betrayal, and righteous fury. That and... was that a tear? It was: Spike was actually crying! That little signal sent a chill up the spine of Chrysalis. She hadn’t expected the poor dragon to cry when she told him the truth.

“The day we met on the Crowhop,” Chrysalis said quietly after a moment of thought. She had to be careful with her word choice, lest Spike completely break down and start sobbing. Yeah, that would go well. “She was my disguise so that none would notice me. A unicorn would have been less noticed than an alicorn, which is why I chose to be one instead of the other. I couldn’t perform the magic I knew I would need to as a pegasus, and I could never pass for an earth pony in any form.”

“But... why?” Spike asked, sitting down on the bed, some of his anger seeming to leave him. “Why did you do all of this?” On the inside, his inner fire was raging against its chains, demanding that she be punished, preferably in a very nasty way. But that same fire saw her as his mate, his wife, the mother of his foal: he couldn’t hurt her. He never would never be able to lay a hand on her; Spike could never bring himself to such a low.

“Because, Spike, I... I had plans,” Chrysalis said, deciding to go for broke. “Through you, my dreams would have been realized: the overthrow of princesses Celestia and Luna, the freeing of my ponies from the badlands in which we are forced to inhabit, the love of countless ponies to feed off of: it was all there. It would have been a grand achievement for my ponies, for my kind. We would have won what we had so wrongly been denied: some semblance of happiness for once in our existence.”

She could still see it now: her armies darkening the skies, Celestia and her cohorts carried off in magic-nullifying chains, her ponies free from the cursed badlands in which they had been forced to eke out a living... Only now it filled her with disgust and dread, of fear that such a thing was so horrible that she didn’t want to admit she had thought, nay, dreamt of it. How low had she sunk in order to fulfill a dream that hadn’t even been hers?

“To overthrow Equestria?” Spike asked, jumping to his feet as anger soared back into his voice. “You did this all to take over my home? To ruin the lives of my friends and family? And yet you still think I should forgive you for plotting this? You think I should just sweep that all under the rug and forget that? That I should forget about the invasion of Canterlot all those years ago? You did this all for yourself?”

She felt very afraid right then and there, just from the look in his eyes and the way his teeth were bared. “No!” Chrysalis said. “Well, yes, at first, but things changed, Spike: I changed. I still can’t believe how much I’ve changed.” Wow, did that last part sound corny in her head.

“What do you mean, “at first” and “things changed”, Chrysalis?” Spike asked, his tail clenching behind him like an angry snake. “How could things have possibly changed? You planned all this from the start, and yet... you still want me to just up and forgive you for all this?”

“It was my original intention to become close to you, to use you... to make of you a weapon I could use to complete my vision,” Chrysalis said. “My powers and beguiling nature would have had, what I assumed, was a weak-willed dragon wrapped around my little finger. I knew it would not be easy, what with all the things you were expected to do on such a journey, but I was confident, so sure that I would succeed. What could a young dragon like yourself even hope to do against the Queen of the Changelings, after all? I was strong, leader of a fierce and proud race, with magical powers the likes of which most ponies will never see in their lifetime, or several lifetimes. I thought myself to be strong-willed, impervious to the affections and charms of others. I thought I could handle anything life threw at me on this journey of yours.”

“And then?” Spike asked through grinding teeth, his fingers digging into his palms. “What then? What changed, Chrysalis? What made you change so much, as you say you have?” If he had not been a dragon, his fingernails would have been drawing blood, so hard was the pressure on his scales.

“I... I met you: the real you, not the dragon I assumed you would be. Knowing you were royalty by now, I assumed you’d be stuck-up, pompous and self-centered, as have so many other royal creatures I have had the unfortunate opportunities to meet. Instead, I came to see the studious, chivalric, gentle and polite dragon you are, through and through. It was... well, it was a shock, to say the least, Spike. I had never thought you’d be what many would consider the most suitable choice for a lover,” Chrysalis said softly. “You saved me twice on the Crowhop, at the expense of your own life the second time. Then, once we were in Equineland, you took me on a romantic tour of the countryside, all the way to the White Cliffs of Roaner, taking care of all my needs with little thought of your own.”

“So? Any gentledrake or gentlecolt would have done the same,” Spike replied. “I behaved as I was taught, something that your kind should have been teaching its offspring.” There was slight venom behind his words when he said “offspring”, as if he didn’t want to say foals. That would equate them as being the same as his friends and family, something he did not want to do.

“But you were no regular gentledrake or gentlecolt, Spike,” the queen said, feeling a sudden stab of sorrow when he said “offspring”. Changelings were not very different from other ponies, but to call their babies “offspring” and not call them “foals” was to equate them with beasts. “You cared about others more than you realize: you still do. When I could have caught a cold after we were stranded by that thunderstorm in Eqineland, you let me share your bed in that inn. I could have come down with a terrible sickness without your body heat, which you offered freely, and with no expectation of a returned favor.”

“Yes, well, I couldn’t just take advantage of you,” Spike said, some of the anger leaving his voice.

“Any stallion could have, or at least most would have,” Chrysalis said. “It would be in their nature, but you are a dragon: so alike and yet so different from us equines in so many ways.”

“Get to the point,” the dragon said. His patience was wearing thin.

“My point is, Spike, I fell in love with you,” the Changeling Queen said softly. “Hopelessly, maddeningly, deeply in love with you. I argued with myself for the longest time that I couldn’t be in love with you, and then time and time again, it was revealed to me that you were what I had always needed. Not what I wanted, as wants change with time and are whatever I fancy at the moment.”

“I was what you needed?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow. “Since when did a queen with so much power at her disposal need anything?”

“Power does not bring happiness, Spike: in fact, it more likely drains you of it. I was cold, calculating, unfeeling, all because I had nopony to call my own. I had never known love, nor did I think I was capable of it. I needed you, because you offered me a different choice, a different path.”

“And what path would that be?” Spike asked, taking a few steps backwards and sitting down on the bed.

“A path away from the hate and vengeance and insanity that has plagued my life ever since I became a queen, Spike,” Chrysalis replied, taking a few tentative steps towards him. “A path filled with hope, and new life, and most importantly: love. I used to think it odd, that we Changelings feed off of love but can’t truly express our own: I never had any examples to pick from. But now I see the opposite: we feed off of love because it is what we crave. We want love, need love: to be loved. That is why you have remained strong in my presence, whereas one I did not love would be severely weakened by my draining aura.”

“To be loved?” the dragon asked quietly. “You are Changelings: you are incapable of such an action!” He put a bit more force into the words than he would have liked, but he needed to say something he still felt was true. It was true, right?

“No, Spike,” Chrysalis said, choking back a small sob at his venomous words. “A changeling must experience a reciprocated love in order to love, which is why our kind has never interacted much with others. That is why I... I love you. I could not love you if the feeling wasn’t returned, even if only just. But that feeling is returned, and it changed me, Spike. It made me see how sad and lonely my existence would be without somepony to hold me, somepony to comfort me when life got me down. You... you were that somepony, Spike.”

Spike didn’t say anything to that for a few minutes: how could he? Here, a long-time enemy of his home had fallen in love with him and was carrying his foal. Plus, she had revealed she had changed because of him, which was something most, if not all, would think impossible for the Changeling race.

“Why now? Why reveal yourself to me now?” he asked softly. “You could have kept up your disguise as... Meia, for so much longer than this.”

“Yes, I suppose I could have stayed in my disguise, but things would have become very suspicious in a short amount of time,” the queen replied. “Changelings experience much more rapid and unpredictable mood swings than other ponies. Add to that the fact that our bodies are not meant to be heavily pregnant and disguised as another: our magic could harm the foal if we tried that in the later stages.”

“Like I said: why now?” Spike asked, a small and sudden feeling of relief sweeping over him. If she had kept up the ruse, especially into the later stages, their foal could have been in terrible danger from the very creature that was carrying it inside of her. And it would have all been Spike’s fault, his attitude towards changelings forcing her to keep up the disguise. He could never forgive himself if any of his foals came out damaged due to a decision of his.

“I... I don’t truly know, to be honest,” Chrysalis said, taking another few tentative steps forward. When Spike made no move to stop her, she gently sat down on the bed with him, though not right next to him. “I saw the happiness in the faces of the others, the same kind of happiness I feel around you. It is love and joy, the likes of which I do not remember much of growing up or even experiencing before I met you. I... I guess I was tired of living a lie, to both you and the others. I didn’t want my foal in more danger by keeping up the disguise, and, well... it was about time I did something for others, for once.”

“What do you mean, for others?” Spike asked.

“I wanted to spare all of you the pain and anger that would undoubtedly have been far worse if I had revealed myself at a later time,” Chrysalis replied, scooting a little closer to Spike. “Since we are early enough in this voyage of yours, or at least early enough with Asalah in tow, I was hoping they’d be more understanding: I was hoping you’d be more understanding.”

They sat in silence for what felt like the longest time before Spike spoke again.

“Was it all real?” he asked quietly. The tears had long since dried, but by the tone of his voice, the slightest wrong or troubling answer could set them off again.

“Was what all real?” Chrysalis asked, confused. Spike was showing more mood swings than a heavily pregnant mare: angry, sad, confused, and now sad once again.

“The love, the emotions: all of it,” Spike said, a slight tension emanating from his throat. Was... was he going to cry again? “Was it real?”

“Wha....you... YES!” Chrysalis said, dispensing with the distance and grabbing Spike by the shoulders, turning him to face her. “Of course it was all real. Why on Earth wouldn’t it be?” Her patience was growing short: she had given out all she could, but now she needed at least some closure, and damned if she wasn’t going to get it.

“Well,” Spike said, suddenly feeling very exposed to Chrysalis. Wow, he had been angry at her only a few minutes ago, and now he felt vulnerable in her presence? “How am I supposed to know if you mean it?”

“Spike, I love you: I truly, deeply do,” Chrysalis said, wondering why males could be so dense sometimes. “Ever since you saved me on the Crowhop, I felt something for you. I just... kept pushing it away every time it came up again. I would argue with myself whenever you weren’t around until that night in the baron’s castle. It was then with the help of your first wife, Maria, that I realized something that I had been trying to deny for the longest time. I love you, Spike; I love you more than I thought I could, or would ever be able to.”

Spike felt his heart flutter slightly at this. “But... but... the others-,” he began.

Chrysalis placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. “Let me ask you something, Spike. Do you love me?” She knew this was sort of a cheap shot, but she needed him to be with her on this.

Spike’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “Well... what.... I.... I mean.... I don’t know,” he said finally in a rather defeated tone.

The Queen of the Changelings couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Here she had poured out her heart and soul to this dragon, and he didn’t know if he felt the same way anymore?” “What do you mean, “I don’t know”? Is it that hard to think of it?”

“No! I mean... Chrysalis, I don’t know what to think,” Spike said, burying his face in his hands. “I mean, I fell in love with Meia, and got married to her. Now, after all these miles and the love I have experienced and given, I find out she isn’t real. She’s the construct of someone who fell in love with me after they planned to use me to take over my home! How should I feel about that?”

Chrysalis didn’t have an immediate response to that: how could she? Spike must have been giving this some thought the entire time they had been talking. “We... we can start over, you and I,” she said softly, pulling him closer to her and giving his shoulders a soft squeeze.

Spike was silent for what felt like an eternity. “We can?” he asked softly.

“Of course we can,” the queen said softly. She had known this part would come, but coming this soon lifted her heart.
“It won’t be the same, you know,” Spike said in an equally soft tone. “We’d have to start everything over, from scratch.”

“I know,” Chrysalis replied. Of course she knew: she had been panning for this since she had decided to tell him, but hearing it now, coming from him, was opening her eyes to the truth for what felt like the first time.

“You’ll have to show your true self to the others and deal with the consequences on your own,” Spike said.
“I know.” She wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was inevitable.

“Plus, you’ll have to keep up your appearances whenever my friends call us from Equestria,” Spike continued. “Also, those letters you’ve been writing: you’ll still be doing it, as to keep up the appearance of being Meia. They’ll have to find out sometime, but not now.”

Chrysalis was about to protest the part about keeping up appearances, but the look in Spike’s eyes shut her up instantly. “O... okay,” she said softly, rising to her hooves. “Well, I guess... good night,” she said softly.

Spike rose to his feet, looking his wife right in the eyes. “Goodnight, Chrysalis,” he said softly, pulling her into a gentle, but very quick hug. Without another word, he turned and walked to his side of the bed, lying down and rolling over.

Chrysalis looked at him for a few more moments before she walked off, the soft clopping of her hooves disappearing as she went into her room. As she closed the door, she looked at the still form of her husband through the smallest of cracks, a small tear forming in her eye.

“I am truly sorry, Spike,” she said. “Everything was real, and it still is.” With that, she closed the door and went to bed, a great weight having been lifted from her shoulders, only to be replaced by another, equally heavy one. It did not take long before she fell asleep, her few small tears dripping onto the pillows.

Off in the other room, the dragon the Queen of the Changelings had married had fallen asleep as well, a few tears of his own glinting in the moonlight. In his mind’s eye, he was no longer in Maredagascar, but back home.

He was surrounded by a dozen foals, all of them showing traits that could only be his. They were laughing and giggling around him as he told them a story from an old book Twilight had given him.

“-and then the elephant said: “You should see the monkey!”” Spike said with a laugh, causing giggles to erupt from all the little draconic foals around him. The littlest one, a little colt, looked up at him in confusion.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Spike said, his deep voice a surprise, even to himself. “Now, who wants some ice cream?”

All of his children jumped up with joy at this, rushing out of the now-messy room they had all been in. Toys, blankets, even a few small books were scattered all over the place, a testament to the rambunctious nature of his offspring. Sighing, but in a happy way, Spike picked a bit of the room up before leaving it behind. Upon entering the large kitchen, he noticed one thing immediately.

His children weren’t there. There were several large tubs of ice cream sitting on one of the tables, complete with spoons and all, but no foals. But... where could they have gone? “Kids?” he called out, hoping they hadn’t decided to play an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. The smaller ones had gotten especially good at it: it had taken him almost two hours to find them all.

But there was none of the customary giggling that followed his little fillies wherever they went, nor was there any snickering like his colts would do whenever they hid. He looked everywhere: in the cabinets, in the closets, the pantries: even in the fireplace, the favorite hiding place of his more “dragon-like” foals. They were immune to fire, after all: being part dragon definitely had its advantages.

They weren’t there either: now, he was starting to worry. Where could they have gotten to? Had they left the castle entirely? Rushing out of the main rooms and out onto the veranda, he looked around for any sign that they had gotten into the gardens.

All that greeted him was a cold silence, a deathly still that sent a chill up his spine. It was unnatural, it was foreboding, it was... punctuated by a buzzing?

It was more than a buzzing: it was a lot of buzzing, countless buzzing even. Spike looked up as something came in front of the sun. It was... it was...

“An invasion,” he gasped, seeing thousands upon thousands of changelings fluttering towards the castle. He... he had to get to the others. He had to find his children; he had to warn his wives.

As the seething cloud of buzzing ponies drew closer and closer, Spike turned and ran back inside, only to find his children all waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Hey dad,” said the youngest as he spooned himself a good sized glob of ice cream.

“Kids, we need-,” Spike began, before blinking in surprise. His children... were no longer there. They were...

“Dad, is something wrong?” one of the younger fillies asked, her multi-faceted eyes gleaming in the light as she looked up at him. Her glittering wings buzzed slightly as the dull roar that was the massive cloud of changelings outside grew closer and closer.

“No, no,” Spike said, clutching his chest as his... what were his children approached him, their dark pelts and glittering wings horrifying him. Then, they would switch, becoming what they used to look like, each change rippling across their pelts.

“Come on, dad: let’s play a game!” the smallest shouted as the roar of glittering wings filled the room. Spike fell backwards as his former-children, with fangs bared, leaped towards him, their arms outstretched with their fingers curled into what looked like claws...

“Gah!” Spike shouted, jumping up from the bed. He looked around: there was no changeling invasion, he had no children, and it was morning.

“Oh, thank Celestia,” he sighed, putting his face into his hands. “It was all a dream.”

“Spike?” a voice said. He looked up slowly from his hands to see Chrysalis in the corner. She wasn’t alone: Asalah, Trixie, and Maria were there as well, and those last three had looks that could turn a cockatrice to ice.

“Spike,” Maria repeated, her hands on her hips as she glanced over at Chrysalis. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” he said softly, pressing his palms against his forehead in preparation for what was going to be a difficult day. “I know.”

Chrysalis

Author's Note

Well, here it is: the discussion I've been waiting to write. Was it as good as I wanted it to be? You be the judge.

The Coming Storm

Chapter Twenty Nine

The Coming Storm

It was not easy to handle the renewed wrath of three mares, especially when Spike had no back-up from Chrysalis. With her powerful magic, she could easily wipe the floor with all of them, and yet... she remained in the corner, not saying a word as she took every insult and accusation sent her way. Ever since her confession, she had remained this way, and yet Spike hadn’t the faintest idea as to why.

“Did you know about this?” Maria had demanded first. “Did you know Meia wasn’t... real?”

“I just found out last night,” Spike said, sighing for what felt like the fifth time in under a minute. “She told me in confidence.”

“How could you not know Meia wasn’t real?” the Spreignish noblemare asked. “You are a dragon! Aren't you supposed to be able to... tell these sorts of things?”

“She is real, it’s just... she and Chrysalis are one in the same. The same feelings, the same soul, the same heart, the same... everything,” he replied. Wow, that was kind of deep, even for him.

“But... she looks so different! She is nothing like Meia!” Maria said, struggling to find the right words. Spike’s answer had been rather thorough, as if he had thought these kinds of questions out beforehand.

“So your biggest problem is how she looks?” Spike asked, incredulous and a little angry. What about how he looked? What about how their foals would look? Would she have a problem with that too?

“Well, that, and she lied to us!” Trixie said, crossing her arms over her larger stomach. She was really starting to show, and even though she was beginning to have that beautiful pregnant glow, she could still look intimidating somehow. “Have you forgotten her invasion of our home? Of Canterlot? From what I hear, she almost ruined the wedding of Twilight’s older brother: one of your relatives!”

“Yes, yes, I know and remember all of that,” Spike said, wishing he could curl up and go back to sleep. The only problem was he’d likely have that same nightmare again, which was something he definitely did not want. “I could never forget that invasion, Trixie: I still have trouble sleeping when I think about it too much. She is not the same now as she was back then: I assure you. She has changed for good: I truly believe that.”

“How can you be so sure? She fooled you: she fooled all of us,” Asalah said, her voice rather soft for somepony who was supposed to be mad. If anything, she sounded almost... sad. “She dishonored you and the rest of us with her lies: do you not care?”

“Of course I care! Can’t anypony see I’m upset over this too? How else do think I would react to the news that the pony I married and who is carrying my foal is not only not who she said she was, but was fooling all of us originally for some great evil plot? How do you think I feel about that?” Spike asked rather loudly, causing his three non-changeling wives to take an involuntary step back.

Spike sighed at their actions: this would only get worse before it got better, and it would take a long time, with plenty of patience, to do so. “Listen, I know you are all upset: believe me, so am I. But please, please, can we just take this slow? I don’t want any more fighting, and right now I’m tired of secrets coming to light. So, for the time being, can we just... go on about our lives?”

Trixie and Maria harrumphed at this, leaving the room in a swishing of clothes, manes and tails. Asalah stood where she was, seemingly in thought. Of the three, she had been the least accusing, though Spike wanted to know why.

“Anything left to add?” Chrysalis asked, looking at the zebra. “Any more barbs to throw my way? Any more accusations or put-downs?”

Asalah merely glanced over at Spike before striding over to Chrysalis and doing something completely unexpected: she gave her a hug. Not a light, meaningless one either: it was the deep hug of a friend, of a confidante.

“What... what is this?” Chrysalis asked, freezing as the zebra hugged her. She had not expected this: she doubted Spike had either, judging from the look on his face.

“I forgive you,” Asalah said softly, breaking from the embrace.

“But... why? Why so soon?” Spike asked, curious himself as to the zebra’s reasoning. “Weren’t you just going on about honor and dishonor?”

“She had to hide the truth, as she was taught,” Asalah said. “She was forced to wear the guise of a ruler meant to conquer, for her own kind’s sake. If she had been weak, or worse, weak-willed, she would not have lived long. She became strong, and in time her foals will be as well.”

“How would you possibly know that?” Chrysalis asked, her mouth hanging open in shock.

“Your culture is not so different from mine, it would seem,” the zebra replied, her hug only intensifying.

“But, that doesn’t-,” Spike began.

“There is more, Spike,” Asalah said, interrupting him for what may have been the first time in their entire marriage. “She is not unlike me: our cultures force us to wear trappings we do not necessarily want, to dress up ourselves in manners we do not see fit. We both have to wear disguises, whether of the flesh or of cloth. She has had to hide her feelings and true self for so long, she no longer knew who she was underneath it all. She became this “evil queen” of which you speak, through no fault of her own. Her shell, her exterior, became her, trapping the real Chrysalis underneath. I can see it in her, this frightened mare who just wanted something her normal life could not provide. Do you see what I am saying?”

“Y-yes, I suppose so,” Spike said as her words washed over him. He had no idea she was so insightful. “So, what you’re saying is... she wouldn’t have been like that all those years ago during the wedding if she hadn’t been forced to be what her kingdom needed?”

“Exactly, dear,” Asalah said turning to look at Chrysalis. “Am I wrong in saying these things, Chrysalis?”

“Well, I... no, you are not wrong,” Chrysalis said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I remember when I was younger: I was full of life, filled with the happiness young ponies know. I was carefree, and then I became queen.”

Her expression turned even more dour at that word: queen. “It couldn’t have been a worse time for my kind. Sandstorms whipped through our nation, destroying much of the little cropland we had been able to develop over the decades. With food shortages, a horrible terrible disease sprang up, and many changelings began to die in the catacombs of our capital. My kind cried out for relief, but no help would come our way. How could it? We were shunned, hated by other races: we still are, to this day. And as it grew worse, there were threats, even attempts on my life from those I had sworn to protect.”

Asalah and Spike looked at her with wide eyes: this was new. The changelings had a lost history, sure, but nopony other than a changeling really knew that history. There weren’t exactly any books on the subject currently in circulation.

“I... I did what I had for my kind and I to survive as a whole,” she continued softly. “The sick I had quarantined, the dead... turned into fertilizer for our fields. I put down revolt after revolt, slaughtering all who opposed me, and in the end... my carefree life was gone. I had become cold, heartless, and ruthless: I would do anything to see my dreams and my kind succeed. I was no longer Princess Chrysalis, the Gleaming Gemstone of the Changelings: I was Queen Chrysalis the Vicious, Tartarus-bent on succeeding at all costs.”

The other two were silent for a while as Chrysalis tried to regain her composure. Even now, after all these years, she could still remember the faces of those she had had executed, some who had only been trying to give their deceased a proper burial instead of turning them into fertilizer. It pained her to remember such times, even though they were far in the past.

“I am sorry, Chrysalis,” Asalah said, hugging her softly once more. Chrysalis hugged her back glad to know at least somepony sympathized with her plight. That was, until a pair of footsteps made them look up in time for two long, scaly arms to wrap around them both.

“I’m sorry too, Chrysalis,” Spike said gently. “I... I had no idea of what your life must have been like. I had no idea what you had gone through. I’m sorry I judged you so harshly.”

“It is all right, Spike,” Chrysalis said as she and Asalah nuzzled into him. “It is all right.”

They stood like that for a few minutes, content to just hug one another, until at last a door creaked open, with a zebra poking his head inside.

“Sir Spike Dragul? The sultan wishes to see you,” a servant said.

Spike, in a reluctant manner, broke away from the zebra and changeling. “I’d best go see what he wants,” he said softly. “I’ll see you two later, all right?” He gently cupped their chins up and gave each a soft kiss on the lips.

“Okay,” they both replied in unison, sounding somewhat dreamy as he walked off. When the door closed behind him, they found themselves completely alone.

“Chrysalis, would you like me to talk to the others?” Asalah asked softly.

“Yes, please,” Chrysalis replied softly, walking over and sitting down on the bed. “I... I’d do it myself, but I just... I just can’t deal with their accusations and dirty looks right now. Do you understand what I’m getting at?” She felt so tired, so worn out from all the crying and accusations: she just wanted to lie down and sleep some more.

“Yes, I do,” Asalah said quietly. As she walked by, she stopped and gave Chrysalis’s hand a soft squeeze. “It’ll be alright, Chrysalis,” she said. “They will come around: I am sure of it. We have come so far together, you more so than I: we can all make it through this.”

“Thank you Asalah,” the Changeling Queen said softly as the zebra left the room. “Thank you so much.”

Curling up at the foot of the bed, almost like a dog, Chrysalis closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Meanwhile...

“I trust your stay has been enjoyable?” Abd-Al-Karim asked as he and Spike walked through some gardens. It was bright and sunny, with nary a cloud in the sky.

“Mostly,” Spike said truthfully.

“Mostly?” the sultan repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, there have been some... difficulties between us,” Spike said, not wanting to elaborate. “It’ll pass in time: it’s not the first time this has happened.” Well, it was, but the sultan didn’t need to know that.

“Well, then I trust you’ll be happy to know we have a fleet of ships en route from Saddle Arabia. I was informed that your next destination was that country, so I took the liberty of booking you passage on one of the ships.”

“Really?” Spike asked, surprised the zhorse planned this far ahead for someponies and somedragon he didn’t know. “Well... when are they scheduled to leave?”

“A week from today, I should think,” the hybrid replied, ducking under a low-hanging archway. “They would like to sooner, but our unicorn forecaster says some storms will be brewing soon enough. Until then, it’ll be too dangerous to travel.”
“But it looks fine out,” Spike said, gazing up at the sky.

“Appearances can be deceiving, my friend,” Abd-Al-Karim said, gazing up at the sky as well. “This time of year, storms can come and go as they please, often passing through violently.”

“All I can see are those clouds on the horizon over there,” Spike said, pointing in the distance.

“Then I suggest you get whatever leisure time you desire outside, for you won’t want to be outside for the next week,” the sultan said, looking calm at the prospect of torrential rains.

“A week inside with two hostile unicorns, one sympathetic zebra, and a changeling in the midst of an identity crisis?” Spike thought to himself after he and the sultan had parted ways. “This is going to be bad.”

Indeed it was, for no sooner than he made it back inside than a loud, distant boom rumbled across the sky.
“What was that?” a voice called out: it was Trixie.

“Thunder: the sultan said we’re going to be leaving for Saddle Arabia in a week,” Spike called back.

“What does that have to do with the thunder?” Trixie called out again.

“We won’t be going outside again until then,” Spike said, preparing for both storms: the one outside, and the one inside.

“What?!” a voice shouted, causing Spike to unintentionally flinch. Maria rushed out, half dressed and her hair half-done up in a set of buns. “It’s going to rain for a whole week, and we have to stay inside with... her?” she asked, brandishing a finger at the still-asleep Chrysalis.

“Yes, you are,” Spike said, crossing his arms. He was already getting tired of this fighting, even though he should be the one that was the most angry. “So I suggest you make the most of it, Maria: I don’t want any more fighting, understand?”

“But I- but she- you- GAH!” Maria shouted, stomping off back into her room and slamming the door. This was enough to wake up the Queen of the Changelings, her eyes fluttering open as she sat up and uncurled.

“What... what’s going on?” she asked lazily: a peal of thunder high above made her start.

“We’re set to leave for Saddle Arabia within one week, but between now and then, it’s going to be raining almost continuously. I suggest you try and get along with Trixie and Maria before we leave: cramped together on a boat will not help any of us.”

“Trixie and I have already... reconciled,” Chrysalis said. “Asalah served as the diplomat between us, and after a lengthy talk, we decided to put the past behind us.”

“But, you were asleep...” Spike said, trailing off in confusion.

“Can’t I wake up, talk, and then go back to sleep?” Chrysalis asked, her clothes clutching her bountiful figure while she stretched in bed. Some of Spike’s blood diverted from his brain and began to travel south...

“What about Maria?” Spike asked, trying to concentrate on something other than... her.

“No: she’s still taking it rather hard,” Chrysalis said softly, with a morose tone to boot. “I think it’s because we went through so much together as Maria and Meia. She... it’s like I betrayed her worse than you, in a way. I wasn’t just another one of your wives: I was a co-wife to her, and a best friend. I still wish to be, but right now...”

“It’s not the best time: I get it,” Spike said, sitting down on the bed as another rumble of thunder sounded above them. A servant rushed into the room and shut the windows, exiting the room in twenty seconds flat. “She’ll come around eventually.”

“That’s another thing: why aren’t you as mad at me now as you were when I first told you last night?” Chrysalis asked as Asalah entered the room behind their backs. However, on seeing the pair of them talking, she did a complete 180-degree turn and went back into her room without a sound.

“I... I thought on what you said,” Spike replied softly. “I know... I know what you did was wrong, and that my reactions were justifiable. It’s just... I can’t stop loving you.”

“You... you can’t?” Chrysalis asked, her heart fluttering within her chest.

“No. Chrysalis, you’re carrying one of my future foals: you poured your heart out to me, bared your soul to my scrutiny. How could I hate you?” Spike had indeed been thinking of this for a while now. He still felt hurt by the betrayal, but he was too kind of a dragon, too good of a dragon to stay angry at her for long. He didn’t get over it in a heartbeat: it was still there, like a slow-burning ember. It would take time for his pain, however reduced, to go completely away.

“I’m... I’m sorry Spike: for everything,” Chrysalis said a now loud boom of thunder sounded overhead. Within seconds, a few pattering raindrops fell against the window. Then more, and more, and more, until one could not even see through the glass, so heavy was the downpour.

“I’ll have a server bring us supper,” Spike said, gesturing to the table in the room. Standing up off the bed and walking over to the door, he went outside and found one such server, jostling to the sultan’s quarters with a tray of desserts.

After asking for something special, Spike returned to find all four of his wives once again in the main room. The temperature could have dropped five degrees, so chilly was the gaze from Maria to Chrysalis.

“Supper will be on its way shortly,” Spike said, closing the door behind him.

“So soon?” Asalah asked. “It is not nearly late enough for supper.”

“Yes, well, none of us really ate lunch, and it’ll be getting darker, earlier, with all this rain,” Spike said, his wings rustling behind him. Oh, how he missed a good flight: he had not done so in so long, it was beginning to feel like an itch. It almost reminded him of that time Rainbow Dash had discovered the joys of reading whilst she was in the hospital after injuring her wing. “That means we’ll be tucking in earlier, all right?”

There were a few mumbles of agreement, with Maria shooting Chrysalis another icy glare before stalking off, muttering something about “dinner attire”. Spike sighed: this was going to be a long night.

When supper arrived, it was delightful enough: several tropical fruits like pineapple, bananas and oranges, rice seasoned with some very tasty curry powder, grilled vegetables, and even some very sweet desserts served with several kinds of nuts. All in all, a very tasty and exotic meal, something they had not had in a while: they all seemed to enjoy it.

But, alas, as soon as the meal was over, Maria went off to her room after bidding Spike and the others goodnight. Except for Chrysalis,: she merely looked at her with cold eyes and walked off, her hoof-steps disappearing behind her door.

“We’d best get to bed: it is getting late,” Spike said, knowing full well it wasn’t. But with the clouds and the rain outside, it could have easily been mistaken for late in the evening. Everypony bid Spike and one another goodnight before walking off to their rooms, upon which Spike blew out the candles they had eaten by. With thin trails of smoke wafting from the wicks, Spike undressed at the foot of the bed and crawled under the covers.

Booms of thunder sounded above him as the rain continued to pour down on the island. Every now and then, a flash of lightning would shine through his closed eyelids, interrupting his natural process of falling asleep. After a particularly loud boom of thunder, Spike heard something unexpected: a door opening.

“Hello?” he called, hearing hoof-steps. Looking through the darkness, his night vision easily saw who was approaching him.

“Maria?” he asked as she slid up next to him. “What... what are you doing here?”

“The thunder... It scared me,” she said softly, crawling under the covers and snuggling up next to him as best she could. “I... I wanted to be by your side: you make me feel safe.”

Spike had a feeling something was about go wrong. Another door creaked open, and when he looked at who it was, he knew he was right.

“Chrysalis?” he asked as she too climbed into bed on his other side.

“What are you doing here?” Maria hissed, her gentle demeanor vanishing in an instant.

“I was scared by the thunder,” Chrysalis said simply, snuggling up next to Spike as well.

“I got here first: be gone,” Maria said, clutching tightly at Spike as if to pull him away from his second wife.

“We will share him, as we always have,” Chrysalis replied, snuggling closer.

Maria looked positively murderous. “We have never shared him: I have shared him with Meia. You are not Meia.”

“All right, that’s it!” Spike said, his sudden grunt making them both squeak in surprise. He looked them both in the eyes before sitting up slightly. “Okay, this is how it’s going to be: you two are going to try, and I insist try, and make up, understand? I will have no more of this ludicrous fighting or arguing, all right? I am tired of it: no, I am sick of it!”

He turned to Chrysalis. “You need to try and see things more from her perspective, all right? I know you’ve been trying, but try a little harder please?”

He turned to Maria in an instant. “And you: Chrysalis is Meia. End of story, okay? She knows what she did was wrong, and she’s done so much trying to apologize for it. So, as of right now, I want to see you try and make good with her, understand?”

Neither responded: Spike let out a low growl. “Understand?”

“Yes,” they both replied meekly.

“All right: good,” he said, leaning back and not hearing two other doors creak open. “Anything else to get off your chests?”

“Can we sleep with you as well?” two voices asked. Spike looked over to see Asalah and Trixie standing by the bed with small blankets.

He suppressed a groan and closed his eyes. “Go right ahead.” He didn't mind, actually: the bed was more than big enough for them all to snuggle in.

The other two mares climbed on top of the sheets and snuggled up against Spike’s legs, with Maria and Chrysalis, inexplicably turned on by Spike’s show of force, snuggled up to his arms.

Even as the thunder rumbled outside and the lightning flashed through the sky, they all slept soundly, especially Spike. No nightmares visited him that night.

Many, many miles away, a lone figure stood upon the rocky coastline, carrying a large bundle in his arms. The wind tore at his clothes, and the rain lashed at his pelt, but he stood solid, stoic in his demeanor. The lightning flashed around him, but he did not stir: the thunder rumbled in his very bones, but he did not move.

“Oh, old ones: take my son, my only son, back to the home from whence our ancestors came,” he said, lifting the large bundle up to the sky. With a great heave, punctuated by a cry of great sorrow, he tossed the large bundle into the turbulent waters below, where it instantly disappeared from view.

The zebra stood there for several more minutes, not moving so much as an inch. His son, his only son, had perished. Travelers from a far-off place had stolen his life, had dishonored his family. They had dishonored him, made a fool of him: his power meant nothing to them.

He would see them suffer, as he was suffering. Turning around and walking back to the large shelter his peons had constructed for him, he walked inside and was greeted by saluting troops.

“At ease,” he said, looking around. Bright, young faces intermixed with the old, weary ones. He had been doing this a long time: many of them had been. But now, now was the time for his to strike back at these invaders.

“You know why you are here,” he said. “Our so-called leaders prostituted us to other countries: destroyed our cultures, our economies, our honor. Our blood has been spilt on our soil. My blood... on their hands.”

He looked them all in the eyes, his own burning with rage. He would not stand for this: if he had to hunt these beasts to the ends of the Earth, he would. “They are the invaders. We will hunt them down. For the murder of my son, for the murders of our sons... they will suffer the consequences.”

A great cheer rose from the zebras before him as they brandished their weapons in the air. When that convoy of ships came back from Maredagascar with those foreigners on board, they would have no idea what he would have planned for them.

Warlord Undi would have his vengeance.

Author's Note

Ah, Zakhaev: such a great source of threatening words. So... what do you think?

A Lull in the Storm

Chapter Thirty

A Lull in the Storm

The week of rain began that night, and when Spike awoke in the morning, there had been no significant change in the amount of rain cascading against the window. The sky was still dark with clouds, the temperature had dropped maybe three degrees, and there was standing water on some of the balconies. The jungles and lagoons took it all in stride, the nutrients washing down from the hills into the water causing a burst in life as fish and other creatures descended into a feeding frenzy.

Spike glanced around him: his wives were still soundly asleep, cuddled up next to him under their sheets and blankets. When he tried to slip out of their grasp, he found he couldn’t: they were holding on tighter to him than Twilight onto a new book en route to her bedroom for some reading time. That, or Applejack having a choke-hold on Rainbow Dash when they wrestled in a competition: a mud-wrestling competition.

Sighing and laying his head back, Spike had nothing to do until they all woke up. He wasn't about to just up and toss them off of him like some brute: he couldn't do anything. Well, except think, of course: he had plenty to think about. Starting out with all the problems of him now being married to Chrysalis: never mind her being pregnant with a foal of his.

“What am I going to do?” he thought to himself. “She... she lied to me, to all of us, and yet... strangely, I don’t hate her for it. Is something wrong with me? Am I too forgiving, too quick to let things slide while others in my situation would go ballistic?”

He wanted to groan in frustration, if only to release the tension within him. “Any of the others would probably banish her or call for a divorce or something. I... I just can’t: she’s carrying our foal. Sure, she’s a queen and wouldn’t have to worry about providing for herself, but still...”

He paused his thinking for a second, a startling idea coming to him. “Wait a minute... Chrysalis is a queen,” he said softly to himself, his eyes widening. “She’s a queen, and I married her: I married a queen. Does... does that make me a... a king?”

“Mmmm.... no,” a voice sounded by his side. Looking down, Spike saw Chrysalis squirming underneath the sheets, her body pressing more into his as she twisted and stretched. “No,” she said again, her voice almost entirely a yawn. “That’d make you a... a consort.”

“What’s a consort?” another dreamy voice asked as a white mane rose from her position. The mare in questioned yawned, her tongue lolling out as she did so.

“It’s a stallion who serves as the father to a queen’s offspring, without inheriting the title of king,” Chrysalis replied, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with one delicate hand. "The queen's offspring will then become king or queen, depending on their gender."

“Sounds useful,” Trixie said, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Why... why was it invented?”

“Royal changelings are predominately female: males are rare, so the bloodline must be preserved,” Chrysalis said her free hand rubbed itself over Spike’s abs. “That way, the line continues, with every queen knowing she is her mother’s daughter and the rightful heir.”

The changeling’s rubbing of abdominal area was making Spike feel some of his blood starting to drain down to an already-enlarged greeter of the morning. “That’s enough,” he said softly, pushing her hand away from his lower abs. She must not have heard him, as her breasts pressed against his shoulder.

Maria and Asalah both awoke at this, stretching and arching their bodies. Since their clothes clung to them, it left little to the imagination: not exactly helping with Spike’s “below-the-belt” problem. In fact, more blood rushed down there as he watched his still-nubile wives stretching and lightly moaning before him.

Thankfully, though, they got up and went back to their rooms, each saying something about changing into something else. Spike, grateful they went before his penis tore through the sheets in a vain attempt to get some poon, stretched in the dim light from the rain outside. Thankfully the servants had lit some lamps and had them distributed throughout the palace, or else nopony besides Spike would have been able to see very well.

He rubbed his hands over his scales, feeling odd for some reason. A closer inspection proved his thought: he was dirty. How he had gotten dirty was a mystery: perhaps his wives had gotten too hot during the night and had sweated all over him? That would explain the oily residues on his body, since he didn’t sweat last night. The night before, perhaps, with that nightmare and all, but last night’s dreams had been peaceful.

Sighing as the thought of that nightmare came back to him, he decided a bath was in order, though not a seven-hour bubble-bath like the one he had taken a long time ago in Ponyville. Clutching a sheet around his body like a makeshift toga, he walked around until he found what he was looking for: a large bathtub. It was not built into the palace, but was a massive cast-iron tub that could easily seat three comfortably. Since this area of the world had little-to-know knowledge of electricity, Spike opened the faucet that hung from the ceiling. Instantly, gallons upon gallons of clear rainwater rushed down into the tub, filling it rather quickly.

Closing the faucet, Spike dipped the tip of his tail in the water. “Too cold,” he said, though he could barely feel it at all. Bending over, he gently breathed some flames under the tub, which started to heat. Within a few minutes of doing this, though not enough to scorch the tub or heat it so hot it might burn anyone else who might use it after him, Spike had the water at a very relaxing and pleasurable temperature. Dropping the makeshift sheet toga, he slowly climbed into the tub, the warm water seemingly pervading his entire body as he did so.

“Ah, nice” he hissed, his voice soft as he let the ambient heat soak into his very bones, closing his eyes to embrace the feeling. Dragons as a whole preferred warmth, even though they could tolerate a wider range of temperatures than almost any creature. “That hits the spot.” The water did little to alleviate his “morning visitor”, but he was alone and in a nice warm bath.

At least, until the door creaked open and the soft steps of hooves could be heard. Cracking open one eye, Spike saw the briefest flash of a towel before a figure joined him in the tub.

“Spike? Can we talk?” Trixie asked, the warm water covering her up to the swell of her breasts.

That wasn’t helping Spike’s morning wood, but he tried to stay focused. “Of course,” he said, readjusting his position in the tub.

“Spike, it’s the foal,” the unicorn said, softly rubbing her hands over her belly underwater.

“Are you both okay?” Spike asked, concern leaking into his voice.

“Yes, yes, we’re fine,” Trixie replied, smiling at his concern: it was nice to know how quickly he could come to care about somepony. “It’s just... I wanted to talk about naming it.”

“Naming?” Spike asked, visibly relaxing. “I married Trixie Nixiuba, traveling showmare and magical icon. I thought you were good with names.”

“Well, Trixie Nixiuba is my show name,” the mare replied. “My full name is Trixie Nixiuba Lulamoon.”

“Really?” Spike asked, now confused with a raging boner. “Why wouldn’t you want ponies to know your last name?”

“I don’t mix business with my personal life, or at least I try not to,” Trixie said. “Besides, before I came to Ponyville, I heard about the events of Nightmare Moon. I was afraid my last name might become associated with her: Lulamoon, Nightmare Moon.”

Well, that did make some sense, at least. “So... you just dropped off your last name to make ponies less suspicious of your whole name?” the dragon asked.

“Yes,” the blue unicorn replied. “I wanted to tell you before, but... I just didn’t think I should. I now see I should have told you before: I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Spike said sweetly, his tail tickling the bottom of her hooves.

She giggled at his ministrations, her hooves reaching down towards him. At once they met a hard, scaly, immovable object, causing her eyes to widen slightly before becoming half-lidded.

“Spike?” she asked, her voice filled with lust as she started moving closer to him. “Are you... excited?”

“Yes,” Spike said, wondering why his wives always wanted to shag him. Not that he minded, of course, but still: was he like a sex magnet? “I am... terribly excited. Do you think you can help... calm me down?”

“Oh, I can definitely do that,” the unicorn replied, laying her body across his, her wet breasts pressing against his chest. “The Great and Powerful Trixie knows how to leave an audience... breathless, and wanting more.”

Spike’s cock twitched at this, an extra surge of blood making it act this way: she should call herself “The Great and Powerful Trixie” more often. Though, in this case, a more appropriate title would be "The Great and Horny Trixie". He leaned his head down to capture her mouth with his own, their tongues softly battling one another. Not for dominance, not for control, but to simply enjoy the presence of the other.

Trixie’s one hand came up and placed itself on Spike’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him: her breasts squashing against his chest as her soft, slightly swollen stomach pressed against his abdominal area. The other hand...

“Trixie,” Spike hissed through the kiss as she clasped his throbbing shaft underwater.

“Yes?” she asked in an innocent voice, turning Spike on even more. “Am I doing... something bad? Am I going to be punished?”

She was lucky she was pregnant, or else Spike would have thrown her out of the tub onto a pile of towels, jumped out after her, and rutted her brains out right then and there. “Faster,” he said instead, deciding to remain as calm as possible.

Trixie complied, her hand stroking him faster. Spike’s blood pumped like it always did: in a frenzy, heating him up to a warmth that could melt a block of ice at a rapid rate. Her soft hands, combined with the smooth stroking brought on by the water, was driving him up the wall.

Her other hand dropped down and joined the first, so that she was now pumping him with both hands. She’d even squeeze every now and then as she pumped, just to force more blood into the already swollen crown. Spike shuddered when one hand left again and traveled down to his balls, gently massaging them. She’d even pinch at the loose scales, pulling ever-so-lightly every now and then, just to tease him.

“Trixie,” Spike said, feeling a pooling in his loins. “I’m... I’m...”

“Oh no you don’t!” she said, kneeling up in the tub while her hand continued to pump. “You’re going to give me my present standing up like a stallion!”

Spike hesitated, but a tight squeeze from her pumping hand made him stand up. Bracing his legs and splaying them slightly to give him greater footing, he watched as his third wife but first lover pumped him with both hands, her breasts and slightly swollen tummy giggling with each thrust.

Spike then watched in amazement as she lowered one hand down into the water, around her marehood area. The other continued to pump, but she then brought her mouth down on the great mushroom cap and started sucking on him, pumping her head up and down as far as she could. Every time she went down, she made a lewd slurping noise, the sound driving Spike over the edge.

With a great burst he erupted into her mouth, just as she went down as far as she could. He felt her lips clamp down around him tighter than ever, so as to let none of his essence escape. He could feel her mouth sucking him down, his baby batter pouring down her throat and into her stomach. Looking down, he could see the large gulps she was taking travel down her throat, the lumps making her look like she was swallowing several large eggs.

“Mmm,” she said, removing his now-drained cock from her mouth and licking her lips. “I can never get enough of that creamy taste.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be deprived of it,” Spike said, his voice a bit shallow from his rapid breathing. “Ready for more?”

“Always,” Trixie said, standing up in the tub. She didn’t get out, however: she simply leaned over, exposing her plump, round rump to her husband, and braced her hands on the side of the tub.

“Come on then,” she said, moving her tail out of the way to expose her tight asshole. “Do me like you did in the desert that night.

Spike would never suffer erectile dysfunction around his wives. In fact, from the way things were going, he’d likely develop a perma-boner just out of necessity. He’d go the rest of his life walking around with a giant, continuous erection.

The entire female population of Equestria would likely be thrilled.

Shuffling up behind Trixie, Spike leaned over and nuzzled the back of her neck, his wings folding over them until they were mostly hidden from view. Not that anypony was spying on them or anything, but still: it made it feel more romantic that way.

“Spike?” she asked softly as he continued to nuzzle her. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you ready,” he replied softly, his hands coming up to cup her breasts. She whinnied softly as his finger pulled at her globes, twisting and kneading the soft, pelt-covered flesh with great care. Between his pointer finger and his thumb, he pinched the nipples, twisting and tugging on them like he was trying to milk her. Trixie moaned at this: she’d start producing milk soon enough, and if Spike kept having sex with her, someday he’d actually milk her like a dairy cow.

The thought was dirty enough for her marehood to unconsciously clench, even though that wasn’t the part his giant dick was going to go in. His nuzzles slowly moved down her back, past her shoulders and into the middle of her back, where his tongue lightly licked the water running down her back.

“Nngh,” she moaned softly as she felt his hot tongue on her body. He trailed it lower, and lower, his hands removing themselves from her breasts and traveling to her thighs. Kneeling behind her, Spike firmly grabbed her jiggly rump and spread her wide, exposing both of her entrances to his sight.

His tongue lashing out like a striking snake, Spike plunged his face into her soft marehood, causing Trixie to jump slightly and squeak. “S-Spike?” she questioned, her words faltering as he nipped, licked and sucked at her exposed core. “W-w-w-what are y-y-you-,”

“Shh,” he mumbled into her body, the vibrations making her tighten her grip on the side of the tub. “I’m just getting you ready.”

“But I don’t want to be r-r-ready,” Trixie said as her body involuntarily spasmed under his care. “I w-w-want it now!”

Spike ignored her request, instead continuing his slurping. Just as she formed the words to protest again, he suddenly left her and stood up, his dick swinging up and impacting the outside of her now-soaked marehood. She jumped once more, experiencing the shock of a mini-orgasm: something she never had before. He continue to rub his length up and down her exposed flower, coating himself in her free-flowing juices.

“Spike!” she said, her voice an adorable little whine. “Please!”

“Oh, all right I guess,” Spike said in a bored voice, moving his coated dick up from her sopping marehood and pressing the tip against her tight asshole.

“Thank you Spike,” Trixie said. “I was worried for a second you’d- oh!”

She moaned when he suddenly thrust into her, burying himself about halfway into her tight confines in one fell swoop. Then, without relenting, he continued to push, going deeper and deeper into her until he had hilted himself completely inside her.

Trixie’s mouth hung open, but no sound came out: she was breathless from the sudden feeling of being so damn full. She could barely even feel Spike’s chest press against her back and his hands come up to place themselves alongside her own.

“More?” Spike asked simply, his smile hidden in her white mane as he smelled her.

Trixie couldn’t even speak: all should could do was make a small squeaking noise. Spike took that for a yes, so he withdrew slightly and pumped back into her. His balls swung up and hit her hyper-sensitized marehood, making her convulse unexpectedly.

“Oh!” Trixie grunted, her voice finally back. Every thrust, every rotation of Spike’s hips made her body tremble and caused her moan like some back-alley whore. His pumping, while not wild and uncontrolled was nonetheless persistent, measured; relentless. Every time he started to withdraw his wide crown would drag at her walls, only for him to push it back through the area it had once evacuated.

Trixie couldn’t hold it anymore: she began to orgasm, shock after shock rocking her body as Spike continued to pump away. Then, on a particularly powerful orgasm, she clenched as tightly as she could.

Spike who had not been prepared for this, and was close to release anyway, found himself constricted, almost painfully, by his wife’s ass. Then and there, he released into her, his seed flooding her bowels like a dam bursting on an unsuspecting river. He continued to pour into her, her stomach swelling even more as more and more of his spunk pumped into her bowels.

He tried to pull out, but Trixie’s grip remained very tight on him. So, in a fit of brilliance, Spike quickly massaged her clitoris, causing the mare to relax suddenly. As soon as her grip on him was gone, he pulled out, watching as some of his seed leaked out in globs from her round ass. It made obscene splashing noises as it landed in the tub, some of the thick and gooey baby batter running down the insides of her legs.

“Trixie?” Spike asked, dipping quick in the yet-clean side of the tub to wash himself off.

“Y-y-yeah?” she asked, her voice a low moan as her arms and legs began to tremble.

“I think it’s time for breakfast,” he said, getting out of the tub and drying off with a quick burst of his flames. He helped her out of the tub, gently drying her off with a towel while he kissed her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, hugging her body against his as her legs continued to tremble. “I’ll... I’ll go get ready. We won’t have much to do, what with this weather and all.”

“I know,” Spike said softly as they parted. He walked over to the tub and pulled the drain, watching as the once-clean water drained away.

“I know.”

It was indeed a long day: after the bathtub sex, Trixie was almost too tired to do anything but eat with everypony else. The others seemed to know something was up, but Trixie and Spike had no reason to tell them of what had transpired. Other than that, there was the same old, same old: Asalah wanting to comb everypony’s mane, Maria refusing to speak to Chrysalis, the Queen of the Changelings making small talk with Spike to try and get back into his good graces. The only real difference was the increase in appetites among Spike’s pregnant wives, especially Trixie: in a fit of either maddening hunger or just insanity, she swallowed an entire banana whole without chewing. Spike’s blood pooled somewhere in his scrotal region at that sight, but luckily he managed to think of non-sexy thoughts long enough that his “problem” went away quickly.

At the end of the day, when they all retired to their separate beds, Spike made sure each and every one of them promised to sleep in their bed. It was still raining outside, but thankfully the thunder and lightning had not reappeared after last night, so it was just plain old rain. Laying in his bed, Spike closed his eyes and drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Spike awoke to the sound of heavier rain splattering against the window: it was still dark and gloomy out, so by the time lunch came around, he felt tired all over again.

That was, until the Sultan invited his wives to spend time with his own wife. Maria had politely declined, while Asalah and Trixie had jumped at the chance. Chrysalis had been in her room all morning, so that when Spike emerged from a sex-free bath, he found he was all alone in his room.

That did not last long.

“Spike?” a voice said as a door opened. Looking up from the journal he had finally decided to start writing in again, Spike saw who it was and sighed.

“What is it, Maria?” he asked, standing up. “Am I going to be in the middle of a new fight with Chrysalis?” He sincerely hoped not: it was tiring to listen to such fighting between two who had been such good friends not long before.

“No,” Maria replied, her body tensing slightly at the mention of the changeling’s name. “I... I just wanted to see you: alone.”

“May I ask why?” Spike asked.

“I... I wanted to say I’m... sorry,” she said, though by the tone of her voice, she was having trouble saying it in a meaningful way.

“You are?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she replied, sitting down on his bed: he sat down next to her. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting, Spike. I know I shouldn’t be like this, but... I can’t help but feel the way I do about Chrysalis. She lied to me, broke our bond of trust: to me, it was like a knife-wound in my heart. I was taught to be better than this, and yet... I don’t know, maybe my jealousy and pain is making me appear to not be who I am. Can you forgive me?”

Well Spike had certainly not been expecting an apology like this. “Really?” was all he could say.

“Yes,” she said, leaning into his shoulder and hiding her face in the crook of his neck. He nuzzled her hair, smelling the sweetness of her before she unburied her face from his neck and kissed him.

Meanwhile...

“Why did this have to happen now?” Chrysalis moaned to herself, her body feeling like it was on fire. She had awoken amidst a dream-induced orgasm and didn’t want the others to know the true reason.

“It is that time in the pregnancy,” she had realized, rubbing her hands over her belly. “The time of the horniness.” She had hoped it would pass over her, or even not happen until later, but it seemed Mother Nature had decided to pull the rug out from under her hooves. Right now, she was so horny for Spike, she’d shag anything in her way: she even had to restrain herself when she saw how the candlesticks were shaped.

It wasn’t her fault, really: there were two reasons she was feeling this way. First and foremost, it was biology: the Changeling species as a whole had severe bouts of reproductive drives matching that of the insects of the animal kingdom. When it became sufficiently wide-spread, orgies were common to the point where entire towns of Changelings were related in one way or another.

The second, and more personal reason, was that Chrysalis wanted to get back into Spike’s good graces. She knew their relationship had almost died when she revealed herself to him, and right now it was more than a little strained. She had wanted to ease back in slowly, but with this bout of horniness, it seemed she would have to move back into his graces sooner than she had thought.

The biggest problem, or benefit, depending on how one looked at it, was that the Changeling’s severe increase in reproductive drive was produced by a powerful pheromone that stimulated it. This same pheromone could affect nearly every other species they came into contact with, which was one of the reasons the species as a whole had been banished from everyday society: ponies didn’t like orgies breaking out at the same times of the year, especially in the more conservative towns and cities.

The mature, sensible side of her brain cried for her not to do this, that she should take her time and make it special. After listening to it intently for several seconds, she shoved it over an imaginary cliff: there was time for waiting, and she was tired of it. Right now was a time for action.

Opening her door, she peered around and didn’t see anypony else, so she strode out, completely naked. One small part of her was glad she didn’t have to wear the guise of Meia anymore: her slightly wider hips had grown even slightly wider due to her hormones, and her breasts had swollen slightly larger, even more so than they already were. When she looked over at Spike’s bed, she saw... he wasn’t there.

“Where could he have gone?” she wondered, her arousal increasing to nigh-unbearable levels as the pheromones and hormones and whatever-mones surged through her system. In a frantic series of movements, she checked his bathroom, Asalah’s room and Trixie’s room: nothing. Then, gasping as though she needed water, she burst through into Maria’s room, the doors swinging back to shut behind her.

Maria was there, as was Spike: or at least, Spike’s feet were there. At the moment, Maria’s beautiful body was laid across Spike’s own, her tail up near his face while she gulped down his gargantuan cock.

“Chrysalis?!” Spike called, sitting up quickly. With a shout, Maria tumbled off him and onto his side, his organ popping from her mouth. “W-What are you doing here?”

“I...” Chrysalis trailed off, her eyes focusing on his massive rod, noting how Maria’s slobber trailed down it, giving it a peculiar sheen. Inside, her loins tightened at the mere sight of it, her heart fluttering at the thought of all the dirty things she was going to do to it.

“Why are you here!?!” Maria shouted, her eyes burning as she crossed her arms over her naked body, trying to preserve at least some decency.

Taking a tentative step forward, Chrysalis looked between Spike’s eyes and his still-throbbing piece of meat. “I... I wanted to talk with you,” she said, her hips swaying from side to side as she approached them.

The looks on Spike’s and Maria’s faces turned from shock and anger to bewilderment. “About... about what?” Spike asked.

“This,” Chrysalis said as she stopped at the foot of the bed. Like a snake strike her arms shot out, her hands wrapping around Spike’s ankles. With the strength of ten whores she pulled him down, her mouth descending on the glorious cock in one swift stroke. Before Spike or Maria could protest, she went deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until her changeling physiology finally allowed her to do something she had been wanting to do since they had been in that dungeon: she had him completely swallowed, her snout tickling where the base met the rest of his body. Her chin even rested against his heavy dragon balls, the heat and the added knowledge of the sweetness lying within making her want to suck them dry.

Spike made a move to disagree with her method, but his eyes rolled up into the back of his head at the feeling and fell back onto the bed as Chrysalis’s throat constricted around the rod in her, pulling and sucking on the giant piece of meat.

Maria shouted in anger, a spell shooting out of her horn at the queen. Without even looking away from Spike’s groin, Chrysalis shout out a response spell, cancelling out the other in mid-air.

“Why are you doing this?!” Maria shouted, almost springing towards Chrysalis to tackle her off. About mid-stride/leap across the bed, she stopped, her eyes zeroing in on Chrysalis’s face. “You... oh... Chrysalis...” she said, her voice sounding as if she had had an epiphany.

“Mmph?” Chrysalis asked, Spike’s cock still wedged deliciously in her mouth and throat.

“You...” Maria said, her posture changing from one of anger to... arousal. Oh no: the pheromones had gotten to her!

Chrysalis pulled the dragon dick from her airway, causing Spike to moan in disappointment. “Now Maria, listen to me. You don’t want to do this, it’s just the phero-,”

She was cut off by Maria grabbing her and pulling her onto the bed, shutting her up by pressing her lips to her own in a passionate kiss. Chrysalis tried to pull away, she honestly did, and yet she found she... couldn’t. Her mind too was becoming addled, and that meant Spike’s was too...

“Ahem?” the two mares heard a voice, causing them to break their kiss. They looked up to see Spike, his hard-on still pointing upwards as he looked at the two mares.

In his lust-addled mind, Spike knew when to take advantage of something too good to be true, and right now, he knew exactly what he was going to do. “You ladies have been very bad as of late,” he said, shaking his head at them in mock-shame. “I had hoped you two would be better than this. Looks to me like... you must be punished.”

Before the horny and confused mares could say a word, he was off the bed, behind them, and had them flipped over, so that Maria was under the taller Chrysalis and both of their dripping mounds were lined up.

“Hmm, where to put it,” Spike said lazily, wagging his dick back and forth behind them. "Where to put it..."

“Me! Put it in me!” Maria shouted, grinding her snatch against Chrysalis's in vain to try and get his attention.

“No! Me! I need it more!” Chrysalis shouted, shoving her breasts over Maria’s face to try and shut her up. It backfired, as Maria took one of the tender and swollen nipples into her mouth and suckled on it, earning a gasp from Chrysalis.

“A compromise it is, then,” Spike replied, lining up. With a surge of his hips, he slid his giant dick between the two mares, going into neither and rubbing the tender exteriors of their marehoods with his knobby dick.

“Oh!” Chrysalis cried out in enjoyment.

“Mmph!” Maria cried in agreement, her voice muffled by the large nipple in her mouth.

Spike ignored their cries of excitement and pulled out, only to slide back in between them. The two mares’ love juices mingled over Spike’s throbbing shaft as he pumped between them, his movements making their hyper-sensitive entrances just tremble with need and excitement. He would even move his hips side to side, dragging the massive rod between them from different and surprisingly pleasurable angles.

After a few minutes of this, Maria came, her juices spilling up and out of her and into Chrysalis’s own marehood, covering Spike’s dick as well. Spike pulled out and watched Maria shake under the changeling, a thought forming in his thoughtless head.

“Little Chrissie didn’t cum when Maria did,” he said, leaning up over her and repositioning his cock. “Chrissie needs to be punished.”

“What? I’ve been good, I swear!” Chrysalis cried out, her mind addled with lust and pleasure as Maria continued to suck on her nipple. On one particularly hard suckle, she felt something exit the nipple: she was lactating! She was actually far enough in the pregnancy where she was producing milk, but so soon... she hadn’t thought it possible!

“No, Chrissie: you’ve been very bad,” Spike said, just as Chrysalis felt a massive mushroom poke against her tone backside. “Chrissie needs to be punished.”

“No, Spike, I’ve been good, I- AAH!” Chrysalis shouted as Spike plunged the great mushroom cap that was his dick’s top into her virgin ass, stopping after the first few inches. Then, just as she thought he’d stop, he pushed further, and further, each inch agonizing and intensifying her pleasure to unheard-of levels. Then, when he stopped, and she thought he was going to move, she felt his hand slap her ass cheek, her flesh rolling beneath the blow like the waves of the ocean.

“Ow!” she cried, only to be met by another stinging slap: then another, and another, until they coincided with his thrusts. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

“Chrissie, have you been bad?” Spike asked, pounding into her tight ass as he spanked her like a dirty little whore. “Have you been a bad little mare? Do you need to be punished?”

“Y-yes, yes!” she cried, her body shivering and spasming uncontrollably as he pounded into her. “I’ve been a bad little mare! I need to be punished!” Her ass felt like it was on fire, so quickly he moved, and yet she never wanted that flame to go out. Maria, on the other hand, continued to suckle harder and harder, squeezing more and more milk out of that tender nipple of Chrysalis’s.

“Do you like your punishment?” Spike asked as his other hand grabbed his tail and pulled it underneath him. With a flicking motion, he squeezed it between Maria and Chrysalis’s marehoods, the extremely knobby texture making both of them moan.

“Yes, yes! Chrissie likes her punishment! Chrissie needs more!” Chrysalis said, all manner of queenliness and serenity gone as she was suckled, ass-fucked and tail-rubbed along her marehood.

“Then Chrissie gets more!” Spike roared, the tip of his paddle-like tail shoving itself into the very edges of Chrysalis’s marehood. Like that, the sudden penetration, even though it was very shallow, made Chrysalis cum right then and there, the convulsions of her body making Spike finally come as well. Reaching up with his hand, he roughly squeezed her full breasts, making milk squirt out of it and into Maria’s face, who’s cheeks were full of it from suckling so long. She swallowed it obscenely and licked at the milk running down her face, like a cat might with cream.

Their bodies twitching and trembling, the three rolled onto the bed and collapsed, Spike’s rock-hard dick pulling from within Chrysalis’s ass with a lurid squirt. Some of his baby batter leaked from her tight asshole, but most of it remained in her bowels, slushing around like a sea in a bottle.

The door opened slightly and Asalah walked in, her face looking out into the other room as she did so. “Spike, are you in here? Trixie want to talk to you about... about...”

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she saw the three laying before her, their eyes burning with lust as they sat up.
“Join us, Asalah,” Chrysalis said, her horn glowing. Maria’s lit up as well, and soon Asalah was flying across the room, being dragged by a spell. She tried to struggle, but the magic was too strong.

“Join us!” Spike commanded, catching her and rolling her onto her back, his lips silencing her cry of surprise. Maria’s magic shut, and this time, locked the door.

“Spike! What has gotten into you?” Asalah asked, her question mumbled by his lips. The same lips soon left and started suckling her breasts, making her suddenly twitch.

“It’s not what’s gotten into him,” Chrysalis said as she slid under Maria, their heads positioned near each other’s marehood. Her mane was tussled, her pelt matted, and her mind had gone completely lucid. “It’s what’s going to get into you!”

“What do- ohh,” Asalah moaned as Spike unceremoniously shoved himself into the zebra, making her back arch into an almost complete C-shape. Then, in a grinding motion, he began churning her inside with his rock-hard cock, making the zebra suddenly mewl with pleasure. Chrysalis and Maria, on the other hand, had started lapping at each other’s sore marehoods, even more of their juices leaking out onto the sheets as they greedily drank each other. The smell of sex and cum filled the room as the four went at it like horny rabbits.

Soon enough, Asalah felt the pheromones she knew nothing about increase her sexual drive to unlike anything before. Soon enough, she was bucking against Spike with all her might, making the whole damn bed shake as they met thrust for thrust. “Buck me!” she cried, her hands going up to her breasts and almost violently twisting the big, puffy nipples. “Buck me ‘till I can’t walk you big-dicked dragon stud!” Her nostrils flared as she said this, with her hands pressing her large breasts together, making them even perkier than normal.

Spike complied, and by complied, he flipped her over onto her stomach with himself still inside her, not even missing a beat as he continued to pound into her wet cunt. He didn’t care that she was talking dirty: in fact, it excited him even more. He continued to pound into her, even after he suddenly came and filled her insides with sticky cum. That only made it easier for him to move, so he moved faster, until he was pistoning in and out of her light a freight train. Asalah, on the other hand, had lost count how many times her brain had exploded with pleasure, and right now, she could feel her tongue swelling as she became more and more lurid.

“Asalah want treat!” she cried as she came again, this time at the sight of Maria and Chrysalis munching on each other’s marehoods. “Asalah needs treat! Give Asalah what she wants!”

“Asalah want’s treat?” Spike asked in broken Equinish, flipping her over and pulling her closer to the others. “Asalah get treat!” He kneeled down and placed his giant, cum and pussy juice-covered cock between the zebra’s large breasts, the soft pelt making him leak more cum that had not been entirely expelled from his member..

“You two: clean her cooch,” Spike said, pointing from Maria and Chrysalis to Asalah’s cum-leaking cunt. Rolling off of Chrysalis, Maria was the first on the scene, though Chrysalis’s head soon joined her as the buried their faces in the zebra’s marehood.

Spike began thrusting between Asalah’s breasts, his eyes hypnotized by their movements as they bounced with every thrust. Asalah reached her head down and enveloped the great mushroom cap that was the tip of his dick every time he thrust forward, trying to suck him deeper into her cavernous maw.

They all continued like this: Maria and Chrysalis eating out Asalah with gusto in order to get Spike’s sweet treat he had left behind, and Spike himself thrusting between Asalah’s glorious breasts, his hands squeezing them together around his cock.

Then, as everyone began to orgasm in an even more uncontrollable manner, Spike raised himself up and held himself above Asalah’s face, his cock almost poking her in the eye. “Suck!” he ordered, only to have Asalah reach up and pull him into her mouth with suction alone. Spike, near the end of his limit, both hormonally and endurance-wise, began to thrust in and out of the sweet mouth, making Asalah gag every now and them.

She didn’t care: even as she “gak, gak, gak,” sounds with her throat every time he thrust too deep, she was in heaven. Then, she felt his dick swell and closed off the air to her lungs. Spike came, roaring incoherently as he poured his last shots of cum down Asalah’s throat. The other two, having worn themselves to exhaustion, watched as Asalah held the giant cock in her mouth, with what looked like eggs traveling down her esophagus. Everypony could even see her belly swell as she used her hands to pump the cock more, forcing more and more of the delicious juice into her hungry gullet.

Spike withdrew, letting a small squirt land in the valley of Asalah’s breasts. With a small burst of magic, Chrysalis had it soar lazily into Maria’s mouth, kissing her when it went it. Asalah lay back, her body convulsing as her eyes closed. Spike fell to the side, his dick slapping the side of Asalah’s face as he did so. The force of the dick-slap, though minor, was enough to make the zebra mare's now-swollen belly jiggle slightly.

She didn’t care, and the same was true for everypony else in the room. Covered in sweat, pussy juice and Spike’s dragon cum, they all fell asleep, tired from the orgy that surely would be the stuff of legends had it happened in a public place.

Then Trixie walked into the room, saw what all the commotion was about, and shouted so loud ponies as far as Neightaly might have heard it.

“CELESTIA BUCKING DAMN IT!”

Author's Note

There you go: a bunch clop before other stuff. I'm guessing this chapter is gonna be quite popular.

Full-Blown Gale

Chapter Thirty One

Full-Blown Gale

Trixie wasn’t exactly happy at the end of the week after she had found out about her missed orgy. “I would have liked to have been in on that,” she mumbled in a pouty voice as they boarded the ships. The rain had finally stopped, and right now everypony on the island was trying to dry out anything that was still wet.

“Trixie, I already gave you a “gift” in the bathtub, remember?” Spike said as he helped them over a narrow gap.

“I know, but still, it would have been nice. I’ve always wanted to be in one, especially with those I care about,” Trixie said, before noticing something odd. Maria and Chrysalis were walking side by side on the ship: not talking, but they didn’t look unhappy either. “They make up?” she asked nodding their direction.

Spike knew in an instant to whom she was referring. “Not exactly: they’re on much friendlier terms, but it’s going to take more than an orgy to make them friends again.” A pair of zebra mares walking by gawked at Spike when he said this, their stares lingering on his frame as they continued on their way.

“Best be careful when you say things like that, husband,” Asalah said right behind the dragon, making him jump slightly. “There are plenty of mares out there who would adore having your “main mast” probe their unexplored depths.” Ah, dirty nautical terms: if the ship had been out at sea, and they were the only ones on it, Spike would be fine for another orgy: or two.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Asalah,” Spike said in a mock-serious tone, his grin and twinkling eyes betraying the laugh he was suppressing.

“I don’t know, Spikey-Wikey here is more than capable of pleasing any lady he meets,” Trixie said, her tail flicking against his crotch as she walked past.

Meanwhile...

“Dammit! There it goes again!” Rarity shouted after her fist involuntarily put a hole through the table she was sitting at. She looked up to see the confused faces of her friends. “What?”

“Rarity, are you okay?” Twilight asked slowly, her magic fixing the hole.

“I’m sorry Twilight dear: it’s just... someone is using my pet name for Spike,” Rarity said. “I don’t know how, but I can tell when someone does. It’s the second time it’s happened in a week!”

“Rarity, sugar, don’t ya think you’re bein’ a bit... overzealous?” Applejack said, earning a stare from a few of the others. “What? Can’t a farm pony know some fancy dictionary words too?”

“Dictionaries aside,” Twilight began. “Rarity, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, it’s not like they’re screaming his pet name during climax or anything,” Pinkie Pie said in an entirely calm voice. “Ponies don’t usually do that during orgies: not that I would know or anything,” she added, seeing the looks on everypony’s face.

“Pinkie, I don’t know where you get your ideas, but now is not the time to mention that kind of thing,” Rainbow Dash said in an oddly lady-like manner, which was gone in an instant as she smiled in a mock-lusty manner. “Everypony knows Spike is not the kind to descend into an orgy with his wives.”

Pinkie’s tail twisted behind her, but she didn’t say anything to that. Fluttershy, on the other hand, had her eyes go wide at the mention of an orgy and politely excused herself from the table, heading up to the bathroom for some “personal time”.

Back in Maredagascar, the ships had finally cast off from the port and were on their way to Saddle Arabia. The skies were clear, the wind was strong in the sails, and the sea was rather calm in comparison to the Barnlantic Ocean.

It didn’t stop things from getting heated down below. “How long until we get there?” Maria asked as she looked over her letter to Spike’s friends back home. Deciding now was as good as any time to do so, Spike had them all begin new letters, with Chrysalis still writing under the guise of Meia.

“A week or so, given this wind doesn’t quit on us,” Spike said, remembering what the captain had said. “So, we have a free week of nothing to do.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing,” Trixie said, rising from the bed as her horn glowed. The door to the room shut, and an audible click was heard: she had locked it. “There is one thing we can do.” The other three mares looked at him: they had been planning this.

“Play some checkers?” Spike asked meekly as the four mares pounced on him.

Meanwhile...

The spray of the sea splashed against the decks of the gathered ships, the cloudless sky still seeming gloomy amidst the bright rays of sunshine. Hundreds upon hundreds of zebras milled around, loading supplies onto the ships and generally preparing themselves for what was about to come. Paint covered much of their exposed bodies, the red making them look all the more fierce.

A single zebra stood at the head of the lead ship, his own war paint a black that covered his white stripes. He looked out over his gathered fleet and forces, his black heart filled with malicious glee and a burning hatred.

“We are almost ready, sir,” a red-painted zebra said, bowing before the first.

“Excellent,” Undi said, his eyes never leaving the gathered forces. “When we are, we set sail: any stragglers are to be executed immediately.”

“As is your will, sir,” the second zebra said, bowing again before leaving the insane zebra alone.

“You will not escape this time, dragon,” Undi said softly. “You have no airship this time, and your wives cannot fly away like you can.” He smiled at the thought of those mares.

“I will kill his descendants before his very eyes.”

Meanwhile...

After three days of intense, uh... checkers, Spike was sore. Okay, he was more than sore: he ached, and he was pretty sure he was chafing: Tartarus, his dick even felt like it was on fire half the time.

Coming up onto the deck, Spike looked out over the horizon, the soothing wind relieving some of the tension in his muscles. The smell of the salt from the splashing waters stung his nose, but it still was refreshing from the sex-filled air of down below.

Some ships off to the side of the convoy had a few smaller ones sidling up near them, but he paid them no mind. It was so nice out as the sun began to dip towards the horizon, where it would eventually disappear in a few hours.

“Having a nice break?” a voice said behind him. Turning around, Spike saw who it was.

“The first in too long,” he said as Maria came up alongside him. “Why are you four so damned horny? Can’t you let me sleep at night without having to wake me up by sucking me off?”

“We can’t help it: you taste too good,” Maria said, absentmindedly flicking some of her hair behind her shoulder. “Besides, I came to talk: Chrysalis is having mood swings again.”

“Third day in a row,” Spike muttered, wondering why Trixie, who was further into her pregnancy, was not experiencing the same. They had awoken to find Chrysalis almost shanking a zebra mare maid who was eyeing her husband, and then the poor mare had almost been sexually assaulted by the changeling when she tried to apologize. Chrysalis had been locked in their room since then, and right now, it looked like she wasn’t going to change soon: her last emotional outburst had been some lewd sexual insults at some dolphins that jumped past their porthole.

Thankfully the pheromones had finally dissipated, or else Spike might have gotten every female on board pregnant, and then moved onto the other ships. That would not be something easily dismissed or pushed aside in political circles: “Royal dragon impregnates hundreds in massive pheromone-fuelled orgy” was not a title he ever wanted to see in a newspaper, or anywhere else for that matter.

“Talk about what?” he asked, snapping out of his trance.

“Saddle Arabia,” Maria said softly. “I was wondering about their-,”

Her words were cut off by a massive explosion: off in the distance, the ship that had been surrounded by smaller ones exploded, sending a massive fireball into the air. Wooden shards, some of them the size of a pony, rained down all over the place. The mainmast of the doomed ship fell over, causing the burning wreck to fall over onto its side.

The shockwave of the blast reached their boat in an instant, knocking Spike over and making Maria land on top of him. Warning bells and horns rang as sailors rushed out of seemingly everywhere, shouting and bellowing orders as they did so. Some began to load the cannons, while others pulled ropes and opened up the sails to increase speed.

“What was that?” Spike shouted as he and Maria rose to their feet and hooves, respectively.

“Pirates!” the captain shouted as small plumes of smoke came from the smaller vessels: soon the air was filled with steel shot, the small projectiles cutting through the mainmast and punching holes in one of the crew. Blood spurted everywhere as crew fell, some instantly dead and others unfortunately still alive. One screamed when he saw his hoof above his head: it had been completely severed.

“Get down below!” Spike yelled to Maria, who took no time in doing just that. There was another plume of smoke from the ship as they circled the convoy like sharks, this time larger steel balls slamming into the ship’s mainmast. Splinters rained down, and one of the larger rigging poles fell, its ropes severed by the shrapnel.

Spike managed to throw himself out of the way of the falling piece of timber, looking in time to see it crash onto the deck, buckling and splitting the wooden surface beneath it. That had been close: too close. Another shard of wood, easily three inches thick, thudded into the deck where his tail had been.

“Return fire!” shouted the captain, blowing into a horn soon after. All around, the convoy ships revealed their own cannons and fired, sending hot death towards any pirate ship too close to their hulls. Most of them missed, as the panicked crews had not taken the time to aim and lead the target. The ship Spike was on, however, got in a lucky hit on one ship: a massive plume of fire erupted from near the rear of the enemy ship, signaling one of the smaller powder stores had been struck.

The pirates returned fire, strange twirling things spinning through the air from the cannons. “Chains!” shouted the captain, the tone of his voice making everyone, including Spike, dive for cover. One crewpony was too slow: the chain impacted and wrapped around him so quickly and with such force, it tore him in half, both bloody halves soaring back over the side. The other chains impacted the sails and tore through the support beams like a hot knife through butter. More wooden splinters, some of them a good three feet long, rained down on the crew, one of the sharper one piercing the hand of one: he screamed as he found himself pinned by said hand.

Spike ran over and yanked the wood from the floor, freeing the zebra’s hand even as a spurt of blood followed it. With a whimper, muffled by him biting down on his arm, the zebra nodded in thanks and went over to another who was handing out bandages as fast as he could. The few dead on board were being quickly moved over into a row, though there was no time for them to be properly honored as of yet.

“Can you help us?” the captain shouted to Spike as another volley from their ship went into the lines of the pirates. One of the mainmasts on a pirate ship collapsed in on itself, effectively rendering the ship dead in the water. That did not mean it couldn’t still fire at them, as it did before the other pirate ships.

“I guess: what do you want me to do?” Spike shouted as another plume of smoke rose from the pirate ships. More of the sails of all the convoy ships became tattered from the shot, and one of the others began to exude smoke from all the hatches: a furious fire was burning below.

“Set those ships on fire!” the captain shouted, pointing at the pirate ships. Wooden hulls, cloth sails, gunpowder stores on so many of the decks: it was a pyromaniac’s dream target come true.

“Okay!” Spike said, opening his wings. With a gust of wind aiding in his ascension, he flew into the air. Mere seconds later, the burning ship’s powder kegs lit, and the tremendous explosion knocked over everyone on the top of the ship he had just been on. That same shockwave made his blunder through the air, regaining his sense of direction before he could splash into the water below. The impact would have likely knocked him silly, if not outright unconscious.

Flying like a massive bat, Spike flew low over the water, avoiding dozens of crossbow bolts as he approached. Why the zebras still used crossbows, he didn’t know: nopony in the world had discovered a way of miniaturizing a cannon, so they remained a staple long-ranged weapon. He spun in time to avoid what looked like a combination of a giant crossbow bolt and a grappling hook: a ballista bolt. Lowering his shoulder, he flew straight into the side of the ship, punching through the wood and into the interior of the ship. Rolling onto his feet from the landing, he met a machete blow with a swipe of his tail, sending the snarling zebra through the hole he had just made and back out into the sea.

Opening his mouth and sucking in a large lungful of air, Spike let loose a torrent of fire, setting ablaze the other zebra pirates headed right towards him. They dropped, screaming in agony as they tried to put the flames out. The rest of the interior was soon filled with hungry flames, which inched closer and closer to barrels of explosive powder.

Spike jumped back out through the hole he had made, performing a swan dive into the water. Seconds later, a massive eruption of fire spread over the surface of the water, making the clear sky above the water turn a fiery orange. The ship blew apart, chunks of flaming debris, some of it former pirates, splashing into the water everywhere.

Swimming up to the surface and leaping out the water, Spike flew off towards the next ship, just as a plume of smoke erupted from its side. Spike spun, hearing as the larger shot whizzed past him. Then, there was one big puff of smoke, and almost in slow-motion, Spike saw the seemingly massive cannonball travel past him and strike the side of the ship he had been on, punching right through near the waterline...

“No!” Spike shouted, his thoughts immediately going to his wives. They were in the lower hull of the ship! Flying over the enemy vessel, he let loose more flames, a virtual geyser of super-heated plasma, setting the whole ship ablaze like a massive torch. Turning as flaming zebras, screaming bloody murder, jumped off the dilapidated vessel, he flew back to his own ship, flying through the large hole the cannonball had left behind. The hole grew smaller, and then he forced himself through to enter where it must have almost come to a complete stop.

He found himself in one of the store-rooms, surrounded by debris. “Trixie? Asalah? Maria? Somepony speak to me!” he shouted, digging his way towards where he knew his room to be. Somepony, anypony: answer me!”

“Spike!” a muffled voice said, causing Spike to renew his efforts. Bursting through a few fallen beams, he found himself in the hallway that lead to their room, with a great gaping hole going right through the wall. Kicking the door open, he found Maria, Trixie, and Asalah all huddled on the floor.

“Oh thank goodness,” he said, kneeling down to hug them. “Are you all right? Are any of you hurt?”

“No, no, we’re fine: it missed us,” Trixie said, her body still shivering from the shock of so narrowly escaping death.

“Spike looked around. “Where... where’s Chrysalis?” he asked. She was nowhere to be seen.

“You have to stop her, Spike!” Maria said, causing Spike to look at her in confusion and concern. “She’s experiencing another mood swing? She went up topside!”

Without saying another word, and giving them all a quick hug, Spike ran up the stairs in the ship, jumping up on the deck in time to see another one of the pirate ships explode in the distance. There were only a few left, but now they all seemed to be heading in his direction...

“Chrysalis! What in the name of Celestia do you think you are doing?! Are you insane?!” Spike shouted, seeing her standing in the middle of the deck, her gaze out at the pirate ships. He rushed up to her side, but as soon as she did, she looked him in the eyes, and.... and...

“They almost killed me,” she whispered, the sounds of battle seeming to fade away as she did. “They tried to kill me, and our foal.” Spike felt afraid at that moment: the green fire in her eyes was almost as palpable as the fire and smoke swirling around them.

“I will not stand for this!” she cried out, her horn glowing a bright green. Then, in a voice not entirely her own, she shouted: “Dark skies, blacken the sea: rain down retribution for me! Thunder, lightning, winds of doom: send them all to a watery tomb!!” Her horn shot a large beam of green light high into the sky, causing what looked like a small firework to explode where it ended. In an instant, the clear sky above began to form small white clouds, which grew steadily larger, and darker, and fiercer-looking, until...

Darkness descended over the ocean as a wall of rain came down from on high, many of the fires on the ships being put out in an instant. Thunder rumbled, and from up above, a bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, it’s jagged arc searing itself into the visions of anypony who happened to be looking in its direction. It impacted the waterline of one of the pirate ships, right where the powder room was located. In an instant, the wooden boat was vaporized, flaming little bits of it falling here and there.

Spike looked back from the carnage to see Chrysalis swaying, her eyes wild, her lips pulled back in a vicious snarl and her mane whipping around her in the suddenly intense wind generated by her magic-induced storm. Her horn glowed brighter as she fell back, her eyes closing as Spike caught her.

As the warm rain continued to pour, soaking the mare to the bone, Spike rushed back down the stairs, bursting back into the room where his other wives were. “She’s passed out,” he said at their terrified looks. “She summoned a storm out of nowhere!”

“She summoned a storm? By Celestia...” Trixie muttered, her eyes nearly bugging out of her skull. Storm spells that acted instantly were reserved for only the strongest of magic-users.

“We’ll take it from here,” Maria said, taking the soaking Chrysalis from Spike’s arms and laying her on the bed after clearing it of some woody debris. Nodding in thanks, Spike rushed back up in time to see one of the cannons gets blasted apart by a pirate cannonball, sending one of the crew into the ocean in several pieces. He spotted the captain and rushed over, noticing the pony’s arm in a sling.

“What’s the situation?” he asked the zebra. The rain was washing away some of the debris, but at the moment, the cannons on the top deck couldn’t fire: their powder was soaking wet. This severely reduced the firepower and defensive capacity of the ship, making it an easier target for the pirates.

“They’re almost done for, but so are!” the captain said, not even flinching as another cluster of cannonballs impacted what was left of the mainmast. “I don’t suppose you can just light them on fire again?”

“Not in a rain squall like this,” Spike said as another bolt of lightning struck near another pirate ship, the sheer power of it making the water flash-boil and cooking a few pirates standing too close to the side. If they weren’t careful, they themselves might stray too close to where the lightning was and get themselves zapped to oblivion.

“Well, can’t you breathe any other kind of fire?” the captain shouted as another volley slammed into the side high above where Spike’s wives were. “You’re a dragon!”

Spike ignored the little pieces of wood that bounced off his frame. “I’ll think of something,” he said, leaping into the air and flying off. Circling the ship like some great bird of prey, he spotted one pirate ship in particular moving closer to his own ship, bypassing the smoking wrecks that were two of the convoy ships. Diving down, he landed on the deck, or more specifically, on a zebra pirate, crushing him as he landed.

Spike let loose some flame, but it went out quickly in the heavy downpour. Backhanding an attacking zebra so hard his neck snapped, Spike tried again, this time putting more force into it: the same result.

“Dammit, this isn’t working!” he thought as he used his tail to smash a pirate into the mainmast. Luna had taught him so much about pyromancy and the ways of dragon-fire. If only he could remember...

“Wait,” he thought, a lesson coming back to him as a zebra struck with a machete: it bounced off and went back into the zebra’s eye, making him howl in pain as blood spurted everywhere. Dragon-fire had many properties, as well as many uses. There were the cleansing flames he had used before, the fire he had just used, and the slow fire he had used to heat the tub...

“Ah,” he said, remembering the right combination of phlegm and fire to create just what he needed.

Meanwhile...

“I said fire again, fools!” Undi shouted, walking past his cannon crews as they hurried to return a salvo of steel shot. The deck was splattered with blood, bits of bone, and uncounted numbers of wooden shards.

“The cannons are overheating, sir!” one zebra shouted. “If we try to reload too soon, we’ll risk blowing it up!”

“Silence!” Undi responded, smacking the zebra upside the head with his machete, the blunt side leaving a nasty-looking but relatively harmless gash. “If you don’t reload, the next thing fired at those ships will be you!”

All of the crew who heard this tripled their efforts at reloading and firing, not wanting to be used as ammunition for the cannons they were working on.

“Sir!” another zebra said, rushing up to the warlord with a bandage covering one of his eyes. “Sir, another ship just went down!”

“How? This storm is putting out any fires out there, and they're down to less than half strength!” Undi shouted. "This rain is taking out their deck cannons!"

“Not all of them, sir,” the zebra said, his voice hushing when he said this. A peal of thunder, punctuated by cannon fire, sounded off in the distance.

Undi’s eyes narrowed: “Not all of them? What fire can withstand such rain?”

“You... you might want to look for yourself, sir,” the zebra said, trembling as his eyes watched the machete in the warlord’s hand drip some blood.

Huffing in annoyance, Undi followed the zebra up on the ship’s deck, the rain instantly drenching him to the bone. He looked out at the somewhat intact convoy, and then he saw it.

A flaming streak arced through the sky and impacted a distant pirate ship, punching a flaming hole through the side. Undi watched as the streak came out the other side: seconds later, the powder in the ship exploded, lifting the entire boat out of the water as its hull shattered. A massive, rolling ball of flame spread out into the sky above as the ship fell back down: in seconds, it slipped beneath the waves like a stone.

The flaming projectile turned up from its water-bound trajectory and turned up, flying up into the sky before it turned again and went back towards the ocean.

“That is no projectile,” Undi said as the flaming stream impacted another one of his ships.

“Then what is it?” the other zebra asked as the fiery mass exited the ship and turned in their direction. That ship, the last of the other ships under his command, detonated as well, splitting apart like a ripe mango falling off a mountain.

“Get down!” Undi shouted as the mass of flame passed overhead. One zebra on deck was not fast enough, and his torso toppled over, his lower half still standing: the flames had scorched it completely, so there was no spray blood.

The fireball turned up and spun down, landing on the deck. Rising up onto its feet, it looked around, the flames boiling over its body like a curtain of unearthly death.

“You thought you could threaten my family and get away with it?” Spike asked, his voice a roar as bits of flame dripped off of him, just like burning oil. “You thought you could justify the death of your son by taking my family from me?” He didn’t need to know it was Undi: Bara’s promise had been valid, but the deluded fool had had no idea what happened when a dragon was truly pissed. Besides, the zebra looked exactly like his son, only this time... he wouldn’t burn as long.

In an instant, he was upon Undi, his flaming claws grabbing the zebra by the throat and lifting him up. As his throat burned, Undi could not say a single word as this flaming specter looked him over, disdain filtering through the flickering flames.

“Goodbye, Undi: we shall never meet again.” With that, Spike wound back and tossed the zebra off the ship, watching him soar through the air and into the water. Looking around and ignoring the zebras who simply tossed themselves off the ship, Spike found what he was looking for: the powder store. Flying up into the air, flames still trailing after him, he spat out an enormous fireball, watching it burn as it fell towards the ship. When it impacted, the ship cracked down the middle, splitting amidst a roar of flames and breaking wood.

The two burning pieces fell over, secondary explosions littering the burning frame as Spike descended into the water. Emerging amidst a geyser of steam, now flame-free, Spike rose up and flew back to his own ship, truly noticing the damage for the first time. It looked as though a giant had grabbed it between two massive hands, had shaken it, and then drop-kicked it across a football field. Other ships in the convoy looked the same: the ones that weren’t sinking, anyway.

Landing on the deck, Spike saw dozens of bodies lying in a row, the blood smearing all over the deck as the rain washed it away. Small burning embers here and there still persisted, but they too were soon extinguished. The captain was leaning against a table, watching as a zebra patched up a limping sailor: one of his legs was gone right above the ankle.

“Is it over?” the captain asked when Spike approached, having helped another amputee to his hooves.

“Yes,” Spike said, looking out over the horizon as the wind and rain continued to batter the weary and injured crew. “Yes: it’s all over.” His family was safe, and the pirates were dead: all that was left was to arrive in Saddle Arabia before their ship sank. Landing on shore was a no-go: pirates not on the ships still controlled the shores, and they would all be easy pickings in their current state.

He was not sure if they would make it to Saddle Arabia: all he could do was hope the ship would hold itself together long enough for them to do so.

Author's Note

Well, there you go: an action-packed chapter. So, what did you think? And if you think I'm done with the action for this story... you all have another thing coming.

Arabian Arrival

Chapter Thirty-Two

Arabian Arrival

The sun shone brightly over the capital city of Saddle Arabia as the royal heads of the state headed down to the port, resplendent in their fancy clothes. Golden threads, the finest of silks imported from the East, small jewels dug from the craters of long-ago comet impacts: they looked fabulous. However, today was not just some jaunt out into the city to survey the small fraction of the kingdom they ruled. They were expecting visitors, and an advanced letter had told them of the visitor’s relation to their old friend, Princess Celestia.

“How soon do you think they will arrive?” the king asked looking out over the harbor as their carriage wound down the cobblestone streets. He had the features of a strong pony, though much of it had been weathered by age, the sands and the harsh desert sun. His mane was not as thick as it once was, and the small amount of facial hair he had left was flecked with white and gray. Wrinkles perforated his face, as if his skin had permanently dried under the sun that beat down mercilessly every day. He slouched slightly, the result of often bearing the weight of his nation on his shoulders like a physical burden.

“Not long, husband,” the queen replied, her serene gaze looking out the other window. “They left Maredagascar a week ago: they should be here very soon.” The queen too was in the twilight years of her prime. She must have been very beautiful, but the wrinkles she had were the same as her husband’s, and her mane had small streaks of white in the once completely-dark hair. Though it was hard to tell under her clothes, she had once been svelte, thin, an hourglass figure that would bring any stallion to their knees. Now, she was still thin, but age had sapped away some of her body’s charm, and while she still looked good, she was nothing like she used to be.

“I hope so,” the king said, sighing slightly as the carriage moved along the somewhat deserted street: partly due to the presence of the royal guards, and partly due to the distance from the business center making it an unprofitable place to set up shop. “I hope this “Spike” can help our son.”

They were parents of only a singular child, a colt. They had tried many times, but either the king’s seed never took, or the queen lost the foal during the pregnancy, often becoming very sick afterwards. Whether it was from the complications or her grief, nopony knew, but the king would comfort her as best he could without sobbing on her shoulder. It had grown harder every time they had tried, until at last she made it all the way through a pregnancy and gave birth to a healthy colt. With that, they ceased to try any more, not sure if they could endure the heartache of more failures. That, and little Mehmed needed his mother: it would not have done well for him if she had died in childbirth or become sick from losing another foal when he was still just a little colt.

“I am sure he can, dear,” the queen replied, knowing their hopes rested on their only colt. “Who knows? Maybe Spike and Mehmed will become good friends. He needs to meet someone his own age, one who can give him the help he needs.” Their country was very strict on what class could marry what class: not because of prejudice, but simply because of the facts of life. A labor pony, working out in the salt mines, could never bring in enough money to support a family if he married a merchant’s daughter. The other way was just as true: the lower class was often not very healthy, and deaths from childbirth complications were all-too-common. To put the future of a rich family’s continued existence on a pony whose health was never well was something almost no pony was willing to risk. The royal family was no different: only royals or those of the very upper echelons of society could marry into the throne, and every ruler had to be careful: the ranks were full of vipers just waiting for a slice of that political power pie.

The carriage stopped at the entrance to the harbor, with the royal couple stepping out into the bright sunlight. There were no clouds, but thankfully the smell of the sea pervaded the area. Gulls called as they flew between ships and the sparse trees along the shoreline not developed into the harbor. Here and there, workers continued repairing docks from the harsh elements, whether it was replacing wooden beams infested by imported termites, or repainting the lighthouse after the salty air had corroded away all of the outer finish.

“That must be them,” the king said, pointing out towards a ship approaching the harbor. Several others were alongside it, almost as if helping it move along. The ropes connecting them only confirmed this observation, and when it drew nearer, the queen gasped softly.

The ship looked like it had traveled through Tartarus, rammed a demonic creature in the face with its bow and had barely managed to escape the ensuing chaos. Holes littered the sides, with scorch marks everywhere from exploding gunpowder and cannonballs. The mainmast was barely standing, the number of holes in it giving it the look of Swiss cheese. The front of the ship had a large chunk missing as well, and the sails were tattered and riddled with long tears. Water seeped out of many holes after small waves would crest right into the exposed hull: the sailors were obviously running the pumps as best they could. The ship itself would likely take weeks, or perhaps even months to repair in dry-dock, given its dilapidated state.

As soon as it docked, several very injured-looking zebras began throwing ropes to the others down at the docks, securing the ship in place. Many had bandages covering large parts of their bodies, with some having half their heads wrapped in the dried-brown cloths. Over the damage railing, a ramp was extended until it reached the dock. Immediately, two shapes rushed down and threw themselves on the ground, kissing it.

“I never want to go on another ship,” Maria said as she and Asalah rose to their hooves. Spike, Chrysalis and Trixie followed behind, Chrysalis being supported by Spike. Even after three days of rest, she had yet to regain all of her strength from that storm spell she had used. Luckily, she had enough strength to cast her Meia guise once more: the chance of the royals reporting her “new” appearance to Celestia was too great a risk.

“We will have to when we go from the Nippon Shogunate to India, and then from India back to Equestria,” Spike said. “Though the chances of encountering pirates out there is even less than when I crossed the Barnlantic: countries out there, from what I hear, don’t tolerate that kind of enterprise.”

“Well, it’ll be too soon for me,” Asalah said, falling into step behind them. All five of them stopped when a group of royal guards approached, arms at the ready.

“State your business,” the clearly-marked captain said, his voice firm.

“Uh... Spike Dragul, emissary of Equestria, here to meet the royal heads of Saddle Arabia,” Spike said, hoping he remembered everything right. It wouldn’t do him any good to be imprisoned in another country for forgetting to simply say why he was there.

“It is all right, captain,” the king said, he and his wife approaching the captain from behind. “He speaks the truth: Celestia informed us of his arrival.”

“My apologies,” the captain said, bowing before Spike and his wives. “I was not sure of your identity.”

“It is quite all right,” Spike said, waving him off. He turned to the royal couple, noticing how much older they looked since he saw them last. It had been many years since they visited Equestria, back when he was still a very young dragon. “Your highnesses,” he said.

“Spike Dragul,” they replied, each bowing gracefully. “You humble us with your presence. Come: we have much to discuss.”

Following the couple back to their massive carriage, Spike helped his wives get in after the monarchs, being the last to enter the spacious interior. A guard shut the door behind him and the carriage lurched forward slightly, turning around in order to go back up to the castle.

“Mr. Dragul, since you will be staying with us, might I suggest you meet someone?” the queen asked.

“Who?” Spike asked.

“Our son, Mehmed,” the king replied. “He is about your age, and could use some help: specifically, help I believe you could provide for him.”

“What help would that be?” Spike asked, wondering why a prince needed his help. He was a prince: like Blueblood, everything must have been handed to him on a silver platter from day one, right?

“He is to be married soon, but cannot choose a bride,” the queen said. “Seeing as you have four wives, it occurred to us you would be the best one to teach him the proper way to, how do they say, make a move?”

Spike internally face-palmed, knowing this was likely going to bite him in the ass. “Well, sure: I guess I could help him,” he said, knowing full well he had never “made the move” on any of his wives. Either they had made a move on him or had been betrothed to him, like Chrysalis and Asalah: or, in Maria’s case, had ingeniously manipulated him into asking them to marry him. Trixie had been pregnant: two parents short of a shotgun wedding right there.

They were mostly silent for the rest of the carriage ride, the gentle rocking of the carriage mimicking Spike’s internal thoughts.

He was married to four mares, three of whom were pregnant. They loved him dearly, for their own reasons and because he was, according to them, a sex god in bed. That was just secondary, of course.

Now, in a land he had never visited, with cultural norms he did not understand, he was supposed to help the prince, the heir to the country’s crown, pick the mare he wanted to be his queen. From what the queen had said, the prince could not choose. How on Earth could he not? Surely dozens of mares were practically throwing themselves at his hooves, each just waiting for the chance to become queen of an entire country. It would bring the greatest boost to one’s prestige, the highest of honors: they would be forever adored by their families, and their descendants would be rulers of the country. Even their relatives could be elected to positions of power!

All in all, a very lucrative opportunity for any family with an ambitious enough daughter, or set of parents. Spike now knew how it would have been like for him should he choose wives entirely from Equestria: he would have been swarmed wherever he went. It would have been worse during the main phase of the mare heat cycle, when every mare within dozens of kilometers would have been descending upon him like a tsunami of horny, hormonal mare flesh.

“Oh boy,” he muttered. How was he going to help Mehmed separate the good from the bad? The pure from the corrupt: the manipulative from the innocent? He felt like a salespony trying to pick out the best cows for a dairy herd...

Wait a minute... Pick.... Herd...

He had an idea, but as any good husband should he would have to run it by his wives.

That was easy enough: as soon as they all arrived at the palace, they were whisked away to their suites, positioned high in a tower so they could look out over the city, the sea, and the desert hills. As soon as everypony (and Spike) had changed into new clothes, Spike had sat them all down to discuss his plan. Chrysalis was barely conscious after the walk up the stairs, so she simply lay down on the massive bed they would all sleep in whilst the others listened to him.

“You’re going to what now?” Trixie had asked, sounding nonplussed after Spike had finished telling his plan.

“You know exactly what I said,” Spike replied, noticing how Chrysalis was now asleep. Sometimes he even had to feed her like a baby in the morning: not that she minded terribly. Any excuse to cuddle up to his chest must have been good enough for her.

“I don’t know, Spike: doesn’t that seem a bit... foolhardy?” Asalah asked. “you are dealing with many noblemares who would give up their hooves to be queen. Plus, they have connections: you could be putting the prince and yourself in terrible danger.”

“I’m not sure it’s a bad plan, Asalah,” Maria replied as she continued to gently stroke the snoring Chrysalis’s mane. “You have to admit, it is pretty ingenious, when you think of it.”

“Yes, I agree to that aspect, but the way in which it is going to be executed...” Asalah said, trailing off. Trixie, on the other hand, looked downright displeased.

“This had better work in your favor, Spike,” she said, softly patting her swollen stomach. “This is risky, especially for you: do remember what happened last time you slept in a palace where you did not know the cultural norms?”

“But that worked out very well in the end,” Spike said quickly as Asalah quickly glanced at Trixie in surprise. The blue unicorn sent her an apologetic look immediately: she hadn’t meant it like that. “Besides, I would not be the focus: I just have to... weed out those who have ulterior motives.”

“Well, be careful, should they shift their focus from Mehmed to you, husband,” Maria said softly.

“I will,” Spike replied softly. “I will.” With that, they all lay down on the bed, content to just rest alongside one another.

An hour later, Spike found himself standing in the throne room with the king and queen, waiting for the prince of Saddle Arabia to return from a tutoring session in the local astronomy tower.

“Tell me, your highnesses,” Spike said as they waited. “How long has the public known of the prince’s requirement for marriage?”

“The public?” the king repeated. “Why would they know?”

“So it is only those with royal relatives or those with relatives in the upper class?” Spike asked, glad the king’s response only confirmed what he had hoped: only those of nobility or the wealthy knew.

“Yes,” the queen said. “There are many suitable brides in the upper echelons of our society: some are daughters of very successful merchants, others generals and some of local sultans from neighboring countries.”

“How many are available?” the dragon asked.

“Oh, around a dozen or so, taking into account some of the others have been betrothed while Mehmed procrastinated in making his choice,” the king said, exasperation filtering through his voice. “It’s like he doesn’t even want to be married.”
“He’s still young, my king,” the queen said softly.

“I was younger than he was when we were betrothed,” the king said, a tone of irritation now filling his voice. “As were you, and everything turned out fine for us: more or less.”

“That was different: it was a time of necessity,” the queen said, as if Spike wasn’t even there. “Mehmed has no real urgency in his life like we did: to him, it’s just too soon for marriage.”

“Well, I’d like to know our royal line is secure before I pass on,” the king replied. “Besides, I want grandfoals.”

“As do I: as do I,” the queen said. Spike was growing rather uncomfortable: this talk of grandfoals was already bringing up in his mind the eventual meeting of his wives with his friends and family, along with meeting Chrysalis’s entire hive and Trixie’s parents. How would they react to the news their daughter got knocked up outside of a marriage?

There was the banging of the large doors that lead to the room, snapping Spike out of his reverie. He saw them open, and three ponies strode in: two guards, and a third pony he did not know. This third pony had to be Mehmed: the resemblance to the kind and queen was too similar to be just chance.

He was not a terribly tall pony: taller than most, as were both of his parents, yet shorter than Spike by more than a few inches. He was a rather handsome colt, with strong facial features and quick, green eyes. His mane, long and flowing, was similar to those utterly ridiculous-looking stallions on the cover of every romance novel in existence. He was built similar to a colt who spent much of his time studying and practicing the ways of his kingdom: skinny, and yet not terribly so. He undoubtedly had muscles underneath all that, though Spike knew his wives would quickly point out they couldn’t hold a candle to the dragon’s own.

“Son,” the king and queen said, dipping their heads as the prince bowed before both thrones.

“Father; mother,” Mehmed replied, looking at each of his parents when he addressed them. “I believe I was summoned?”

“Yes, you were,” the king said. “Son, it has come to our attention that you have yet to choose the mare who will be your queen.”

The prince made no movement, but Spike could see he internally sighed: he had become a master of it himself, so it was easy enough to tell when somepony else did it. “I cannot decide as easily as you did, father,” the prince said. “All but one of your choices would have poisoned you the moment they bore your foal. Their fathers would have made sure of it, so as to grab power for themselves.”

The king sighed, as did the queen: maybe they shouldn’t have told him of their country’s instability in the days leading up to his conception. His own father had died, and some worm of an advisor had tried to make a move on the prince’s mother, vying for power within the country. It had been nasty, but the prince-turned-king had managed to succeed in his endeavors, and now his kingdom was still reaping the benefits of his daring decisions, even after all these years. “That does not excuse you from your royal duty,” the queen said softly. “Mehmed, as your queen, but more importantly, as your mother, I am concerned for you. You cannot just go through life without having to make tough decisions. Sometimes you must take charge of a situation, and act accordingly. You are a prince, and as much as it pains me to say it, you must start acting like one.”

“That is why we would like to introduce you to somepony,” the king added, sounding like he did not want to be left out. “Or somedragon, in this case. This is Spike Dragul, royalty from the land of Equestria, and our personal guest for the next few weeks. He is also a personal acquaintance of Princesses Celestia and Luna, so I do not need to remind you of how important it is you do nothing to make him upset.” Wow, heavy-handed warning much?

Mehmed turned for the first time to Spike, his eyebrows nearly shooting into his mane: he had obviously not even noticed the dragon as he walked in. It was likely nopony in the entire kingdom had seen a dragon before: they were not that secluded, but dragons did not like deserts that much. It was harder to find jewels and such for hoards in their later years, and the sand always got in their scales: Spike could already start to feel his beginning to itch ever so slightly.

“He has volunteered to help you with your... problem,” the king continued, picking up where the queen had left off. “He has much experience in that arena of one’s life: he has four wives, after all.”

Spike felt like he wanted to sink into the floor like a stone in a lake. Not only had the old king “conveniently” skipped over the fact that the queen and himself had asked Spike to do this for them, but he said the poor dragon was experienced in the realm of choosing a wife. One wife had been pregnant before marriage, another maneuvered him into it, yet another was a completely different pony than he thought they had been, and the other had been married to him after he got crazy drunk. So yeah, he was totally the right pony- er, dragon, to discuss marriage. At least Mehmed was close to his age: perhaps it wouldn’t be as awkward then.

“H-hello,” the prince said, his eyes widening as he took in Spike’s appearance: he had obviously never seen a dragon before. It was probably the wings and the tail: muscular tails were not something a pony had, and the large leathery wings were nothing like the soft, fluffy feathers of a pegasus.

Well, Spike would just have to make the best of it. “Hello to you as well,” the dragon said, bowing slightly before the prince. “You are Mehmed, I presume?” He already knew, but these dang formalities he suddenly remembered: it wouldn’t do good for his reputation if everypony saw him as brusque.

“That I am,” the prince replied, straightening at the mention of his name.

“Well, I am sure the two of you will have much to discuss,” the king said rather suddenly. “You may leave us.”

“Yes, father,” Mehmed said, with Spike giving a short bow. They left immediately, the guards closing the doors to the throne room behind them.

“I am sorry they put you up to this,” Mehmed said almost immediately after they had rounded a corner.
“What?” Spike asked, not sure if he had heard that correctly.

“My parents: for doing this,” the prince repeated. “Making you my... *sigh* marriage tutor.”

Well, Spike had never heard phrased quite that way before. “Well, they only partly put me up to it, to be honest,” Spike said in return as they stopped by a golden arch. “I did somewhat volunteer: this is a responsibility I’m not yet sure you realize is vital to the future of your kingdom, and you as well.”

“I know of it’s importance: trust me, I know,” Mehmed said, leaning back against the pillar and closing his eyes. “The only trouble is, or at least one of the many troubles is, I can’t just pick some mare for her looks or connections, as my parents seem to think I should. I want...”

“Yes?” Spike asked, having a feeling he knew exactly where this was headed. In fact, now that he thought about it, Mehmed reminded him a bit of himself a few months back, before he had gotten on the train leaving Canterlot and his whole life had changed. For the better, to be sure: that was evident enough.

“I want a mare I can fall in love with, and one who in return will fall in love with me, and just me,” Mehmed said. “I don’t want her to love me for my power, or for the prestige it will bring, or for the securing of her family’s future. I want somepony special, you know?”

“All too well, Mehmed,” Spike said, leaning back against the opposite pillar. “Tell you what: I’m not the best at this, but I do believe I have a solution to your problem.” Well, it had been a long time coming, but he knew now was the time to spring his “idea’ on the prince.

“You do?” Mehmed asked, arching an eyebrow. “You must be a very quick judge of a situation, Sir Spike: not many creatures can attest to being able to come up with a solution so quickly after meeting somepony.”

“Yes, but it’s not going to be easy, or quick, for that matter,” the dragon said. “Nothing worth doing is ever quick or easy: of this, I am confident to say, I am more of an expert than marriage proposals. This task might take me the entire time I’m here, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to be of any help. I said I would help you, and by Celestia, I will try. So, I have to ask you this: are you willing to do what I say? This will be hard, long, and likely full of setbacks and mistakes. But life is, and if you are going to get on with your life and find the happiness you want, I say again: will you try to do as I say?”

Mehmed was silent for a few moments: understandable, as Spike knew this was a lot to so suddenly lay on the colt’s shoulders. “Yes: yes I am,” he said, holding out his hand. “If it means finding the mare of my dreams and fulfilling both my parent’s wishes, and the needs of my future kingdom, then so be it.”

“Excellent,” Spike replied, shaking the stallion’s hand. He had a feeling he was going to like this stallion. “So: let’s get started, shall we?”

Author's Note

There: no sex, a new locale, and a new problem facing Spike.

As a side note, the sex/clop may die down for a bit, and there will be no new wives for a few more chapters. Trust me when I say this though: after what I have in store, you'll be glad I waited to write in some more. As soon as the next one shows up, it'll be like back in the beginning: one right after another.

Also, my updates may grow more irregular; it is hard to find time to write as I cram for finals and prepare for a seven-week intensive training course for my major early this summer.

Heartbreaker, Matchmaker

Chapter Thirty Three

Heartbreaker, Matchmaker

It was early the next morning that Spike rose from his bed, managing to slip out from underneath the weight of all his wives. How he managed to do this was beyond his knowledge: perhaps he had finally mastered some unknown skill? Getting dressed, he slowly made his way down the winding steps, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself flying on the morning breeze. He had no idea how the sleep guards on duty would react, so he decided it would be best to just play it safe.

When he arrived in the throne room, he found the king and queen talking with a pair of the royal guards. The queen noticed the dragon and waved him over, the king dismissing the two guards.

“Ah, Spike: good morning,” the queen said as they all bowed before one another. “I trust you had a good night’s sleep?”

“Very much so,” Spike said, truthfully. “After being on that ship, I feel it is safe to say my wives and I would prefer to sleep on dry land.” He hadn’t minded the Crowhop, but a ship falling apart around him was not an experience Spike wanted to relive any time soon.

“Well, that is good to hear,” the king said as another door opened. “Tell us: how is everything going with Mehmed?”

Spike blinked in surprise: they sure wanted their son to marry. “Very well: the plan is in motion,” he said.

“Plan? What plan?” the queen asked.

“I am afraid I can’t tell you that,” Spike said mysteriously. “It is between Mehmed and me, told in confidence. I know you two are anxious, but you’ll have to wait. I ask for your patience in this: things like this cannot just be done within a few days’ time.”

“Well, if you insist on privacy,” the king said, sounding a bit apprehensive. “We will respect your wishes. But, I must ask you one thing: can you assure us you can help Mehmed find a mare to be his queen?”

“Your highness, by the time I leave this city, I can guarantee I will have not only found the perfect mare for Mehmed, but I will also have convinced him to ask for her hand in marriage,” Spike said with a confident smile.

“You will?” the queen asked, arching her eyebrows in surprise.

“Most definitely, though it will not happen overnight,” Spike said. “I’ll show him the ropes, give him a chance to do things his way, and help him along. I’ll be his wingman.”

“A wingwhat?” the king asked.

“Wingman: sort of like a friend who helps another friend get “lucky”, though in this case I’d be helping him find a suitable wife and not just some piece of tail,” Spike said. “Wingman is a pegasus term, in case you didn’t know.”

“Ah,” the queen said, suddenly unsure if Spike was the right one to teach her darling little Mehmed the ways of the social side of life. “Well... best of luck to you: both of you.”

“Believe me, Mehmed will have all the luck he’ll need,” Spike said, bowing again. “I’ll begin his “tutoring” right away, your highnesses.” With that, he left the room, the two monarchs looking at each other.

“I like him,” the king said with a smile.

“I do as well, but I’m worried he’ll lead Mehmed down a strange path to find his wife,” the queen replied.

“Please, my wife: what is the worst that could happen?” the king asked. He didn’t show it, but the king sort of did know the worst that could happen.

Several hours later, in the only public place where drinking was allowed, Spike and Mehmed strode in through the front door, both disguised in high-quality but feature-blurring clothing. The building itself was more of a large, open courtyard than a building, but the lattice-work roofing at least kept some of it cooler under the intense heat. This place was also only available to the richest ponies in the city, so there were relatively few stallions there. However, the daughters and sisters of the wealthy and powerful pervaded the area like a school of fish, and though Spike had rings on to show he was married, he had already been approached three times by rich young mares by the time he and Mehmed reached a table in a far corner. Unlike when in public, these mares were very talkative: it seemed a gender did not change overall, no matter what the base culture.

“Do we really have to do this?” Mehmed whispered under his concealing robes as they sat down into the seats carved into the very walls of the place.

“Yes: think of it as picking out the best without them knowing,” Spike whispered back. “This way, you’ll be able to see them for who they are: mares act their most natural around other mares, not possible husbands-to-be.”

“I think I see what you are getting at, my friend,” Mehmed said as they were served a large bowl of fruit. “I need to know what they are truly like, and not what they would want me to see. They would put up a facade, an act, to hide their true natures from me. ”

“Exactly,” Spike replied as he munched on an apple. He spit out the seeds and stored them for later: Applejack would no doubt want to know what kind these were. “Shall we get started?”

It wasn’t three minutes later that a mare walked over and sat across from them, silent as she stared at the both of them.
“Hello,” Mehmed said, trying to start a conversation.

“Greetings: I am Salai,” the mare said, rather forcefully. “I have not seen you here before: you are new, yes?”

“Uh, I... I guess,” Mehmed replied, somewhat cowed before the mare in front of him. Spike wanted to groan: he was coming off as weak, bashful: while it was not a bad thing, he couldn’t appear so all of the time.

“Since you are new, would you like me to show you around?” the mare asked, her request not exactly seeming to be a question.

“Uh... sure,” Mehmed said, looking to Spike for help.

The dragon merely shrugged and whispered to him. “Go for it: if she’s not the one, then maybe she’ll introduce you to somepony better.”

“But I don’t know anything about conversing with them!” Mehmed whispered back as the mare rose to her hooves.
“Just go with the flow and talk about things you all like,” Spike whispered as Mehmed’s hand was grabbed by Salai, who proceeded to nearly yank him out of his chair.

“But-,” Mehmed said, his words dying in his throat as Salai led him away. Spike gave him a discreet thumbs-up, and went back to eating some fruit.

A few minutes later, a figure walked into the joint and cautiously walked around, their hooves barely making a noise as they moved around. Soon enough, they went over and sat down in Mehmed’s seat, not saying a word: they didn’t even look at Spike.

“Hello,” Spike said, offering his hand in greeting. “The name’s... Spike.” He decided the truth would be easier, as none of the city really knew who he was or why he was here. If they did, then every mare in the city, and likely the surrounding countryside, would descend upon, hoping to catch his eye and be wed to him. He already met the “quota” for his herd, but maybe, someday, a few more could join?

“H-h-hello,” a female voice said, one that sounded awfully familiar...

“Fluttershy?” Spike asked, his brain nearly exploding. Oh no, Fluttershy was here! And if she was here, then the others were, and Celestia could be, and they would find out about Meia really being Chrysalis, and-

“Who?” the voice asked, lowering the veil to show a decidedly not-pegasus face: she was an Arabian pony. “Who is this “Fluttershy” of which you speak?”

“Oh, sorry: your voice reminded of a friend’s,” Spike said, internally sighing in relief. “I’m guessing your name is not Fluttershy, then?”

“Correct: my name is Sheba,” the pony said, her soft and very quiet voice barely registering above the background noise of the bar. “How... how did you find where I sit?”

“Where you sit?” Spike repeated. “You come here by yourself all the time?”

“Y-yes, always alone though,” she replied, looking around. “The others... I don’t know any of them.”

“Why? You’re obviously wealthy enough, or related to a pony wealthy enough, to get in this place,” Spike said.

“I just... I’m just not good around crowds,” Sheba said, even more softly than before. “It’s... it’s hard to start a conversation with somepony sometimes: you’re the f-first I’ve talked to since I’ve been here.”

“Ever?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Ever,” Sheba confirmed. “I’m... I’m not a very sociable pony. Others are intimidated...”

“By you?” Spike asked, one of his eyebrows nearly disappearing behind his head, so high he arched it. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but... you’re not intimidating in the slightest.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, blushing slightly. “No, no, I’m not the pony who is intimidating. It’s... it’s my father everypony else is afraid of.”

“Why is that?” the dragon asked as Mehmed was dragged past him to meet another group of mares. The poor prince shot him a silent look of pleading agony, but Salai’s grip was far too strong for him to escape.

“He... well, he is intimidating: anypony who has met him would likely agree with me,” Sheba said quietly as she glanced at Mehmed. “Is that a friend of yours?”

“Yeah,” Spike said as he watched the disguised prince disappear into a cluster of strangers.
“He’s... attractive,” the mare said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“So I’ve been told,” Spike replied, filing away her comment for later. “So, your father: what’s his name?”

“He is Husam: Husam El-Hashim,” Sheba said.

“What is his occupation?” the dragon asked as he munched on another fruit. The stallion had to be rich, to allow his daughter to enter a place like this. A big pony kept looking over at her from the corner: he had no idea who he was, but Spike knew the stallion was strong.

“He was a general in the king’s army: the highest ranked in several decades,” Sheba said as she gently bit into a fruit. “I’m surprised you didn’t know what he did: he is rather famous for his past deeds. He retired many years ago due to an arrow wound from a bandit in his leg: he still has the scars to show for it.”

“I’m not from around here,” Spike said simply. “I wouldn’t really know anything about this place, or much more about the ponies who live here.”

“You’re not from around here? But... but only the richest and most powerful of ponies are allowed into this club,” Sheba said, disbelief filtering through to her voice. “How in the world did you get in here, then?”

“I came with him,” Spike said, pointing to a bedraggled-looking figure who exited a pack of mares and stumbled his way over to the table.

“Spike, you must help me,” Mehmed said in a whisper. “I think... I think one might be onto us.”

“Which one?” Spike asked, rising to his feet as Sheba did the same, only rising to her hooves instead.

“That Salai: she seemed suspicious when I said I didn’t come here often, and this disguise is starting to fall apart,” the somewhat-disguised prince gasped, eagerly taking an offered fruit from Sheba. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, sir,” Sheba replied. Her eyes roamed him, glad she had a reasonable excuse to have cut her conversation with Spike short. She didn’t dislike him or anything, but he was even more of a stranger to her than those living in the city.

“Anyway,” the prince continued after swallowing a bite of the juicy fruit. “We must leave now: I know she will come to the conclusion soon enough: she is a sharp one.”

“Is she the right one?” Spike asked as they left the table, hearing some voices rise in volume behind them.

“No, no, no: she is far too dominating, too corrosive of a personality for one such as myself,” Mehmed said, not noticing as Sheba followed them. “She... she scares me, my dragon friend.”

“Wait... you’re a dragon?” Sheba whispered with wide eyes just as they reached the door. Apparently it had been loud enough for others to hear, as many heads turned in their direction.

“Uh oh,” Spike said as several mares rose from their seats, hungry looks filtering through their veils. “We must go: now.”

With a flick of his concealed tail, Spike sent a table tipping over behind them, blocking the entrance to the club just as several mares rushed the three of them. Stopping them in their tracks, the table was there long enough for the three of them to make good their escape, though they were followed by that large stallion that could only be Sheba’s bodyguard.

“I doubt we’ll be going back there any time soon,” Spike said as they reached their destination: a fountain in the middle of several street intersections.

“I must bid you farewell, as my father will no doubt be expecting me home soon,” Sheba said, shaking Spike’s hand. She turned to shake Mehmed’s, who had stopped to look at her, and I mean really look at her. She noticed. “Is... is something wrong, sir?”

“Uh, I... I don’t...” the prince tried to say, his tongue suddenly tied in knots. Where had this come from? Why did he suddenly feel so awkward? “Would... can I see you again?”

“Um...” Sheba responded, suddenly at a loss for words as well. She found herself getting lost in the stallion’s eyes...

Spike saw how both of them were reacting and nearly laughed out loud. Of course! Fate was too kind to him: he had obviously been introduced to the future Mrs. Mehmed, but he hadn’t seen it! It had just been a nice conversation, he thought, but in reality, fate had sent him the very pony he had been trying to help Mehmed find.

“Say yes,” Spike whispered to Sheba, since Mehmed seemed to be off in a world of his own making. This startled the mare out of her reverie, causing her silent bodyguard to twitch.

“Um... yes, sir: I too would like to see you again,” she finished, her voice an octave below a whisper.

“That’s... great,” Mehmed said, her response seeming to snap him out of his own reverie. “That would be... great. Where... where would we... meet?”

“What about... here?” Sheba asked, looking at the fountain, though judging from the motion, she didn’t want to look away from Mehmed.

“S-sure,” the prince replied, finally letting her hand go free from the handshake. “H-how about... noon t-tomorrow?”

“That sounds... splendid,” Sheba said, bowing slightly before him. Then, with a small but noticeable spring in her hoof-step, she walked off, glancing back over her shoulder to look at Mehmed as her bodyguard caught up with her.

“She’s... she’s...” Mehmed said to Spike, who had walked up beside the prince. “She’s... perfect.”

“I was about to say the same thing, your highness,” Spike said with a grin. “Come on: I’ll tell you all about her when we get-,”

“THERE HE IS!” a voice shrieked, causing the duo to look around. The mares from the club had not been so easily dissuaded with a table blocking the entrance.

“Run!” Spike whispered to Mehmed, who wasted no time in taking off down the street. Spike ran after him, the both of them running like they stole something. The herd of mares behind them thundered like a mighty flood, the sounds of their hoofbeats never getting farther away.

Spike saw a problem with their plan: dead ahead was the end of the road. Worse yet, due to the hilly nature of the city, it ran into a sheer cliffside of buildings.

Mehmed saw this. “What do we do?!” he shouted as they approached.

“Jump!” Spike answered back.

“Jump?! Are you insane?!” the prince shouted back. The drop-off grew closer, and closer, and closer...

“Just trust me!” Spike shouted. The prince was only a few steps ahead of him, but it seemed like minutes before he reached the ledge, the prince already airborne.

With a tearing noise, Spike’s great wings unfurled themselves from the clothes he wore, tearing it apart from the waist up, exposing his muscular body. Squeals of glee sounded from the herd behind him as he flapped, gaining on the falling (and screaming like a little filly) prince, catching him under the armpits with his hands.

“See? I said you could trust me,” Spike said calmly as his wings flapped, carrying them both aloft without any difficulty. “Also, you can stop screaming now.”

The prince stopped screaming as they flew off, leaving behind the bemoaning herd of mares behind. The castle came into view, and the stunned guards did nothing as Spike landed the both of them near the entrance, sending three servants fleeing into the nearby rose bushes.

Their screams of pain were a comical thing to hear, when combined with them running out and tearing at their clothes.

Later...

“Chased out of a bar by a herd of mares? Running through the streets like a pair of hooligans? Leaping to certain doom to escape them?” the king and queen said to Mehmed, who meekly shuffled his hooves before them in the throne room. Spike wasn’t there: he had said something about “attending to his wive’s needs” and had disappeared like jewelry at a thief convention.

“Yes?” he said.

“Mehmed, sometimes I don’t know how you are even alive, after all the shenanigans you’ve pulled,” the king said.

“Do you want to send us to an early grave from worry?” the queen asked, burying her face in her hands in exasperation. As soon as she did this, the king gave his son a discreet wink and two thumbs up: it reminded him of his exploits as a young colt, before the responsibilities of running a kingdom took over.

“But, mother, father, I have good news too,” the prince said as his father’s stoic face returned as the queen looked up.

“You do?” the king asked, his voice sounding skeptical to maintain the illusion he was still upset with his son, instead of just somewhat annoyed.

“Yes,” Mehmed said. “For you see, at the bar, Spike and I met somepony-,”

“You did?” the queen asked, bolting upright from her somewhat slouched position on the throne.

“Yes,” Mehmed continued. “She’s beautiful, and though I don’t know much about her besides that, I-,”

“Asked her to marry you?” the queen said, nearly squealing like a school filly upon learning the cutest colt in class had a crush on her. Oh, the thought of grandfoals, and their own colt finally becoming solidified in his position to take over the kingdom in their stead filled her with great joy.

“N-n-no,” Mehmed said, causing his parent’s looks of hope and joy to come crashing down like an unstable tower of cheese. “I asked to meet her again tomorrow.”

“Oh,” the king said. “Well, I suppose if you ask her there...”

“No I won’t, father,” Mehmed said. “I want to ask her when the time is right: after I’ve gotten to know her and her family.”

“That’ll take forever!” the queen said in a royal whiny voice.

“You told me I must start making decision for myself, and starting now, this is one of them,” the prince said, crossing his arms and looking up at his parents. “If you cannot accept that, then that is fine with me.”

The king and queen sighed: why now, of all the decisions he had to make, did he have to be so... decisive about this one. “Fine, my son,” the king said. “We will support you in this endeavor. Though, please tell me one thing: what is her name?”

“Spike told me: Sheba. Her name is Sheba El-Hashim.”

At this, both the king and the queen looked at each other, their faces ablaze with shock. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but...

“This is not good,” the king whispered to the queen.

Meanwhile...

“Maria, must you always do that?” Spike asked as his first wife and mother of what would be either his second or third foal bounced on him. “You know this isn’t a race, right?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” Maria said as she rode him, her slightly swollen belly smacking lightly against his toned abs as she rode him. “You have no idea how good this is.” Asalah, Trixie and Chrysalis were all taking a nap, having gladly gorged themselves on sweets and other goodies while Spike was out with Mehmed. He had returned to find Maria awake, looking for him, and... horny.

“I think I do,” Spike said, his hands reaching up and trapping her own at her sides. She squealed as he flipped her over onto her back, her swollen breasts flinging up to smack her in the chin. They too were now swollen with milk, so that when Spike reached down and suckeld one, the sweet mixture left the tender nipple and entered his mouth.

“That’s so good,” they said at the same time, Maria reveling in the experience and Spike drinking the sweet substance.
“Maria?” Spike asked through his suckling mouth, the words coming out as a mumble.

“Hm? Maria replied, loving the feeling of him so deep in her.

“I’m going to cum somewhere else,” he said, pulling himself out of her tender marehood. They had agreed he could not go as deep as he used to, before she was with foal: there was no telling what his mighty sword could do if it were sheathed too far into her... scabbard.

“But... but where?” Maria asked, looking down over her tender breasts and slightly bulging belly to see Spike’s dragonhood withdraw itself from her. She moaned quietly, an ache suddenly upon her.

“Here,” Spike said, pushing the tip against the entrance to her virgin asshole.

“What?” Maria said, nearly shrieking in surprise. “But.. but.. that’s an exit only!”

“No, it’s the third hole on you at your disposal,” Spike said softly, continuing to milk her with his mouth as he prodded against her unplundered cave.

“No, Spike... I.... you can’t,” she said, her words starting to fail her as more and more milk left her breasts, as Spike readily switched between them. “That’s... that’s... that’s not befitting of a noblemare such as... as myself?”

“Oh really?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up at her from his suckling position. “Then why are you so wet at the thought?”

That much was true: her marehood had begun to leak even more copiously than when they were mating, the mere thought of so large an object entering a (in her mind) taboo pleasure zone making her body react rather pleasantly towards the idea.

“But... but will it even fit?” Maria asked as the mighty mushroom cap that was the tip of Spike’s dick probed against her, pushing against her virgin backside.

“I should think so,” Spike said in a nonchalant manner.

“No, it... it won’t.”

“Yes it will: you worry too much.”

“No, Spike, I’m serious, it won’t fit: it simply, positively... CAN’T!” Maria shouted out as Spike plunged the first few inches of it into her, who smiled into her breasts as it made a popping sound.

“Told you,” he said, pushing slightly more in, earning another squeal from her as he body shuddered and bucked underneath his.

“You... you got lucky it did,” Maria said, laughing weakly as her words were interspaced by moans. They continued to grind against one another, Spike plunging as far as he dare go into her: he didn’t want o break her, after all.

Soon, or too soon in Maria’s befuddled mind, they came, her asshole clutching at his throbbing meat as volley after volley of thick, dragon seed spewed forth into her inside. They lay like that, milk leaking from Maria’s nipples as Spike raised himself above her.

“That... that was nice,” Maria said weakly, moving some of her mane out of her sweaty face.

“Yes,” Spike said, starting to pull out. “Yes it wa-,”

“Spike?” Maria asked, looking at his face as he failed to... remove himself from her.

“Uh,” Spike said, a dumb looking crossing his features.

“What is it?” the unicorn asked.

“Maria, dear,” Spike said weakly, a meek grin forming on his lips. “I... I can’t pull out.”

“What,” the noblemare said; the “what” not even a question. More of a statement, to be honest.

“Yeah...” Spike said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m... I’m kinda... stuck.” The look on Maria’s face meant she was not happy; not happy at all.

Then, the other three of his wives walked in, still a bit sleepy but obviously awake. Then they looked and saw Spike’s giant dragon dick stuck inside Maria’s tight asshole.

Oh boy: this was awkward.

Author's Note

Well, there you go: introductions, humor, some clop... A package deal, I might say. Updates may soon be few and far between, what with my intensive month-long training session.

Getting to Know You

Chapter Thirty Four

Getting to Know You

Spike was glad to have agreed to chaperone Mehmed on his meeting with Sheba the next day: no chance of any of his wives getting mad at him for “sticking something it shouldn’t usually go” or something along those lines: it had been somewhat hard to hear through the shouting and screaming.

He still shuddered at the exact conversation.

“Pull it out!”

“I can’t: it’s stuck!”

“Well try harder! I can’t have your dick stuck in my ass for the rest of our time here! How would that even work?”

“I can’t get out!”

“What is this?”

“I’m stuck!”

“What is my life?”

“I’m stuck!”

“JUST BUCKING PULL IT OUT ALREADY!”

“Fine!”

*Pop*

“OW THAT HURT!”

“NO SHIT MARIA!”

He shuddered again: luckily, the others had been there to restrain the frenzied mare, or else he might have had to lay down the law with a cock-slap to the face. The blow could have left a bruise!

“Ready?” Mehmed asked, snapping the dragon out of his own little world.

“Yes,” Spike said, glad to be thinking of something else. “You go on, I’ll watch from a distance. If you run into any trouble, just give me the signal.”

“What signal?” the prince asked. The dragon had never said anything about a signal, so what did he mean by it? Was this all some sort of test?

“You know what, never mind: I’ll probably know if things get out of hand,” the dragon said. “Okay, time for you to meet Sheba.”

They walked the rest of the distance between the palace and the fountain, both dressed once more in loose clothing designed to hide their appearance. Spike made sure they steered clear of the bar again: who knew how many mares from yesterday had showed up just to see if they could spot him again?

They rounded a corner once more and found themselves at the converging streets, the fountain in sight: as was Sheba, since Spike didn’t know anypony else who looked the same, dressed in the same manner, and had the same bodyguard following her from a distance.

“There she is: go for it,” Spike said, noticing how Mehmed had frozen. “What are you waiting for?”

“Her... she... I... I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” the prince said in a rush, taking a step back. Either he had realized just how intimidating the bodyguard was to anypony who looked at him, or he was not sure if he was in the right state to talk with Sheba.

Likely the second one, by the sudden increase in his breathing: rapid and shallow. “You can do this,” Spike said, giving him a nudge: more like a push, really. “You agreed to meet her here, and prince does not go back on his word. Go on!”

With a bit more force put into it, Spike shoved the prince forward, sending him stumbling a few steps before he caught himself. The prince looked back to give Spike a retort, but a voice interrupted.

“Mehmed,” Sheba called, giving him a small wave of greeting. The prince instantly turned around at her voice, all thoughts of giving Spike an earful suddenly erased from his mind. He slowly walked towards her, the sounds of the city around them making it difficult for Spike to hear him move.

When he sat down beside her, Mehmed began to talk with her, his head moving as he nodded to whatever she was talking about. Spike couldn’t hear it, though, and he wasn’t good at reading lips either. So he leaned against a building and just watched in silence, occasionally sniffing the air or scratching at his chin.

Ten minutes passed, and they just seemed to be talking: so far, so good. Then twenty minutes, and thirty, and forty, and-

“There you are!” a voice said, a pair of hands suddenly grabbing Spike’s arm and dragging him away. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! Your show starts in ten minutes!”

“What show?” Spike asked, suddenly very confused. “Who are you?” Wow, this pony was strong, to be shoving him with such ease.

“I am your boss! You idiot, don’t you remember your mid-afternoon show? The ladies have paid highly for your upcoming performance with the others: do not disappoint them!” The stallion’s voice was rather grating and it made Spike flinch slightly.

“What?!” Spike shouted again before he was shoved into a building, losing sight of the prince and his date Sheba. Before the dragon could regain his thoughts, someone threw a few large weapons into his arms: for anypony else they would have been really heavy, but for the dragon, it wasn’t much.

“Give these to the others when they are called on stage,” a voice said before it disappeared. Everywhere Spike looked, dust and clothes flew about as stallion upon stallion dressed themselves up in some rather... odd clothes. Like suspenders with no shirts on, exposing their abs: what in the name of Tartarus?

“Where did they even get suspenders?” Spike muttered to himself as he was jostled along by countless, sweaty stallions. Okay, even though he was the tallest male in the room, though not by too much, Spike was feeling very uncomfortable. Why were they all dressing like this? Where in the world was he? Why was-

“Ladies, the desert heat beats down on all of us. But here, in the Stud Shack, we can help you beat the heat with our prized selection of tall, cool glasses of water. Please welcome our prized stallions!”

There was a loud applause and many cheers and whistles as Spike, amidst a herd of muscular zebras, earth ponies, several pegasi and even a few unicorns, was forced onto the stage, his arms filled with various tools, weapons, and even... some cinder blocks? He hadn’t even noticed someone push those into his arms.

“Please, settle down you desert mares,” the same voice called out, booming from what had to be a speech-enhancing spell. “Your thirsts will soon be satisfied enough when we display our finest choices before you. Starting with... The Guards!”

Seven ripped, utterly masculine zebras stepped forward, muscles rippling under the magical lamps as they strode out further onto stage, each one picking a weapon out of Spike’s arms and carrying it with practiced ease. Another cheer rose up from the crowd, with several mares in the front row whistling loudly. The zebra stallions smiled and posed with the weapons, flexing their muscles as they showed off their glorious physiques. Spike did everything he could not to look down at the skimpy shorts they wore around their waists.

“Yes, the Guards: these fine gentlecolts are among the best of the king and queen’s ensemble of protectors! The best of the best, the brightest, the bravest, the strongest: it is only these select few that earn their chance to serve our royal highnesses within the splendor of the royal palace!”

The voice was getting on Spike’s nerves: he continued to glance around, suddenly unsure why he didn’t just up and leave. There were many mares here, many looking older than him.

The Guards walked off the stage amidst applause, just in time for the announcer to speak again. “Well, the guards must return to duty, but don’t you fret, ladies: there’s more to come with... the Sky Patrol!”

The only pegasi in the group strode forward, wings flexing in time with their steps as they too stopped and posed. Due to their more aerodynamic bodies, they were much leaner, with slim waistlines, compact bodies, and to top it off, colt-ish good looks. A few of the mares in the front row seemed to faint away when one winked in their general direction.

“Yes, you lucky mares: the Sky Patrol! Flying down here from the mountains to the south, these fine specimens have been part of our king’s royal air force for many years! Look how their bodies glisten!”

Some water fell from the ceiling, splashing onto the stallions. They flicked their manes back and posed some more, the screams of the mares giving Spike a headache as the water dripped slowly from the stallion’s bodies. Spike saw a flurry of hands grab the cinderblocks and tools from his arms, leaving him holding nothing. He tried to move, but the pressing of bodies held him fast: he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t about to hurt somepony just to get away, and yet this was definitely NOT the place he wanted to be right now.

The pegasi walked off the stage, flicking the remaining droplets off their wings and into the crowd with bemused smirks.

The announcer boomed again as small cries of dismay followed their exit. “Don’t worry ladies: they’ll return. Now, though, please welcome out... the Laborers!”

Strapping unicorns and earth pony stallions walked out onto stage, their torsos bursting with muscles and they hefted the heavy cinderblocks and work tools. The unicorns hefted blacksmith tools, the soot-stained smocks doing little to hide their robust bodies. The earth ponies held aloft the blocks as though they were mere paperweights, their massive chests and biceps glistening from sweat. The crowd of obviously excited mares roared in approval.

“Yes, the Laborers!” the announcer called again, the voice making Spike flinch in anger. “These fine stallions work out in the hot sun all day, crafting and building the very city we live in! Look at their fine features, those huge, endurance-charged muscles!”

There were screams of glee from several parts of the audience as the stallions posed with their tools and work supplies. Their clothes stretched tight across their torsos surely had many a mare nearly soiling herself with lust at the mere sight of it. Thank Celestia none of them were in heat, or else this place might descend into one massive, lust-fuelled orgy.

“These hunky stallions are available for private shows, ladies!” the announcer said as cries filtered through the audience once again: the earth and unicorn stallions walked off stage. The announcer appeared where they had left, a small unicorn who wore several sets of robes for some odd reason.

“Well, the show is winding down, ladies, and I’m afraid we have no more hunks for you tonight.” Soft calls of disappointment filtered through the air. “But do not fret: we will not send you home all hot and bothered. Here, fresh from our line of hopefuls, is a small consolation prize to help you all wind down and not feel so bad about not getting any of this hot produce.”

There was a shove, and Spike found himself sprawled on the stage, right next to the hooves of the announcer. Somepony had also had the great idea to throw some extra robes over him, so now he could barely be seen. It must have been enough, as laughs started filtering through the audience.

“Yes ladies, you know that time: time for the new stallion to receive his little breaking in,” the announcer said, walking around Spike. “As you know, all young hopefuls are carefully selected, and must be rigorously trained to be completely controlled and obedient, lest they besmirch this facilities’ name with lewd and vulgar practices.” More jeers at this: it wasn't likely any of the mares would have minded if those stallions did that,

Spike was getting pissed: this unicorn ran a show like this, and yet needed to completely control the stallions to keep them from being “vulgar”?

“That’s right, ladies,” the announcers said in a condescending tone. “Our new friend here must be shown the ropes.” He stomped down next to Spike’s head. “Tell us your name, sir.”

Spike!” the dragon roared through the robes, only for it to barely come out at all.

“Spike! An interesting name, to be sure,” the announcer said, jostling around the mass of jumbled robes like it was a game. “Why don’t you stand up like a gentlecolt for these fine ladies? Give them a show!”

More laughs filtered through the audience at this, causing something inside of Spike to tumble out of place. “They want a show?” he murmured to himself as he felt his body flex. “I’ll give them a show.”

He stopped moving entirely, before slowly standing up, the robes fluttering around him. The announcer bounced back a few steps, his gleeful smile faltering slightly.

“My... he’s a bit taller than we thought, isn’t he ladies?” the unicorn said, noticing how the jumbled mass of robes now stood a good two heads taller than the biggest stallion he had working for him. The laughter died down a bit, an odd silence gaining strength as every mare there started to take in the sight of the robed figure.

“Why... why don’t you flex for us?” the announcer said, his voice sounding a tad frightened.

The towering figure looked down at him, stared for a few seconds and then bent its body and arms into flexing positions.

The robes around the biceps stretched and ripped, the noise sending a gasp through the audience. From the shredded robes falling to the ground, a sight unseen emerged. Biceps, greater in size than the pecs of the earth pony stallion, flexed and moved in time with the figure’s pose. They looked like each one contained a cinder block below the odd-textured flesh, and yet they did not move on their own accord: no jiggling of any sort. They were solid, firm, unquestionably tough: the kind of biceps that could be used all day and yet never tire. Triceps followed them underneath, not the same size but something greater than what any of the mares had seen before. The forearms seemed of an unnaturally large size as well, thick to the point of looking like small anvils. The announcer made a small squeak when the figure flexed again, this time exposing most of his legs. Calves, thighs, everything was large and perfectly proportioned. For some reason, the hooves were hidden from view, but the legs made many a mare’s own go weak, and they were sitting!

A robed hand tore away the robes around the torso, revealing... oh my, revealing something no mare had thought was even possible. Pectorals formed the upper part of the torso, seemingly stretched tight against the odd-looking pelt. They were massive large enough to crush something between, and yet... seemed to defy and expand the natural laws of masculinity. Below them were a set of abs, abs so glorious any minotaur in the room would have left crying for feeling inadequate. They were glorious, defined, sculpted by whatever gods or goddesses had an affinity for glorious abs. Right alongside them were obliques, obliques so glorious five mares simultaneously came and fainted right in the front row.

The announcer, for once, didn’t have anything to say. Who was this Adonis, this epitome of what mares wanted physically out a male? “May... may I have your name again?” he asked, his voice sounding squeaky.

The massive figure reached up with on hand and grabbed onto the remaining robes, tearing them away in one quick motion. “My name is Spike.”

The rest of the robes flew off, revealing... a dragon! A massively muscled, incredibly handsome, god-like dragon!

The crowd went absolutely bonkers: a few from fear, but most from outright amazement. Amidst the screams, a figure rose to their hooves. “He is the one from yesterday!” she cried out, causing about half the room to rise to their hooves as well. “Get him!”

Spike merely opened his massive wings and fanned them, sending a wave of wind through the place. Every standing mare was knocked flat onto her ass, and with impudence Spike strode past them, his tail smacking away the hands of any close enough to reach him. Striding out into the sunlight, he turned a corner and shrunk back down, passing under a clothes line as he did. Grabbing some robes, he threw them on and walked back in what he believed to be the direction from whence he had been dragged, a roar of mares sounding behind him. He made no sudden moves, though, as they all rushed behind and past him down the street, searching in vain for the sex symbol they had just been privy to.

Soon enough, Spike found what he was looking for: Mehmed walking away from the fountain, waving back at Sheba. She too waved as her bodyguard escorted her away.

“Have fun?” Spike asked, his blood still pumping from the spectacle he had caused in the *shudder* Stud Shack. Since when did Saddle Arabia even have clubs like that? It seemed too different for this country’s tastes: likely a transplant business from Equestria or something.

“Oh, I had the most wonderful time with Sheba,” Mehmed said, with a far-off look in his eyes. “She is the most wonderful pony I have met: I cannot believe I didn’t meet her sooner.”

“Well, you can tell me all about it on the way back,” Spike said, snapping his fingers in front of the dreamy prince’s eyes.

Later...

“You may leave us,” the king said to Mehmed after hearing the prince gush over Sheba again. The prince gave a quick bow and scampered off, a light skip in his gait as he went.

“Spike, please stay,” the queen said as the dragon made to move. “There’s something you must know.” Spike stopped in his tracks and turned back to them: what was it?

“Yes?” he asked.

The king sighed. “Spike, I assume you know of Sheba’s last name?”

“Yes,” Spike said, scratching his chin. “Sheba El-Hashim.”

“And, through this name, I assume you have come to know of her heritage?” the king continued.

“Yes, her father: the general. Hu... Husam: Husam El-Hashim, I believe. Why do you ask?” the dragon queried.

“This is a rather delicate matter, so we would greatly appreciate it if you did not tell Mehmed until the time is right,” the queen said.

Okay, now Spike was very confused. “Tell him what?” he asked.

“Long before Mehmed was born, his mother and I were betrothed, as you know,” the king began. “What you do not know is the circumstances of the betrothal.”

“Go on,” Spike said: this sounded interesting.

“I was young, foolish, brash: I was the epitome of a spoiled prince, the kind I am sure you are familiar with.”

“Yes, I am,” Spike said, Prince Blueblood’s face entering his mind.

“Anyway, back then, my father unexpectedly passed away, an advisor tried to worm his way into my father’s throne, and his bedroom. My mother, the queen, kept trying to make him go away, but he was insistent and had many supporters who thought his ideas would help revitalize and enrich the kingdom. I knew from the start he was up to no good, so I enlisted the help of a close friend.”

“Who?” Spike asked.

“Husam El-Hashim,” the king said. “He and I had grown up together, were as close as friends could be: almost like brothers. So, when he went off to join the army, I had him start spreading news that the worm of an advisor would cut spending on the military. Of course, the advisor got word of this when the then-generals asked him about it. He sent them out on several-year expeditions, many dying far from home. Most of the armies still stayed loyal to the crown, and my mother, many of whom owed their lives and positions of power to her just hand. So, though my mother, I had an army backing me, but the advisor was a clever one. He sent out malicious rumors I was planning on using a foreign army to take my throne by force. The populace began to believe it, even though the army knew it to be nothing but smoke.”

“Then what happened?” Spike asked.

“The nation’s largest banker, Suleiman, said he would side with me if I did but just one thing for him. He was growing old and sick, but the ponies of the lands loved him: he brought them great riches and amazing goods from foreign countries and made much of it available for them at reasonable costs.”

“What was this deal?” Spike asked, although he had an inkling he already knew the answer.

“Marry his daughter,” the king said, looking over to his queen. She nodded softly, looking down at Spike.

“I was to be the bargaining chip that would help him peacefully oust that wicked advisor from the figurative fortress he had built in the hearts and minds of the populace. But I was with another at the time.”

“Who?” Spike asked again.

“Husam El-Hashim: we had grown up together, all three of us,” the king said. “Husam had fallen madly in love with her when they were younger, as many colts were wont to do with young mares and growing up did little to dampen his feelings. He had told me he would ask for her hand in marriage in time, something I knew that, had she accepted would have made him the happiest stallion in the world. But I had to do what I had to do, so I told him in confidence what my plan was.”

The king grimaced. “It... it turned ugly. He called me a coward, a mare-stealer, a low-life princeling who trotted on the dreams of others: I was lower than scum, a stallion jealous of the love he (thought) he had found. We said some things we should not have and drew swords. All alone, high in the tower in which we slept, we dueled with a ferocity unmatched by the fiercest of beasts: he was more skilled, but his rage made him sloppy. I... I managed to disarm him, and had him at my mercy: so I... I gave him my sword.”

“You what?” Spike asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.

“Yes, I gave him my sword. I knew he was angry enough to kill me, but through that anger I saw a stallion willing to die for what he loved: his country. So I gave him my sword and simply said this: ‘Either chose her and let this kingdom be split, or be the bigger stallion and swallow your pride.’ He then looked at me, then the sword, and after what felt like an hour, he threw it to the ground. He said he would let me have my wife, and my crown, but from that day forth, we were no longer friends. We then parted ways.”

“So, you two were then married, and the ponies of the land looked upon you with renewed faith?” Spike guessed.

“Yes,” the king with a sigh. “At the cost of my closest friend, I regained my kingdom and had the ponies do what they wanted with that sniveling advisor and his cronies. After that, with the full backing of the army, I removed many of the oppressive laws the worm had put into place through bribery and threats. Prosperity returned to the land, though at a cost I had hoped to avoid: we have not spoken to one another since that night.”

“Not once?” Spike asked.

“Not once,” the queen said, knowing when her husband didn’t want to say any more. “We had hoped this would not happen, but it seemed that fate had other plans for all of our families. We know we cannot hope to part Mehmed from Sheba: we can see he has fallen madly in love with her. It would break him in ways we could not bear to see, should it happen somehow.”

“What would you have me do?” Spike asked.

“Keep them together, and mend the bridges that were so long ago broken,” the kind said softly. “Perhaps, through their union, I can finally apologize to Husam for what I did. For the friendship I destroyed in order to regain my throne: perhaps our families can once again be at peace with one another.”

They dismissed Spike soon after that, and with a heavy heart he went up to his tower, to his waiting wives. As soon as he closed the door behind them, they strode up, looking like they all had something to say to him.

But they stopped in their tracks when they saw his expression, and immediately they followed him to the bed, silent as he stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers. They joined him, still clothed, silent as they pondered just what his expression could mean.

“Spike? What happened?” Chrysalis asked quietly, more of her strength obviously having returned to her voluptuous body. Her belly too, as was Maria’s was starting to swell slightly more than it had been: Spike just hadn’t really noticed. He had been very occupied with this whole “Mehmed” ordeal, and now he just... didn’t know what to do.

“It’s... it’s a long story,” Spike said softly as all four of his wives cuddled against his warm body.

“We have all night, love,” Asalah said softly as she gently stroked his spines along his head.

“Yes, please tell us,” Trixie said as one hand rubbed her bigger belly. Maria didn’t say anything, the look on Spike’s face when she saw him shocking any residual anger about their “sexual entanglement” out of her system.

“Okay, I’ll tell: just... keep me company tonight, will you?” Spike asked softly, the tale of Mehmed’s family and the conflict it endured still playing through his head like a sad nightmare. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

They stayed with him the entire night, long after he fell asleep.

Author's Note

I am sorry this is a little late, but I just started a 6-week summer camp-like college course. My days are terribly busy, so if you want to wait for chapters, wait for the weekends or the days after them. I won't be available to write as much as I wanted, but I will NEVER put this story on hiatus, or forget it.

I could never do that to my fans.

Meeting the Sword

Chapter Thirty Five

Meeting the Sword

Spike arose early the next day, his eyes crusted shut from the few tears he had shed. When he recanted all of what Mehmed’s family had endured in his head, he had cried, knowing if things similar to what had happened to them happened to his family, he might break from the pain. He was strong when he needed to be, and he tried to be in every possible way, but there was only so much a dragon could take, and if his wives lost their foals, or even lost foals multiple times, then he’d never recover.

Shaking the depressing thoughts from his head, he rose gently from the bed, slipping past the forms of his sleeping wives. Mehmed had told him today was the day he was going to visit Sheba’s home, and Spike knew he had to be there: more for the prince’s sake than his own. He bet he could handle the general, but armed with the knowledge of the history between the royal family and said general... Mehmed would need someone to advise him, should a confrontation arise.

Leaving the tower and walking down the stairs, Spike came to a stop, where three familiar-looking guards were standing by a door. He paused, looking them over, an idea forming in his mind.

“Have I seen you before?” he asked.

Two of the guards said nothing, but the third curtly shook his head. “No sir: I don’t believe so.”

“No, no, I have,” Spike said, walking back and forth like a merchant picking out a line of lumber. “Somewhere...”

The pacing was having the desired effect: the guards, in this cool morning breeze, were beginning to sweat beneath their armor. Their stripes were plainly visible, and Spike could tell by the way they held themselves, they were in great shape.

“Stud Shack,” Spike said suddenly, causing all three of them to wince. The middle one sighed.

“How did you know?” he asked softly, looking dejectedly at the floor.

“I never forget a face, or three, for that matter,” the dragon said. “Tell me, why work there on your off time? Surely this position of honor is more than enough for your lifestyles?”

“Politically, socially, yes: economically, not so much,” the middle zebra said. “The pay is not bad, but we try to make as much as possible for our families, and it would too much trouble to ask for a raise. The king has had enough troubles in the past when it came to finances, and so out of duty, we take what we have.”

He looked between the other two zebras. “Please don’t tell our royal highnesses about the money we make on the side. We could lose our jobs here in the palace.”

“I won’t say a word, so long as you keep up your end of the bargain,” Spike said.

“What bargain?” the zebra on the left asked.

“I saw you at that place: don’t tell me you didn’t recognize me when I... made my exit?”

The zebras were silent for a few moments. “Spike Dragul... Spike... that was you?!” the third zebra asked, astonishment filtering through his voice.

“The one and same,” the dragon said, crossing his arms. “Now, do we have a deal? None of you or your fellow “stripper guards” will inform anypony about what happened there, and I in turn will forget I ever even saw you at that place.”

“Oh, thank you sir,” the middle zebra said as all three guards gave Spike a bow of thanks. “You have our sincerest gratitude, and do not worry: our lips, and those of our fellow guards, are sealed.”

Bidding them farewell, Spike made his way through the palace, eventually stopping at the front doors, where Mehmed was waiting for him.

“Did Sheba say where she wanted you to meet her?” Spike asked after they greeted each other.

“Yes, by the fountain once more,” the prince said. “From there, we’d walk back to her house.”

“Her home? Did she tell you where that is?” Spike asked as they walked through the entrance to the palace grounds. Once again, they were disguised, though this time, and as per his request, Spike wore robes more like a bodyguard. He even carried a sword, though he knew he’d likely never have to use it: he was a dragon, after all.

“No, but she said her guard would escort us all there,” the prince said, a dreamy look in his eyes as he mentioned Sheba. “I’d like to meet her family, if it were possible.”

Spike didn’t think that was necessarily a wise idea, but it was the prince’s choice, and he’d go along with it. However, if things got ugly, he’d have to make sure he didn’t get hurt: there was enough bad blood between both of their parent’s, Sheba’s and Mehmed’s, to write a novel on.

So they walked through the streets, dodging merchants, workers, countless officials and untold numbers of the lower class. Well, middle class by other countries’ standards, anyway: they were well dressed, reasonably well-fed, and didn’t look very gloomy. Scholars rushed from one to another, jabbering excitedly about new alchemic recipes or a new spell designed to make work easier. The clanging of the unicorn blacksmiths sounded all around, the pounding of great hammers and blasts of fiery magic warping and forming steel into varieties of shapes for a variety of functions.

Soon enough, or perhaps too soon, if one were to be a pessimist, Spike found Mehmed and he had arrived at the fountain, where Sheba and her tall guard were waiting for them.

“Oh, Mehmed, it is good to see you again!” she said, rushing up before remembering her manners and bowing slightly before him, as per the customary greeting was in many public places. “Are you ready? Faris shall lead us to my home: my mother should be there.”

“What about your father?” the prince asked.

“Oh, he’s usually never home: always off inspecting the troops, devising new tactics with his fellow generals, and all that military nonsense.” Sheba didn’t seem too concerned about inviting the son of her father’s friend turned foe into her home, but then again, very few ponies knew of the bad blood between the two families. It wasn’t common knowledge, and it had been a blessing to remain that way.

As the two ponies walked along, Spike walked alongside Faris, making sure they did not stray too far behind the couple.

“So.... Faris, was it?” Spike said, looking over at the impressive guard. “How long have you been with the El-Hashim family?”

“Since I graduated from the academy: the year Sheba was born,” the stallion said curtly.

“The academy?” Spike asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, the academy: the Saddle Arabian Academy,” the stallion said, once more in a rather set and no-nonsense voice. It was polite, or at least somewhat, but other than that... not really a good conversation voice. “I was the top of my class.” He sounded a little proud at that: dutifully so, even.

“You were, huh?” Spike said, stroking his chin. “Were you hand-picked by the general to serve him in his home?”

“Yes, though not just him: I was to be his daughter’s bodyguard until she married,” the stallion said. “I have served my general and his family faithfully every day of my life: from before dawn until after dusk, I am at their beck and call. My reward is a place to stay and a home for my family.”

“Sounds reasonable enough, given the circumstances,” Spike thought to himself as the two of them followed Mehmed and Sheba around a corner. Spike almost stopped in his tracks, as had Mehmed and Sheba.

“Here we are,” she said sweetly to Mehmed, pulling him forward slightly to get him walking again. “This is my home: what do you think?”

The prince didn’t say anything for a moment. “It’s... it’s... well, it’s impressive, to be honest. I didn’t think anypony would grow up in a place like... this.”

And he was correct: Spike too would have never assumed a mare like Sheba could have come from this very home. Actually, it was less of a home and more of a fortress, to be exact. Buttresses, sharpened walls of steel framing many of the ledges: small guard towers, each with almost complete views of the surrounding areas, minus the support structures, of course. The windows were all barred, and the doors looked like they could withstand a battering ram.

But it was not entirely foreboding. There were fountains here and there, several clumps of trees, and many, many hanging carpets and embroidered decorations. Several statues, likely those of historical military figures, graced the area. There were flowers blooming all around shaded areas, and there was even the faint smell of jasmine in the air. There were decorative towers, several spiral minarets, and many of the fountains had small floating flowers on them, like the kind one might find in the shallow waters of a lake.

It was like a lady fortress and the king’s palace had met up one night, got drunk, proceeded to have sex, and then eleven months later, the fortress gave birth to this odd amalgamation of both intimidating and welcoming imagery.

The massive doors opened, and three guards stepped out, with a hooded figure rushing in front of them.

“Sheba!” the voice called, welcoming and warm, inviting and kind: a mare’s voice.

“Mother!” Sheba replied, rushing up to the mare and wrapping her arms around her, pulling them both into a tight embrace. “When did you get back?” Her mother had gone to visit some relatives to the east, and although Sheba had been offered the chance to come, her father had forbidden it.

“Just ten minutes ago, my darling little flower,” the mare said, breaking them apart to look at Mehmed and Spike. “Oh, you have brought company?”

“Yes, yes!” Sheba said, rushing back to Mehmed and Spike, pulling them forward to meet her mother. “This is Spike,” she said, gesturing to the disguised dragon, “and this is Mehmed,” she added, pushing the prince towards her mother slightly.

“I-it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. El-Hashim” Mehmed said, bowing slightly before the mother of the mare he was planning to marry. In a startling twist, they resembled each other greatly: Sheba and Badr. The same mane, the same eyes, even the same color of their pelt: the only noticeable difference was the height and color of their manes, as Badr’s mane was lighter, and she was also a bit shorter than her daughter. That height and slight difference in mane color were probably inherited from Sheba’s father.

“Please, call me Badr,” the mare said, her voice sounding slightly different after she heard the stallion’s name. Surprise? Intrigue? Perhaps... a little bit of fear? “Please, come in, both of you,” she said, the sweetness returning to her voice once more. “I shall have the servants fetch you something to drink: wine, perhaps?”

“No, no, no wine, please,” Spike said in a bit of a rush. “It... it doesn’t agree with us.” More specifically, it didn’t agree with him. The last thing he needed was to be escorted back to the palace, drunk and trying to show everypony he could honestly breathe fire out of his ass or something. He couldn’t, but he sincerely hoped he’d never try that.

“It is no problem: water, then,” Badr said with grace as they all walked inside the home-fortress. The doors closed behind them, and they were met by the same kind of thing they had seen outside. Fountains, statues, guard posts, terraced overhangs, decorative carpets and plants, the occasional guard standing in front of a door: this was a place of contradictions, all right. Scary and pleasant on the outside, scary and pleasant on the inside: all they needed now were some creepy clowns and some cute little puppies, and everything would be balanced out even more.

After heading inside to escape the heat of the late morning sun, Sheba sat down with Mehmed on a vast expanse of pillows just as a few servants came in with some water and baskets of fruit: at least they hadn’t brought wine. They were soft, thankfully, and while Spike wished his wives didn’t have to be cooped up in the tower all day, he knew they would much rather be waited on hand and hoof up there than in this place.

“Please, sit: enjoy,” Sheba’s mother said as she too sat down: the guards, including Faris, remained standing. Spike sat down apart from them, letting Sheba and Mehmed sit close to one another. Picking a fruit, he smuggled it under his robes and munched on it, not sure if Sheba had told her mother or the guards of his... peculiar heritage.

“So, Badr,” Mehmed said as he finished a fruit. “Just how did you and the general meet?”

“Oh, it is a long and rather amazing tale, if I do say so myself,” Badr said with another sweet smile. “Sheba, would you do the honors?”

Sheba almost bounced with glee. “Ooh, it is my favorite story: thank you mother!” She turned to Mehmed and settled herself down, and began. “It was a cool, calm desert night, out in the sands of Saddle Arabia’s southern deserts. My father was on the track of some bandits, who had made off with many members of a wealthy merchant’s trade caravan. He...”

She went on and on with the story, her actions becoming more and more excited with each passing transition. She pantomimed the sword duels, her actions making Mehmed smile and laugh with happiness as he listened to her recount her father’s daring deeds. She had really come out of the nervous, private shell Spike had met her in when Mehmed and he went to the bar. She was now vibrant, full of spontaneity and excitement as she regaled in her father’s past exploits. Spike, on the other hand, was far from disinterested, but he kept noticing something odd. Badr was not watching her daughter the entire time: her eyes kept flickering over to Mehmed. Not in a sexual manner, any way: no scanning his body or anything. No, she kept looking at his face as he laughed and cajoled Sheba, who responded in kind. She was watching him for something, and after the climax of the story, Spike could tell she had found it.

He had found it too, since he had looked over at the same time. The expressions on both of the young ponies’ faces were as clear as a gleaming shield in the middle of the bright desert sun.

They were in love. As corny as it sounded, their lives had been transformed into a fairy-tale three-day romance. They had developed feelings for each other so fast, that if Spike hadn’t known from experience, then he’d have had to call it out as being a fallacy brought on by young pony hormones. But this was not a trick of biology: they were truly in love, and right now, that had Spike worried.

It seems his worry was shared by Sheba’s mother, who looked up in surprise to see a messenger servant approach them. He leaned down and whispered into the mare’s ear, causing her eyes to widen slightly.

“Oh, um, Sheba, could you stay here with Mehmed? His... bodyguard and I has something to discuss: pay no attention to our departure.”

Wait, discuss something with his bodyguard? Almost on instinct, but not without a twinge of rebellious thought, Spike stood at the same time Badr did, noticing how Sheba and Mehmed seemed to have not even noticed what the mare’s mother had said. Following the mare and two of the guards, Spike looked at her quizzically when they entered what had to be a war room.

“What’s going on?” Spike asked through his robes. He really hoped she wasn’t going to try and seduce him: that would be very awkward, made even more so by the possibility she had been at the Stud Shack the other day. He didn’t know anything about her life: maybe she was lonely?

“Her father is here,” Badr said, a note of panic entering her voice. Oh good: one problem goes away, only to be replaced by another, bigger one. “I promised to meet him in the main hall, but should he see Mehmed with his daughter, without his permission...”

“Oh boy,” Spike said. “So, you’re meeting him here?”

“No, Spike the dragon: you are,” the mare said. “He’s wanted to meet a dragon for some time now, and he has no idea you came here with the prince.”

So she had known, all this time. “But... but,” Spike stuttered, trying to see a way this did not end badly: it was not a bright prognosis. “What do I do?”

“Anything: I must get Mehmed to come to my husband by himself, as a visitor and not a guest of my daughter’s. To do that, I must distract Sheba, and in this house, that is a very difficult task for anypony.”

“Well... okay,” Spike said, still not sure this plan would work out. In all likelihood, it would crash and burn like a flaming, out-of-control carriage smashing into the side of a stone wall. “But, what about-,”

She was already disappearing through the doors they had arrived in. Spike sighed in frustration, turning around just as another set of large doors opened to the room, and in strode who could only be Husam El-Hashim.

He was near the same height as Mehmed: taller than most ponies, but still a bit shorter than Spike himself. And... that was where the similarities pretty much ended. He was broad-shouldered, with streaks of gray in his mane and even speckles of the same gray around the small facial hair he had near his chin. His body was hunched slightly, and he walked with a slight limp, though the way he moved, you might have thought he didn’t even know of it. His hands, large and slightly wrinkled from age, were attached to equally large arms, though one could tell they were not what they had once been. His tail was cut somewhat shorter, and even that did not hide the graying streaks through it. His hooves made solid noises on the ground: he was heavy, and yet moved quicker than a pony of similar size.

But his face: his face was what made Spike unsure if Mehmed would survive asking Sheba to be his queen. Scars covered his face, with one rather big one framing his right eye. The eyes themselves were untouched, and seemed as sharp as ever, though the cold bluish-grey within them seemed to take in the world around them with a severity that Spike had never seen before. His jaw was strong, and even though small jowls were beginning to show along the cheeks, one could tell this was a fighting pony. His jaw was set, and if his teeth hadn’t been bared like they were, Spike would never have suspected that half were either covered in some metal or had been replaced by such.

“Who are you?” the stallion asked as he lumbered by Spike, apparently none-too-concerned of a stranger in his war room. His voice was gruff and slightly raspy: likely from shouting at cadets and their superiors to do better, or giving orders on the battlefield.

“S-Spike, sir,” the dragon said as he removed the robes that hid his heritage from view: his wings unfurled, free from their confinement, and now his entire head was bare. With a slight feeling of relief, his tail too was now free, swaying slightly as he slowly approached the grizzled old stallion. “I am Spike Dragul.”

“Ah, a dragon!” the general said, his voice more of a shout as he opened a small drawer in a desk. Sitting down, he snatched out two glasses and thick-looking bottle. “Please, sit,” he said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk. Spike sat down, feeling like a schoolcolt who had been sent to the principal’s office. “Care for a drink?” the stallion asked, offering the dragon a glass.

“No, no thank you,” Spike replied. The stallion merely shrugged, grunting slightly as he did.

“Suit yourself,” he said, downing the alcoholic beverage in one gulp. With a satisfied sigh, he slammed the glass down on the table, and to Spike’s amazement, it didn’t shatter like, well, glass. “So,” he said, pouring another glass but content, for now, to just hold it in one old hand. “What brings you to my humble home?”

He didn’t seem too much of a general, but then again, most didn’t try and bring every aspect of military life into their homes. If that were the case, then there’d likely be no fountains or trees or flowers or statues on the entire premise. “I’m, uh, I’m... visiting. From Equestria, you see, and one of the stops on my journey was here in Saddle Arabia.”

“Saddle Arabia, huh? Good country: strong, proud nation,” the general said. “A good choice on your part. Where are you staying?”

“In the king’s palace: as a royal guest,” Spike said, quickly adding the “guest” part.

The general’s mouth formed a small scowl. “The king, eh? You royalty?”

“Well, yes, technically,” Spike said, knowing this had been a bad idea from the start. “My wives and I-,”

“Your wives?” the general asked, arching an eyebrow as he drank the glass of alcohol dry. “You’re married?”

“Well, yes,” Spike said.

“You seem rather young to be married to... how many wives did you say?” Husam asked as he poured himself another glass.

“I didn’t, but if you must know, four,” Spike said.

“Four! By the sands of the north, four is a good number,” the general said, setting his glass down and looking over Spike. “Expecting?”

This was getting awfully personal: Spike really hoped Badr would get back with Mehmed soon. “Y-yes: three of them are expecting,” Spike said, not wanting to elaborate on that.

It seemed fate sided with him in that regard, as the general looked out the window. “Is Equestria a nice place?” he asked.

“Very much so,” Spike said, grateful for the change in topic. Though, when he thought about it, this felt more like an interrogation that a friendly meeting. Then, to his deepest gratitude, the doors opened once more, and looking back, Spike saw it was none other than Mehmed and Badr.

The general took one look at Mehmed and nearly fell out of his chair. “Why are you in my house?” he asked, this time not in a shout, but in a rather strange whisper. His demeanor had gone from gruff but stille somewhat friendly to downright hostile in the blink of an eye.

“I was invited here, along with Spike Dragul,” Mehmed said, a tone of confusion in his voice.

“You invited him inside, knowing she’s here?” Husam asked, his eyes turning on his wife.

She nodded slowly. “It was she who invited them, husband: Sheba does not know.”

“Not know what?” Mehmed asked in confusion, turning to Badr.

“You are the son of the king, the future king of Saddle Arabia,” the general said, rising to his hooves. On instinct, Spike rose to his feet, ready to break up a fight, should it start. “You are privy to the greatest luxuries this country can provide: the best tutors, the best trainers, advisors, gifts, foods, immeasurable wealth and political power...”

“Yes?” Mehmed said.

“You are at the same age your father was, or very close to it,” Husam said.

“What age? The age he married my mother?” the prince asked.

At the word “married”, Husam almost threw his glass, judging from the way he twitched. “Yes, the very same,” he said. “Tell me, your highness, have you found a mare you wish to be your queen?”

Spike and Mehmed simultaneously blanched at this: how in the world had he known about that? “I... I think so,” the prince said slowly, taking an involuntary step back. Spike tensed: this was not going to end well.

“May I know her name?” the general asked, his voice becoming an almost deadly whisper.

“Uh, I... I would prefer not to say,” Mehmed replied. That did not sit well with the general, it seemed.

“Leave now, prince: you do not belong in this house,” Husam said abruptly. “Leave now, and never come back.”

“But... but,” Mehmed began, only for him to be cut off by the general once more.

“I said, leave: did you not hear me? Does that lofty title of prince dull your senses and make you deaf to my words?” Husam’s face was covered in a rage-causing glare. “Sheba is off-limits to you, prince: she is not for you to have, no matter how much power you will come to wield! Get out of my house!”

Spike walked backwards and grabbed the prince by the arm, sending him a quiet look before the son of the king could make a retort that would send this spiraling out of control. Pulling him again, they turned and walked out, passing Badr as she winced in apology.

“Yes, go: just go!” the general called, his voice almost a bellow now. “You royalty and your inflated senses of self-entitlement! You take what you perceive to be yours, and never leave anything for the rest of us! You take and take and take, and expect us to just keep giving!”

The doors slammed shut behind Spike and Mehmed, cutting off the stallion’s angry shouts. “Come on, let’s get you home,” Spike said, leading the prince away from the once-friendly abode. “We need to talk.”

Meanwhile...

Inside the war room, Husam fell into his chair, blowing an errant bit of his mane out of his face. Badr marched right up to him as he reached for his glass and began to pour himself another serving of alcohol.

“Do you know what you just did? You insulted the prince!” she said, her voice severe.

“I don’t care, Badr,” the stallion said. “Sheba is to not be let outside again: she cannot go anywhere near him. The risk of him asking her to be his queen is too great a danger: my spies in the royal court have told me as such.”

“I believe we are already past that point, husband,” his wife replied, causing the stallion to look up in surprise. “Your spies are not always the most up-to-date with their reports, it would seem.”

“What?” he asked, a dumbfound expression gracing his features.

“They already know one another, and as I thought might happen, they have fallen in love,” Badr replied. “I have seen it, as has Spike.”

“No: impossible!” the general said. “I strictly forbade her from going to a bar without an escort! He never went there before, and I was assured he never would! How did this happen?”

“I am afraid that your insistence helped make it happen: all your precautions, and yet she met the prince anyway. You said she would never see him in her life, and now I’m afraid it is too late to stop all this,” Badr said.

The general was silent for a few moments. “You are sure they are in love?” he asked softly. He could hope she was mistaken: it would not be the first time. Perhaps...

“It was as clear as the looks on their faces,” his wife said, causing the slight hope in his chest to implode. Husam was silent for minutes, looking into his glass, until said silence became too much for his wife to bear. “Why do you hate him so, husband? Why have you hated him since the first day you heard of his birth?” He had literally been the only general not to show up at the prince’s inauguration, informing everyone he was rooting out a massive bandit infestation in the mountains: in reality, he had been staying up there with his army, practicing maneuvers and not bothering to come, just to spite the king and his newborn offspring.

“He is his father’s son,” the general said, taking a swig of his drink. “He is the son of the stallion who stole the mare of my dreams.” He would not let that go: he likely never could, for it was so far ingrained into his psyche that to remove it would require someone with unnatural happiness. And Pinkie Pie was on the other side of the world.

Badr had been hearing of this for too long, and by now had grown tired of it. “He is also his mother’s son: can you not see that as well? Why must you keep burning the fuse on this candle of hatred you feel for the king and his only son?”

“Because they are the same! They are after the same thing!” Husam said, slamming his glass down on his desk, sloshing some of the contents out onto the floor. “I lost my love to the king in a duel I should have won, a duel that he cheated in, and now I’m going to lose my daughter to his son!” He sighed angrily. “He took her away from me, my wife: I had never felt such rage as when he informed me of his decision. He was a gutless coward, to do that to me: me, his oldest and closest friend! Now his son, his spoiled, rotten brat of a colt, is going to do the same with Sheba! My daughter!”

Few in the army or outside of his home knew it, but Husam had an incredibly soft spot in his heart for his daughter Sheba. She was one of the few things in his life he looked upon with everlasting pride and joy, the kind of thing that, should he lose, would devastate him in a way worse than when he had lost the mare he loved to the king.

“But he had to: for the sake of the kingdom,” Badr said, though she knew when her husband was in this state, it was pointless to argue with him.

“For the kingdom: ha!” Husam replied, swallowing the remaining dregs of his drink. “He can say and insist and tell everypony that tale all he wants, but I know the real reason: he wanted what I had, and he felt entitled to it. His son is no different: if he comes near Sheba, I swear I will make him regret the day he set hoof in my home!”

Badr sighed: this was going to be very difficult to tell Sheba. She left her husband to his alcohol, knowing it could only get worse from here on out. The bitter, old stallion would never let this grudge go, and now it seemed Mehmed was going to be paying for the “sins” of his father, sins he had no say in.

These two young lovers, Prince Mehmed and Sheba El-Hashim, were going to be torn apart by the long lasting, utterly bitter feud of their fathers: who would be brave enough to step in and try to make their fairy tale have a happy ending?

Author's Note

Well, there you go. There's more to come, and so far, this is going to be about... two or three more chapters in the Saddle Arabia arc than I had planned. Oh well!

A Harsh Truth and a Harsher Lesson

Chapter Thirty Six

A Harsh Lesson and a Harsher Truth

“All this time, you’ve hidden this from me?” Mehmed asked, angry that his parents couldn’t even seem to meet his gaze. “This entire time, you knew, and I had to find out from Spike first?!”

Spike shuffled his feet quietly near the door, wishing he could escape up to his brides. He had chosen to tell the prince the truth: all of it. There was no doubt it had been the right thing to do: it hadn’t been easy, after all, and the easiest thing to do usually isn’t the right thing.

“We had hoped you would find out sooner,” the king said, looking at his wife with a pained expression. “We just had never hoped you’d find out... like this.”

“This is the mare I want to be my queen, the one I love, and I just find out her father could have been mine if you had been a less-skilled duelist?” the prince asked angrily, looking directly at his father.

“Well, when you put it that way, of course it sounds bad,” the king said, an odd combination of meekness and resignation in his voice. “Son, you must not let this make you lose sight of your goal.”

“My goal? As in, the goal you two set out for me to do in order for this kingdom to continue down our family line? I never wanted to be part of this!” the prince shouted. “Now I have found the mare of my dreams, and if I cannot have her, then I will have nopony! I will stay a bachelor, single until the day I die. Then this blasted kingdom will fall into ruin later than it should have, if all these stories and lies are anything to go by!”

“Watch your tone, son: you mustn’t speak of things like that,” the king said, a new hardness entering his voice that sent a slight tremor down Spike’s spine. Wow, talk about the kingdom falling apart really got under the king’s hide.

“So? It is nothing less than we deserve. All my life you have groomed me to be the next king, to be a representative of my country and kingdom: to pick a mare that would bear my foals. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be something else?” Mehmed asked, his voice lowering slightly below the shouts of before. “That maybe I wanted to come into my birthright on my own, without the “guidance”, nitpicking and iron-fisted rule that was set before me? I want to make my own mistakes so that I can learn from them, not be coddled and cajoled into doing something I have no idea how to fix should it become too troublesome to handle.”

The king was growing more and more flustered, and Spike had no idea what was going to happen.

“I must do what my heart tells me I must: I chose Sheba over this kingdom,” Mehmed said, his final words hanging in the air for several seconds. Then, the king exploded, quite literally, off of his thrown, his quick loping bounds crossing the distance between him and his son in the blink of an eye. Spike had never known anypony to move that fast at that age.

“You fool!” the king roared, backhanding his son across the face and sending him sprawling to the floor. “Do you have any idea what you are saying? Has anything but your own thoughts and desires ever made it into that thick skull of yours?!”

Mehmed merely looked up at his father in shock: nopony had ever had the audacity to strike him before, and his father had never so much as looked at him with a violent eye. “I...I...I-“

“You what? You thought you could just make a decision like this and there would be no consequences?!” the king roared, a wild and surprisingly pained look in his eyes. “You think that your decision to abandon your kingdom, your birthright, would just go away and turn out all right in the end?” His fists clenched, the king took a step towards his son, only to be stopped a further advancement by Spike’s outstretched hand, which gently but firmly placed itself on his shoulder.

“Enough,” Spike said, his voice firm and unyielding in its severity. If he had to, he would beat up a king. “You are a king: act like one.”

The king looked between Spike and his own son, then back to Spike, and back to his only son before his fists unfurled and his shoulders slouched. He had been so full of kingly vigor, and now... it was like all the hot air in him had been let out.

“You have no idea what it is like, Mehmed,” the king said softly, his voice hoarse from the sudden outburst. “You have been raised to adulthood in luxury: in your time, our kingdom has never known war, no famines have occurred, and the people adore the reigning heads of state.”

“What are you getting at?” Mehmed said as he slowly rose to his hooves.

“I was not entirely truthful to your friend Spike here when I told him of how Husam and I became enemies,” the king said softly as the queen rushed to his side. “I... I too considered just letting the kingdom fall apart after my father died. My head was filled with wild, amazing ideas: a republic, a democracy, a constitutional oligarchy: many forms of government passed through my head, ones where I would be nothing anymore but a footnote in history. I could be at peace, and the burden that was mine would be lifted from my shoulders.”

He looked at his wife. “Then I discovered the truth: my ponies, our ponies, are not yet ready for such a drastic change. Maybe, in time, there will be no more need for kings and queens, emperors and empresses: the ponies of the land will rule themselves as a collective majority. Perhaps, someday, but the day I fought my former friend was the day I knew I needed to shoulder my responsibility, as I knew only the true son of the king could be the one to lead his kind to a brighter future.”

“So? This is not so much different than what you told me,” Mehmed said softly, a small bruise forming on his cheek. It wasn't much, but it would serve him as a reminder to not be such an idiot in the near future.

“It concerns the fight for your mother,” the king said, looking at his son with a mixture of sorrow and pride. “In the fight, I told Spike I disarmed Husam due to the stallion’s rage overriding some of his dueling skill. That is not true: Husam was far more skilled than I, and even in his rage, he was still a tad more skillful. I would have lost: nay, died, had I not done what I did.”

“What did you do?” Spike asked, letting his hand drop from the king’s shoulder to his own side.

“I... I cheated,” the king admitted, a tear rolling down his nose. “I... tossed a vase at his chest after I had rolled away to avoid a blow. He slung out and deflected it, but that was all I needed to inflict a wound on him: the scar across his face, near his right eye.”

“I... I always thought he had gotten that from another duel,” the queen said.

“No: it was by my hand he was scarred there,” the king said softly. “Then, in pain and with blood leaking into his eye, he threw up a hand to his face, as if forgetting the duel was happening. I took my chance and disarmed him, with his sword ending up in my hand. I... I could have finished him then and there. I wanted to, I felt like I had to: I knew he’d never get over my betrayal, and if I let him live, he’d be one more pony who’d want me dead or worse.”

“So why did you let him live?” Mehmed asked his father. "Why let him live, if you knew he would be such a dangerous foe?"

“Because he had been my friend when I had none: he had been my closest confidant in my darkest hour,” the king said, choking on a small sob. “Now it seems my decision to let him live has been brought back to a neutral state: my son has met his daughter and wishes to marry her. Only now, though, I am afraid Husam will never let that happen. He sees too much of you in me, too much of the stallion who betrayed and injured him on that night all those years ago. I... I am sorry, Mehmed: I am sorry, my son.”

Silence: complete and utter silence pervaded the room like a thick mist, threatening to extend on forever until nothing remained. Then, without warning, Mehmed embraced his father.

“What?” the king asked, surprise filtering through another choked-back sob.

“It’s okay, father: I understand,” Mehmed said through his fierce embrace, one that was soon joined by the queen. “I... I forgive you: for everything.”

The king looked like he was about to say something, but apparently decided against it. Instead, he hugged his son and wife against him, tightening their embrace as they let the angst and turbid feelings inside them wash away.

Spike felt out of place in this moment, like a pitchfork at a spoon convention. This conversation reminded him of the many he had had with Twilight back when he was younger, minus the physical aspect of it. Right then and there, he felt very lonely: he had four beautiful wives and three foals on the way, sure, but he missed home. He was only about halfway done with this world-winded tour, and even then he knew that he’d have to start sending much, much more back with his next letter.

Leaving the family behind, the dragon slowly made his way up to his quarters, only to find his wives asleep on his bed. Well, with nothing much else to do and strict rules against them going outside by themselves, sleep was likely the best thing they could do. That, or talk, though Spike knew that Maria and Chrysalis had finally made up: that was a plus, at least.

Settling down into a seat and retrieving a quill and some ink, Spike began to write.

“Dearest friends,” he began. “I know I have not written in a long while, nor would I wish to keep doing such a thing. These last few weeks have been... strenuous, so to speak. Bandits attacked us after we headed out of Neighypt and our time in Maredagascar was not too pleasant either: the week-long storm really out a damper on things. After that, we were attacked by pirates around the coast of Somalia, but the convoy we were in managed to fend them off.”

He didn’t want to tell them of how he had become a flying, flaming instrument of death, or else he’d never hear the end of Twilight’s rants on “dangerous dragon behavior” or something like that. Granted, they wouldn’t be wasted, but he really, really didn’t want to listen to them right now, or ever, really.

“We safely arrived in Saddle Arabia and have been having a rather splendid time, though there have been problems between the prince, his parents, and the daughter of a certain troublesome general. The situation is, I hope, being rectified as I write this.”

It was a pleasant thought.

“On a happier note, Trixie has been coming along nicely in her pregnancy, although some of the more odious symptoms have started to make themselves known.” The other day, Trixie had ordered the servants to bring her seventy pounds of grapes, and everypony had watched in horror as she gobbled down each and every one like a possessed demon. Then she ate five bowls of cabbage, and last night had been the fartiest night in Spike’s life: an open torch exploded into flame on one exceptionally powerful gust of flatulent air from Trixie’s derriere. “Meia and Maria are also pregnant, so in several months’ time, I should be expecting three new additions to the royal household. Asalah shows no sign of being pregnant, not for lack of trying: her cycle simply hasn’t come around again.”

He paused for a moment: he had referred to Chrysalis as Meia once again, thereby digging them all deeper into a hole he knew would be a pain to exit. Some time or another, everypony else would have to learn about the queen of the Changelings falling in love and being impregnated by Spike the dragon. He only hoped they would warm up to her faster than if she hadn’t: he didn’t know why he got so protective around them, but if it came down to it, he’d gladly defend them from any attack, by any pony.

“With sincerest regards, Spike.” With that and a tongue of flame slipping between his teeth and over the now rolled-up scroll, Spike sent the message back home, half the world away. He did miss it: truly, he did.

There was a soft knock on the door, causing the purple and green dragon to look away from the window through which the message had flown. Walking over to the door, he opened it gently to see one of the guards waiting for him.

“Sir Spike, the prince wishes to see you,” the guard said.

“Thank you: I’ll be right down,” the dragon said, walking back and putting his supplies away. He stopped, looking at his journal: he had been writing in it ever since he had met “Meia” on the Crowhop, but he’d never really given any thought to it. He’d assumed it would just be his journal, something for only friends and relatives to see. But now he saw it in a different light: this would be read by countless generations of ponies in Equestria as a guide to so much of the outside world. Spike, after all, had written in great detail everything he had seen: the landscapes, the ponies that inhabited them, and the many exotic things to do in such places. He was writing what would become a piece of history.

“Wow,” he thought as he gently packed it away. Leaving his still-sleeping wives alone once more, he ventured down until he came upon an unusual sight: the prince, along with both the king and queen, were dressing up in disguised clothing.

“His mother thought we should try it out for once,” the king told Spike in a hushed tone when the dragon approached them. “This plan of his is secret, even to us: all he wants is for us to be there.”

“Mehmed has a plan?” Spike whispered back as he and the king followed the other two disguised royals out of the palace. Spike had not taken off his “bodyguard” disguise, so no pony gave him so much as a second glance.

The king merely nodded. Spike, on the other hand, had serious doubts as to the validity of whatever Mehmed was planning. Was he going to whisk Sheba away? Was he going to use his royal heritage and power to bully the general into doing what he wished? Was he-

“We’re here, you know,” the king said, causing Spike to snap out of his reverie. He looked up to see them entering the castle-home in which Sheba and her family resided.

“Oh,” was all Spike could say as several guards let them inside after the queen whispered something to them. Surprise surprise, a familiar figure approached them, nervously wringing their hands.

“What are you doing back? Are you crazy?” Badr asked. “He’s still in a horrible mood: if he sees you in here, he’ll have you all thrown out!”

“No need for worries, mother of Sheba,” Mehmed said, removing his disguise. “I intend to speak with Husam: by myself,” he added, casting a look at the others, especially the king and queen. Before anypony could object, and it sure looked like his parents were going to, the prince strode past them all and entered through the doors from whence he had been ejected before, right into the war room. With a slam they closed behind him, and so the entire group found themselves in an unnatural silence.

“Did he tell you what he was going to do?” Spike asked the queen. She simply shook her head, her unblinking eyes never leaving the door her son had entered.

The silence seemed to just stretch on and on, as if the instant Mehmed had entered the war room, all time had ceased to flow within. In Spike’s eye, this could mean one of two things: either Mehmed and Husam were having a civil conversation, or...

“No, he wouldn’t do that,” Spike thought. The general may have been a madman, a crazy drunk, but he would never stoop so low as to do...

There had been swords in the room, though...

Just then, right as Spike was going to check on them, the doors swung open and out strode Husam, a glint in his eye and his jaw set. “Prepare my arena,” he said to the guards, some of whom were already moving at the word “ arena”.

“What?” the king asked, looking aghast as Mehmed strode out, looking none the worse for wear. “Son, what did you do?”

“Challenge him to a duel for Sheba’s hand in marriage,” the prince said simply, earning gasps from Spike, the queen and the king once more. “It will be a private affair: nopony else in the kingdom, besides a few guards, will know it ever happened.”

“That’s because it will not happen! I cannot allow this!” the king said, roughly grasping his son’s shoulders.

“You know the rules, your highness,” Husam said, spitting out the word “highness” like it was an insult. “He challenged me and I have accepted: we will duel in thirty minutes.” With that, the general strode off, disappearing into the armory that connected to the arena.

Mehmed strode after him, Spike left holding onto a sobbing queen. “What happens if he loses the duel?” Spike whispered. The king followed the prince close behind, his urgent words of the prince’s idiotic decision falling on apparently deaf ears.

“Husam... he chooses what happens,” the queen said through a choking sob. “Denial of Sheba’s hand in marriage, reluctant acceptance, or...”

Or? “Or what?” Spike asked, a nasty feeling in his gut telling him what “or” meant.

“Or... death,” the queen said, her sobs renewing for a short time. “It... it is the law the of the land, from before Saddle Arabia had a king or queen. It supersedes our authority, and such a duel can only be called off by the one who accepted it.”

“Oh shit,” Spike muttered under his breath, not knowing what else to do. Just then, after finally deciding to get over her own shock, Badr came over and quietly pried the queen out of Spike’s arms, though he wasn’t even holding onto her. She was the one who had been nearly crushing him in her grief-fuelled embrace.

Sighing and knowing this would not turn out well, Spike left them and headed after a few guards, a sign clearly marking the arena. Clambering over some seats, he sat down in front, looking down into the sparse arena. It was made simply of compact dirt, dusty and littered with dropped or useless weapons. The walls had no spikes nor other dangers: it was just a large circle in which ponies could settle their differences by the sword.

Meanwhile...

“Son, you must not do this!” the king said as his son handled a helmet: it covered one’s entire head, leaving nothing but one’s mane sticking out. The eye slits were large enough to not obstruct one’s vision in any way, but then again, they were large enough to be a problem if one targeted said eyes.

“Why, father? I am doing what you taught me to do,” Mehmed said as he set the helmet down on the pile of armor he would wear. It was not thick and bulky like the armor of European ponies: it was light, flexible, and not very strong. By very strong, in that it would not arrest the blow of a determined foe’s blade, but a glancing hit would not penetrate, at least. “I intend to make him see the error of his ways and earn Sheba’s hand in marriage, preferably with his blessing.”

“You have gone insane, my son,” the king said, letting out a depressing laugh as he slouched down onto a bench. “You really don’t know what you are going up against, are you?”

“He is an old pony: granted, an amazing duelist and strategist, but he is many years my senior. I can beat him,” the prince said as he picked up and swung around a short sword: a side-arm, or secondary weapon, if you will, should his first be discarded or damaged beyond used.

“Trust me when I say this: all you have on your side is your youth, and naiveté,” the king said, looking around the armory. It was a separate one from where Husam had strode off to, and it showed: there were paintings of famous generals, while there was no doubt no trappings at all in Husam’s private armory.

“Must you always doubt me, father?” Mehmed asked as he picked up a war hammer, giving it a few test swings.

“I do not doubt you: I doubt Husam will relent just because you are my son,” the king said, blinking in realization of something only he understood.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” the prince said as he held up a chain mail shirt. “I want this to be a fair fight, with nopony holding back. Only then, after I beat him, can he truly see I am worthy of his daughter.”

The king sighed: Mehmed wasn’t listening. He was young, yes, and full of optimism, but the king knew better. The world was usually harsh to ones like him, and Husam would be no exception. Husam was a master duelist: he always had been, and unlike many other generals who reached his age, he had more or less kept himself in reasonable fighting condition. Sure, he had gained a few pounds here and there, but the zebra was surpsingly light on his hooves. Mehmed wouldn’t stand a chance, but what could he do?

“I am sorry, son,” the king said, rising to his hooves.

Meanwhile...

Spike did not like how silent the arena was. It was as if Death itself was waiting in the seats, maybe even right next to him, just waiting for the chance to claim another life. Badr and the queen had not come, thankfully: Spike didn’t know if he could stand to watch such a thing with them watching it as well. The few guards who had showed up were standing at attention along both doors that lead into the arena, their armor glistening in the light.

Sheba had not shown up either, something Spike was even more grateful for. Whoever won here today could in theory kill their opponent, and for her, it would be a doubly-damaging thing to see: the stallion she had fallen in love with cut down by her father, or her father run through by the one she loved. Either way, it would not end well, and Spike knew he couldn’t interfere: the guards he had asked had made it explicitly apparent there could be no outside interference from him, or the duel would simply be rescheduled with him not present.

Then, with a great groaning noise, the door to the far wall opened, and out strode Husam. He was clad head to hoof in armor, not thick plates like a knight’s or a guard’s. Instead, it was mostly chain mail, with leather greaves and gauntlets serving as protection for his lower legs and forearms. His helmet, an intimidating creation that had two great, feathered horns, gave him a demonic appearance. He had several weapons on him: one long sword, a small short sword, and an oval-shaped shield that tapered to a point near his hooves. The latter two he carried out with him, his walking making them look almost weightless. The longer sword remained in his sheath, though it was truly a nasty-looking piece of work.

“I call forth my challenger,” Husam said in a clear voice, surprising as his helmet covered most of his face.

The door on the far side opened with barely a sound, and out strode Mehmed. His helmet hid his features, but the way he carried himself was a dead giveaway. He too wore chain mail, and the same kind of leg greaves, but the gauntlets for him were metal, like knights in Europe. He carried with him a long-handled military scythe, similar to a sword but with a much longer “blade” portion. He too carried a shield, this one more shaped like a curved rectangle, and instead of a sword, he carried a singular mace. It had no spikes, but instead had several metal rings wrapped around the blunt end, making it much more likely to break something upon contact: bone, metal, wood, whatever.

Mehmed didn’t respond: maybe the king had finally shown him a few tricks of the dueling trade that only one like himself would know. With that, he stepped forward, and at the same time, both doors swung closed behind the two.

It was a long walk to the center, and as soon as both combatants bowed, the duel had officially begun. Spike only hoped both would survive it.

Author's Note

I am sorry for not having written this sooner, but this week involved staying up until midnight every night studying and working on some projects. Plus, waking up early in the morning does not leave one in the best mood for writing. Also, I basically wrote this all in one day after planning out everything in my head when I couldn't write it out.

PS: I am SO looking forward to writing the next chapter.

A Promising Compromise

Chapter Thirty Seven

A Promising Compromise

The two figures stood stock still in the middle of the arena, neither moving as a light breeze made some of the floor’s dust swirl around them. The stoic nature of them both seemed very eerie, as if they had ceased to be ponies and were now statues. Even the birds, so common high up in the few trees framing the castle fortress, were uncharacteristically silent, as if a great predator had suddenly appeared in their mist.

“So, any second thoughts on this duel?” Husam asked loudly, more than enough for Spike to hear a good distance away. “Are you going to break down and plead for mercy, little colt?” Jeering an opponent usually made them lose their focus and react with emotional strength instead of physical, a dangerous gamble that rarely, if ever, paid off.

Mehmed merely shook his head, not uttering a single word: Husam’s display of utter asshole-ity wasn’t affecting him at all, it seemed. Any other stallion his age would be either sweating from fear or shaking with barely-suppressed rage at that kind of taunt. Most had been taught to respond in kind to an insult, usually in a physical manner: it seemed the prince thought differently.

“Fine then: have at thee, then,” Husam said, drawing his sword back: the real fight had begun. With seemingly little effort, he swung it forward, aiming for the prince’s shoulder with the speed and skill of one who had done this for many a year. It would be a clean slice, likely penetrating through the armor and halfway to the bone-

Or it would have been, had it not been for the blur that was Mehmed’s mace coming up to block the strike. Metal clanged on metal as sword met mace, but Mehmed was stronger than he appeared: the mace held with little effort and he soon pushed away, driving off Husam’s attack. His breathing quickened slightly, as would any in his situation: dueling was not a "calm" event.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Husam said as the two combatants circled one another. “You are more skilled than you first let on. But it will not happen again, I assure you.” He dove in again, his sword’s tip aimed straight for Mehmed’s knee.

Mehmed simply side-stepped the strike and lashed out with his shield, knocking Husam slightly off balance. It was enough for the elderly zebra to stumble, but he was nothing if not persistent and recovered in time to block a mace-blow with his own shield. He shrugged it off with little effort as well, pushing the weapon away.

Spike had the temptation to shield his eyes from the duel, but he just couldn’t peel them away from what was happening before him. It was a flow of battle the likes of which he had never seen before.

Mehmed came in with an overhead strike with his mace, the blunt end making a loud thump as it impacted Husam’s shield. Swinging his shield arm down and bringing the mace with it, Husam instead lashed out with his sword, which the prince barely managed to duck under. Another inch lower and the sword would have dinged off the very top of his helmeted head. Mehmed pushed up and forward with his shield from his crouched position, trapping Husam’s sword arm across his body. The general kept trying to backpedal and free his arm, but Mehmed advanced in time with him, bringing his mace up and over to try and smash the zebra general in the face. Husam did all he could: bring his shield up repeatedly to fend off the mace. Every clang, every smash, every blow made a loud ringing sound in the arena as the two went back towards a wall. The dust kicked up by their hooves followed them like smoke billowing from a train engine.

Setting one hoof firmly behind him and pushing with all his might, Husam shoved Mehmed away, finally freeing his sword arm. With that, he launched a quick counterattack, his flurry of strikes barely blocked by the prince’s own shield and mace. Both combatants grunted furiously as they dueled, their scrambling hooves kicking up small clouds of dust every time they slid or were driven back by a blocked attack. Then, on one particularly hard downward swing, a resounding crack echoed through the arena as a split formed right down the middle of Mehmed’s tower shield. The prince sidestepped and managed to put some distance between himself and the general, which must have given him enough time to assess the damage, for Husam was on him again in a matter of seconds.

He threw up his shield once more, only for another crack to sound through the arena as another split formed down the shield, this time to the side. Blocking the next three strikes with his mace, Mehmed tried to press his advantage once more by going for Husam’s head, forcing the general to become defensive again. He managed this for several strikes until the general unexpectedly charged, slamming his own shield into the prince’s. The tower shield splintered and broke in two, falling apart in Mehmed’s grasp.

The prince had to get it off his arm, as it was now useless and would only serve to slow him down. So, after dodging backwards from a few vicious swings, he slipped his arm out of the grip and threw the remaining piece of the shield at Husam, who threw his own shield up. The impact must have been rather fierce, as the general stumbled backwards and fell on his back in a cloud of dust.

Mehmed rushed forward, both hands on his mace’s handle as he raised it up over his head. Then, when he was a few paces away, he launched himself into the air, his tail soaring behind him like a banner as he flew across the short distance. With the added momentum of his leap, he brought down the mace with a surprisingly loud yell, impacting...

Dust: a mere second before the mace smashed into the ground hard enough for dried dirt to fly up like a meteorite impact, Husam had rolled away. He swung out with his sword from his laying position, but Mehmed had recovered and jumped, cartwheeling through the air with his mace still stuck in the dirt. With a wrenching motion he pulled it free and drew back again. With another roar, which sounded violent, even in a situation like this, he swung it down again, the impact leaving a dent in Husam...

‘s shield. The general had frantically thrown his shield up to deflect the blow, but said blow almost drove him into the ground. Where had the prince gotten this sudden strength from? It was madness, for him to be fighting so well: the general knew his spies must not have been entirely accurate when they said the prince was trained by professional soldiers.

The only things was, Husam had trained many of those soldiers, so after the next shield-denting strike, he lashed out with his sword with extreme precision. His blow was just a bit too high, as he had been aiming to remove a piece of the prince’s hoof: instead, the blow skidded off the leg greaves, driving Mehmed back a few steps. He came forward again, swinging down in time to once again strike dirt as Husam rolled out of the way. This time, he rolled to his hooves and lashed out with his sword, catching the prince off guard. In the shoulder guard, in fact: sparks flew as the sword skidded off the shoulder, leaving no wound other than a bruise but having enough force behind it to drive the prince back again.

“Give up: you are no match for me!” Husam said, not entirely sure what he was saying was the truth. Mehmed said nothing: he merely charged again, his mace coming in from the side like a metal haymaker punch. Husam threw up his shield, but the force threw him backwards through the air, just as a loud tearing noise sounded.

The shield had ripped itself apart from the blow, scattering in pieces as Husam once again landed on his back. However, this time he was up in a flash, as the loss of the weight of the shield gave him a significant boost in agility. He sidestepped another overhead blow from the prince and jammed his elbow right in the stallion’s face, drivie him backwards. He followed it up with a slam to the shoulder he had bruised with the handle of his sword, the cast steel end serving like a small ball-peen hammer. It left a dent in the metal shoulder piece as Mehmed was driven to one knee. Raising his sword again, Husam brought it down just as Mehmed rushed up with his, causing both weapons to slam into each other.

The resulting clang drove Husam backwards several paces before he regained his balance, and Mehmed’s knee was driven further into the dry dirt. Judging from the grunt he released from his throat, it had hurt a lot worse than it appeared, though Mehmed did not stay down. As he rose to his hooves, Spike saw the end of his mace fall off: the force he had been exerting on the end had fatally damaged the welded metal end, and all he had left now was a metal stick. The dragon looked over to see Husam looking at his sword in a manner suggesting dismay, although it was hard to tell with his odd demonic helmet.

The sword had a large, noticeable crack running down the middle near the hilt, and the very end had been snapped off like a twig, leaving behind a jagged shard. Indeed, the shining tip had flown away from the blow that created it and had embedded itself in a far wall, right next to a guard’s head. Said guard had pissed himself in surprise and shock, judging from the puddle beneath him.

Husam and Mehmed threw their now-useless weapons to the ground and instead drew their secondary, or rather primary, weapons: Husam his broadsword, and Mehmed his military scythe. Both metallic instruments of death gleamed in the sunlight as a light breeze blew up a small cloud of dust, which swirled around them in an almost magical way. With twin roars matching in volume and ferocity, they charged once again, the dirt kicking up behind them as they outright sprinted towards one another, their trails mixing with the dust already in the air.

They leapt at each other in midair, both swings missing their target and instead clanging together as they landed. They each spun, blow matching blow as they swung again. Mehemed sidestepped one downwards strike and lashed out with his hoof, kicking Husam square in the chest. This sent the general back a few feet, enough for the prince to swing his scythe once more, aiming this time for the general’s lower legs.

Husam jumped at this, the swing passing under his hooves. As he landed, however, Mehmed continued the path of his swing, making a complete circle where he was standing and this time making contact. It was not with Husam’s blade, however: it hid the side of his thick chain mail, causing him to stumble to the side. Chain mail was designed to not be cut, so all the general got out of it was a fractured rib and severe bruising. But he didn’t care about that now: he was too full of adrenaline and blood-lust to feel it.

Bringing his huge sword in front of him like a spear, Husam thrust at Mehmed, who just barely managed to sidestep and not be skewered on the sharp piece of metal. With another swing of the sword, Husam impacted Mehmed’s side as well, though he used the broad side of the blade. This sent Mehmed flying, landing on the ground next to a piece of his shattered shield.

Husam gave him no chance to breathe: he advanced and swung his sword down, missing the side of the prince’s head by an inch after Mehmed somewhat lurched himself out of the way. He tried again, but the military scythe blocked his attack, and no matter how hard he pushed, he could not bring his blade any closer to the prince. He then pressed his whole body into the push, causing the blade to inch closer, and closer, and closer...

Then, in a flurry of movement, Mehmed let go of his scythe’s handle with one hand and rammed the gauntlet-covered fist into Husam’s face, with most of the impact landing on the helmet. It did the trick, though, as Husam stumbled backwards, a small spray of blood exiting as he coughed: likely bit his lip or something. Then, the prince grabbed his bit of the shield, and smashed it alongside Husam’s shin, sending him stumbling back further in pain. Some more blood dripped from the helmet onto his armor, and a small trickle came from the general's lower leg: a small shard of the metal shield had likely gashed open a bit of his skin.

Mehmed scrambled to his feet and lashed out again, throwing the shield piece at the stallion. Husam managed to deflect it away to his side, but Mehmed followed up that move by punching the stallion square in the face once more. Another spray of blood, a bit more this time, exited the general’s helmet as he stumbled back again: likely a broken nose, now, judging from the sudden howl of pain. He shook his head to try and regain his thoughts: slight concussion as well, perhaps?

The general, after spitting out some blood, recovered his posture and tried swinging his sword down, but he was tiring, and it showed: the prince deflected the blow and with his free gauntlet-covered fist, punched Husam right in the rib where the scythe had landed before. The general grunted, causing some more blood to leave his mouth in a spray, and then the prince grabbed him by the shoulder. With a mighty thrust he smashed the front of his helmet against the general's causing them both to trmble slightly: Husam fell backwards a step, his head starting to get fuzzy from all the trauma he was suffering. Then another blow landed on his ribs, and then again as Mehmed landed another blow in the same spot, and then again, until the next strike was finally caught by the general’s sword. Well, caught being an exaggeration: in reality, he barely managed to deflect the blow, the defensive maneuver sending sparks flying off the metal gloves as Mehmed withdrew his hand in pain. It hurt to punch really hard objects, and he had to quickly sidestep to avoid being run through by a sudden, desperate jab from Husam’s sword.

As the general moved past the prince, Mehmed brought his elbow around, smashing it into the back of Husam’s helmeted head. This, combining the already- unstable forward momentum of the general with a discombobulating strike, sent the zebra stallion stumbling, falling flat on his face some distance away. Mehmed shrugged his shoulder and rubbed his hand before almost casually strolling over to the general, who was looking at his sword only a few feet away.

He reached out to it, trying to grab it by the handle, only for a hoof to slowly press down on his fingers. In agony, he watched as Mehmed’s free hoof kicked the sword away, leaving the general defenseless. That much was obvious as both hooves moved out of his vision, only for a searing pain to enter Husam’s side. Mehmed kicked him in the stomach, and then the ribs, and then the stomach again, until one vicious kick flipped the zebra onto his back, wheezing and gasping for air. The strikes themselves were not vicious in the sense that the prince was trying to kill the general: rather, they were the blows one would use to beat an opponent into submission.

He tried to raise his arms to defend himself from a sword strike, but instead a hoof slammed itself right onto the general’s chest, knocking some wind out of his lungs. Wheezing and coughing even more so, he tried to pry the prince’s hoof off of him, but the standing stallion merely placed more weight into it, until the general gave up and let his arms fall back in defeat.

“Do it,” he said, loud enough for Spike, who was on the edge of his seat, to hear. “Kill me: do what your father couldn’t have done at your age. He didn't have the balls to do it: maybe you can be better than him!” His rage was tinged with grief, both at knowing he had been beaten fair and square, and the fact that he was going to lose his daughter to the prince, the same kind of stallion that his father was.

Mehmed remained silent, glancing at his glinting military scythe. It would be so easy, to just end him right there: a simple jab to the throat, and he would die within a few short minutes, choking on his own blood. But do that, the prince did not: he just stood there, looking down at the defeated general. His breathing was shallow and low, and the muscles in his entire body burned: he overexerted himself, and if the general had not fallen first, then he surely would have collapsed within a few more strikes.

“What are you waiting for?!” Husam cried, nopony else knowing he was crying in his helmet. “Do it: do it now! FINISH ME!"

“Why would I want to do that?” the victorious figure asked softly, resting his scythe on his knee as he reached down with his free hand..

Husam’s eye’s opened wide as Mehmed ripped off the general’s helmet, casting it aside and revealing the old, grizzled, scarred and blood-stained face of the zebra within. “You... you...”

“What? Speechless when you were so chatty before?” The victorious figure reached up with his free hand and tugged his own helmet off, revealing a face much like Mehmed’s, only older and wearing a slightly pained expression.

“You... you...” the general said again, words failing him as he looked into the eyes of...

“Yes, it’s me: your king,” the king said, looking down at the general with a mixture of pity and sadness. “I beat you: your life is in my hands, once again, and I chose to spare it once again.”

“But... but... why?” the general asked, completely shocked by this sudden turn of events. “Why?”

“Because I know what happens when bad blood builds up between those who are, or at least were, close to one another,” the king said simply. “I could not let that happen between Mehmed and Sheba, should he beat you, nor between you and your own daughter, should you defeat my son. If you were wondering, Mehmed is unconscious in the armory: I used the same sleeper hold on him that you taught me all those years ago.”

“You... you did? You remembered how?” the general asked, a trickle of blood leaking from his busted nose and bit lip.

“Of course: it was my friend who taught me that maneuver,” the king said with a small, sad smile. “I know things cannot go back to the way they were so long ago, but for the sake of our children, and for the sake of ourselves, can we put the past behind us?”

The general was silent at this: he had been beaten, honorably beaten, by the same stallion who had cheated him out of what he thought was his so long ago. But... to have thrown himself in harm’s way, put it all on the line, for the sake of not only his son and the possible relationship said son would have with a general’s daughter, but for the relationship between Sheba and her own father? That... that was possibly the most courageous thing Husam had ever seen. It was nothing like the king he remembered all those years ago, the one who cheated to win a duel.

But now that he looked back, it hadn’t really been much of a duel to begin with. He had attacked first, nearly severing the king’s head with a vicious, out-of-the-blue strike. Only some quick-thinking on the king’s part had saved him from certain death, and now that the filter of hatred had been removed by this sudden show of compassion, Husam was certain of one thing.

It was he who had been selfish all those years ago: declaring the queen to have been his, when it had likely been just puppy love from the start. She had never even shown much interest in him outside of being a companion, but every little scrap he had taken as a sign of something deeper. He had been desperate, to be sure, but he hadn’t realized it as being desperation. Now he saw the truth: he had been wrong all these years, and the fortress of hatred he had built inside his hear just melted away, like a sand castle hit by a wave.

“Yes,” he said, breaking the silence. “The past is in the past, and the bitterness I feel for you is gone. I am sorry, my old friend: for everything.”

“As am I, old friend,” the king said, dropping his scythe behind him and offering the general his hand. Grasping it, Husam pulled himself up with the king’s aid, whereupon they embraced each other like long-lost brothers. Tears rolled down their cheeks as the pain and sorrow and bittersweet memories flowed out of them and onto the dust beneath their hooves.

Just then a figure appeared by Spike’s side. Turning to look, he saw it was none other than Sheba, who was staring at the two in the arena with a look of curiosity and confusion.

“What’s going on? Are they fighting?” she asked softly. Her eyes were wide at the sight she was seeing, and her lip began to tremble slightly.

The dragon was silent for a moment, a soft smile gracing his lips. “No, no Sheba: you are not witnessing a fight,” he said. “You are just seeing the reunion of two long-lost friends.” He didn’t want to spoil the moment: such a thing as he was seeing was not only rare, but very precious. He would remember it always.

In an instant, two more figures rushed in next to her: the queen and Badr. It looked like they had just run a mile in under a minute, judging from the way they were panting.

“Is... is it over?” the queen asked. “Did... did Mehmed.... win?”

“Mehmed did, in a sense,” Spike said, pointing over to the far end of the arena. A figure had pushed open the door to the armory, stumbling out in clothes while clutching his head.

“Mehmed!” Sheba called out, vaulting over the side and landing hoof-first in the arena without any difficulty whatsoever. With a wave she rushed past her father and the king, leaping up and embracing the real prince.

“Come on: you must meet my father,” she said, dragging him over to Husam. “Father, this is Mehmed, the prince.”

The king and the general had broken away from one another, with Husam looking at Mehmed with a newfound respect. If any father was willing to do what the king had done for their son, then this prince must have been really special. “We’ve met,” the general said, discarding his gauntlets: his hands hurt.

“You have?” Sheba asked, arching an eyebrow in surprise. “You never told me you knew each other.”

“It was a relatively recent meeting,” the general said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Father, why do you have blood on your face?” Sheba asked, concern flooding her voice.

“I... I fell,” he said, pausing for a few seconds to try and think of a reasonable excuse. “My helmet hit my face when I did.”

“Oh,” Sheba said, not sounding entirely convinced. She wasn't an idiot, after all: she was merely meek sometimes, but right now, her father's no-nonsense side was starting to shine through her exterior.

“Besides, I believe Mehmed has something to ask you,” the king said, earning a quick look of thanks from Husam: explaining the blood away would have gotten much harder if Sheba remained focused on it.

“Oh?” the mare asked, looking at Mehmed as he regained his senses: damn, his father sure knew how to knock someone out with great haste. “You do?”

“Well, uh... yes, actually,” the prince said, looking to the general for approval. A subtle nod was his response, and it was all the response he needed. “Sheba, I know we haven’t known each other for a long time, and frankly, I’d like to get to know you a lot better.”

“You... would?” Sheba asked, sounding both perplexed and intrigued. “In... in what way?”

“Every way,” Mehmed said, causing Spike to almost face-palm from in his seat: he’d better explain this a bit quicker...

“What he is trying to say is, he’d like to take the time to know you better than he already does,” the king said, stepping in to smooth out the ruffles in his son’s sentence. “A lifetime of learning, one might say.”

“One might say?” Sheba asked, sounding even more confused.

“Yes,” Mehmed said, looking deep into her eyes. “Sheba El-Hashim, may I have the honor of having you as my queen?”

Complete, utter silence erupted in the arena: not even a fly buzzed, so quit was it. Then Sheba’s look of confusion turned to shock, and then... pure joy.

“Y-yes, Mehmed,” she said, pulling him into a sudden and bone-crushing embrace. “Of c-course I’ll be your queen!”

Mehmed looked over Sheba’s mane to both of their fathers, tears welling up in the eyes of all parties involved: even Spike’s. “May I ask the general a question?” the prince asked.

“Certainly,” Husam said, wiping a tear from below his scarred-fringed eye.

“May I have the permission of marrying your daughter, Sheba?” the young stallion asked.

“Of course you can,” Husam said, embracing them both in a great big hug. “Welcome to the family, Mehmed.”

Spike wiped a tear away as he watched this: it was so sweet, almost painfully so. In his mind’s eye, he could only hope this was how his family and friends back home would welcome his own wives. “Hope” being the operative word here: there was still the manner of Chrysalis to be resolved completely.

The king clapped his hands together as the three broke apart from their hug. “Now that our differences have been set aside, it is time for everything to be planned out accordingly.”

“What do you mean?” Mehmed asked.

“The wedding, of course!” Husam said, answering for the king. “Everything will have to be planned out, after all” it’s not every day the prince gets married, no less to the daughter of a famous general!”

“When will you want the proceedings to take place?” the king asked.

Mehmed and Sheba looked at each other, and then, surprisingly, looked over at Spike. “The day Spike and his wives are due to leave,” Sheba said, with Mehmed nodding in agreement. “We want our happiest day to coincide with their departure: a “fond farewell”, if you will.”

“That is not for several more weeks, though,” Husam said, though no note of disapproval entered his voice at all.

“So? It will just give us more time to prepare and get to know each other a bit better,” Mehmed said, pulling Sheba closer for another hug. “After that, we’ll have all the time in the world to get ready to run the kingdom in your stead, father.”

“Yes: yes, I suppose you will,” the king said with a smile, shrugging his shoulders to relieve the moderate pain leftover from the fight. Damn, he knew he still had it in him, but his body was saying he didn’t have it all anymore: he used it all up.

Spike slowly clapped at this, though he was soon joined by Badr, the queen, and even the guards. The feud between the families had been broken forever by the selflessness of the king. Now, a new era could begin for both: an age of peace, love, and happy union.

Author's Note

Wow, I can't even begin to describe how much fun I had writing this chapter.

Ma'a Salama

Chapter Thirty Eight

Ma’a Salama

The weeks since the duel between the king and the general had flown by in a haste that would have put a Sonic Rainboom to shame. The entire bazaar had been cleared of shops and stalls, temporarily of course, in order to make room for the processional. As was the custom, wholly different from Agrabah, the marrying couple would march through the city streets and find themselves on the palace steps, where the final union would take place.

Tents of all shapes and sizes had been erected, both to provide shade for the gathering masses and to make it easier to clean things up afterwards. Carriage upon carriage would parade before and after the bride and groom, tossing coins and other valuables into the crowd for good fortune, to curry favor with the masses and, secretly, to stimulate the economy of the city. After all the celebrations began in earnest, ponies would buy much in the way of celebratory supplies: mainly alcohol and food, of course.

Ponies from across the country streamed into the city: important mercantile business leaders, every nonessential soldier from cadet to general, and even a few visiting dignitaries. Dyers and weavers toiled tirelessly to create the highest quality of fabrics to serve as building materials for the prince’s carriage, clothes and as the wedding dress of Sheba. Blacksmiths worked day and night, heating their goods to a white-hot temperature in order to shape the ceremonial pieces that would be needed: carriage wheel spokes, the main frames, ceremonial weapons, even the new ceremonial armor all of the guards would be wearing.

The royal blacksmiths and artisans were up to the very same, though their work would be beheld by only the prince, his family, and the bride’s family until the moment came to reveal it all to the general public. Mehmed’s own ceremonial armor would be custom-fit, according to his own desires and input.

Spike was readying himself as well, the royal blacksmiths wasting no time in preparing a little something for him. He looked at himself in the mirror, the shimmering metallic scales coinciding nicely with the color of robes he had been given. It was as if every scale on his body, or at least the publicly-viewed ones, had been copied and sewn together, until what appeared to be his flesh sparkled and shimmered like sunlight. His wings were covered in the thinnest sheets of metal he had ever witnessed, the patterns complementing them nicely and fitting snug enough that one might mistake him for being entirely shiny. But there was no mistake: this was armor, after all. A helmet guard, with hollowed spines to cover his own, sat on the table, waiting for him to place it on. His mouthpiece was inlaid into the design, so that all he had to do was open his mouth, and the large, rather detailed piece below his nostrils would open as well. Shoulder pauldrons, large and jutting out in what looked like small plates stacked on one another, were attached to a cape that hung down between his wings. His legs and feet were also covered in combinations of steel and leather, the leather underbracing helping to increase his movement while retaining overall coverage. His arms had large braces of metal on them as well, with ridges here and there imitating the spines along his back.

He didn’t need this getup, but he felt... good in it: like he was properly suited up for a ceremony. In fact, he felt less like a knight, and more like a general of ancient Roam. His sentiments were not only in his own mind, as a few gasps emerged from the door leading to his wives’ separate dressing quarters.

“Oh my...” Maria said as she and the other three walked out, resplendent in their newly-chosen attire. Not a lick of sensual skin showed, but that did not mean they were completely covered up. They all sported small crowns, fitted with small gleaming jewels that Spike knew in an instant were not all that common in this part of the world. Their manes were combed out completely straight, with very slight curls descending down them as they fell behind their backs. They too wore things similar to veils, though they only covered the forehead and did nothing to hide their beautiful faces. Their robes, speckled with flecks of gold and trimmed with the finest silk, swept behind them like large sails, though the way they moved, it was no hindrance at all to them. Their bodies, he noticed, were hugged rather well by those fine robes, showing off their figures in a way that was neither suggestive nor overt in the display of their pregnancies, Asalah being the exception to that. She wasn’t pregnant, after all, and her svelte figure was hard to hide, even under all that clothing. All in all, Spike had to say they looked quite beautiful: more so than he had thought they would in this land.

“Wow,” all four of them said, each with a unique patterning on the fronts of their dresses. Maria’s a star, Chrysalis’s (still in disguise as Meia) a dragonfly, Trixie’s a swan, and Asalah’s a lion.

“You look... amazing,” Chrysalis said underneath her guise, her constitution regained a few days before. Now, she too was starting to crave things, and had downed an entire platter of fruits like a vacuum.

“Wow is right: you all look incredible as well,” Spike said, giving them a bow as he leaned over and picked up his knightly helmet. “Are you all feeling well? The ceremony is only in a few hours, and we’d best be on our best behavior.”

“We feel fine, Spike,” Trixie said as she softly rubbed her belly. “Though, if we want to be ready, we’d best be there early.”

“Too true,” Spike said, sheathing his head in the helmet: it fit like a glove. “Being on time is good, but being early is better.” His voice was barely obstructed by the metallic construct covering his mouth, a testament to the engineering that went into it.

“Plus, the sooner this ceremony is done, the sooner we can leave: your last letter from Celestia did say she’d be contacting us with that “magic mirror” spell again, and I’d rather still be in my guise than have to drop it, only to put it back on,” Chrysalis said softly. It was uncomfortable to wear it for extended periods, and that would only progress as her pregnancy went on. Eventually, she wouldn’t be able to wear the disguise at all, and then, eventually, all of Equestria would have to find out the truth.

“Exactly,” Spike said, his newfound knowledge of changeling physiology giving him good reason to wish for this, and his next meeting, to be over sooner rather than later. But he didn’t want to give the appearance of him wanting the ceremony to be rushed: he was not so callous as to want to rush a day that would change a kingdom.

Escorting his wives down the tower stairs, Spike was no sooner nearing the throne room than he was besieged by the prince and his parents, General Husam and his wife Badr bringing up the rear. They were all decked out in ceremonial outfits and armor, though Husam’s sword was anything but ceremonial, it seemed.

“Spike, you have to help me,” Mehmed said, his breathing quickened.

“What’s the matter?” the dragon asked, his voice suddenly filled with concern. What had happened now?

“It’s Sheba: she won’t leave her room,” the prince said. “We’re due in a few minutes, and she refuses to speak to anyone, even her mother!” He sounded more stressed now than he ever had been before, and he had almost had to duel Sheba's father to the death a few weeks previously!

“She must be getting cold hooves,” Chrysalis said over Spike’s shoulder, though it was Meia everypony else saw speak. “I was wondering if this might not happen, but it seems it has anyway.”

“Should I talk to her?” Spike asked, hoping to resolve this potentially disastrous situation as soon as possible.

“No, she specifically said she didn’t want to talk to you either,” the queen said. “I’m not sure what else to do, Spike. This day was supposed to be a happy one, and now it’s all going to Tartarus!”

“Let me talk to her,” a voice said. Everypony else turned around to see Maria standing behind them all, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I think I could get through to her, if you let me try.”

“Yes, yes, anything would help,” Husam said, appearing almost as stressed as Mehmed: it was his daughter in there, for crying out loud!

Maria followed Badr away from the others, who had all fallen silent from the sudden stress of the situation. This was not good: what was going on in that bride-to-be’s head?

Maria walked as fast as she could behind Badr, glad that the door to where Sheba was currently staying rapidly approach. “She might not want to see you either,” Badr said quietly.

“That’s fine: I have my ways of entering a barred door,” Maria replied. Breathing slowly and settling her heartbeat, she closed her eyes and concentrated, a glow emanating from her horn. Slowly, like a waterfall, a curtain of magic descended over her body, covering every single inch of her, clothes and all. Then, gingerly, she took a step forward, her hooves making barely a sound. Another step, and she was pressed up against the door, but in an instant, she partly through it: an immaterial spell. Bracing herself, she pushed her way through the rest of the door, disappearing from Badr’s view. The mare left behind wringed her hands: there was little else she could do, but wait.

Letting the magic fall from her, Maria opened her eyes and looked around: the room was surprisingly dark, as the drawn curtains were doing a rather well job of blocking out the sunlight. In the middle of the room, sitting on a pile of pillows, had to be Sheba. She was softly sobbing to herself, and even in the low light, her tears were glistening.

“Sheba?” Maria asked, her voice soft as she slowly approached. The mare stopped crying and looked up at her in shock, her voice catching in her throat.

“How... how did you get in?” the Arabian mare asked softly.

“Magic, my dear: I am a unicorn, after all,” Maria said, walking up next to her and looking down. “Do you mind if I sit by you?”

Sheba slowly shook her head, and soon the pregnant Spreignish noblemare was sitting beside her. “I know this is a difficult day for you, Sheba,” Maria began, gently patting her on the back. “When I ask you this, I ask you as what I hope as a friend, not an intruder. So, please, tell me: what’s the matter?”

Sheba choked back another soft sob. “I’m... I’m sorry to have put you all through this, but I... I just can’t go through with this. I just can’t marry Mehmed.”

“Why not?” the pregnant noblemare asked, concern and confusion entering her tone as she gently stroked Sheba’s back. “I thought you loved him: I know for a fact he can’t get you out of his head.”

“I love him: don’t get me wrong, I really do,” Sheba said, rubbing her tears away with one hand. “It’s just... I’m scared.”

“Scared? Scared of what?” Maria asked, her magic pulling the curtains open slowly behind them, just to let some more light shine in the room.

“It’s just... I mean... Oh, you wouldn’t understand,” the Arabian pony said.

“Try me.” Maria was not going to give up so easily: it was in her blood to try and solve a puzzle, even if she didn’t know where half the pieces were.

“It’s... it’s... it’s your husband: you love him, don’t you?” Sheba asked.

Maria nodded. “With all my heart, yes: what does that have to do with anything?”

“You showed him perhaps the greatest gift of love a mare could give her husband,” the Arabian mare said, in an almost jealous tone. Jealous? That was odd.

“Which would be... what?” the noblemare asked.

“You got pregnant!” Sheba nearly shouted. “You have taken his wild oats into your womb, and have created life! You will bear him foals, perhaps many in your time as his wife, and he will love you all so very much!”

“Is that what this is about?” Maria asked. “Are... are you pregnant?”

“What... no!” Sheba said, looking scandalized. “I have not lain with anypony in my life!”

“Then what does my pregnancy have to do with anything?” Maria asked. This mare was either completely out of it, or else she had a very deep-seated fear.

“It began yesterday, when my mother and soon-to-be mother-in-law were talking about Mehmed’s own conception,” the other mare said. “How he was a miracle birth, as any previous attempts either failed or never took hold within his mother’s womb. They started wondering whether or not it had been the queen’s fault or the king’s seed was not up to the task for most of the time, and I just... I just...I-,”

“You wonder if it will be the same for both of you,” Maria finished for her, having finally connected the dots and come to a conclusion she had not thought Sheba ever would have been thinking about. “You’re scared, my dear: scared you might lose a foal, or not bear him any at all. Am I right in saying this?”

Sheba didn’t even speak: she just gave a small squeak and nodded her head, tears once again forming.

“Sheba, come here,” Maria said in a soothing voice, gently pulling the mare to her. Resistant at first, Sheba eventually collapsed into the unicorn’s arms, enfolding herself in the hug. “Sheba, I’m not going to lie to you: that is a legitimate concern almost every single pony goes through, especially us mares.”

“It... it is?” the bride-to-be sniffled, wiping a few tears on Maria’s dress: the noblemare ignored that.

“Of course, my dear. I myself was wondering the same things you were, only, in my case, it was several months after I had married Spike,” the unicorn said softly, stroking Sheba’s cheek to soothe one, like a mother might do to a frightened infant. “The world is at many times, cruel and unfair, but at other times, it can be wondrous and filled with hope.”

“But... but you said you too were scared at the prospect of... of losing a foal,” Sheba said in a whisper.

“That I did, that I did,” Maria agreed. “To let you in on a secret, Sheba, I still am. This journey of Spikes has already done wonders for many of the places he’s visited, and from what I’ve heard, Equestria is already becoming better for it. Scholars are fervently studying many of the copied texts he sent back, and trees varieties not found there are being grown for the first time. Still, it will be a long while before we reach there, and in that time, anything could happen: to him, to me, to his unborn foals.” It was the truth, plainly spoken: Maria was still worried about passage over the seas.

“So... how do you do it then?” Sheba asked after a few moments of silence. “How do you keep so strong, and appear so calm all of the time?”

“I do because I have to: for my sake, for the sake of my fellow herd-mates, and Spike’s sake, especially,” the noblemare said softly. “You may not know this, but Spike can become very high strung if something even remotely unusual happens to one of us. He tore apart a bandit group when they threatened us back in the Samarea Desert, with his bare hands. Call me crazy, but I don’t think it is his draconic instinct to hoard his wives and keep us to himself: in fact, I think it goes much deeper than that.”

“You... you do?” Sheba asked, having wiped away the last of her tears and exiting the comforting embrace. She looked at the unicorn with a mixture of puzzlement and gratitude, for having come in and sat down to talk with her. “What... what is it?”

“It is an instinct far more powerful than simple greed, or even draconic greed. Spike wants to protect us, and will, with all his might, not only because we are his wives, but because he loves us,” Maria said softly, gently stroking her cloth-covered belly. “Three of us are also carrying his children, perhaps intensifying his desire to keep us safe a hundred-fold. He loves each of us equally, in our own way: it is not some “blanket” love, as some might think. To him, each of us is unique, separate from the rest in some special way but part of a majestic whole. He truly, deeply loves us, Sheba, and from what I have heard, Mehmed feels the same about you. I have seen the way you two look at each other, and I know you feel the same for him.” How could anyone miss the looks the two young ponies had been giving each other since the duel? Somepony would have to be blind to miss something so obvious.

“But... but... what if I cannot do for him what you have done for your husband?” the mare asked. “What if... what if I cannot conceive? Or worse, what if I cannot bring a foal to full term, and lose it?”

“Trust in time, Sheba: you must be patient. But perhaps more importantly, trust in yourself,” Maria said, rising to her hooves with little difficulty, her hands pulling Sheba up as well. “I am sure that by this time next year, you and your husband will have been blessed with a beautiful, healthy little foal to call your own.” It was always hard to tell how a pony’s reproductive system would work on the inside just by outer appearances, but Maria could see Sheba had beautifully grown into the body type perfect for carrying foals.

“You... you really think so?” Sheba asked with a smile as Maria’s magic undid the locks and moved away the chairs blocking the doors. “You think... you think I can give him an heir?” She still sounded a bit worried at the possible prospect of being unable to fulfill the duty bestowed on almost every young mare in her position.

“Of course, my dear,” Maria said softly, her gentleness of a sort that not only soothed but reinvigorated one’s spirit. “Perhaps even more than one, as long as you feel up to the task of carrying foals for several years in total. Only, I do ask of you one thing.”

“What would that be?” the other mare asked as they approached the door, hand in hand like life-long friends.

“Don’t give your foal an unusual name, or at least unusual by your culture’s standards,” Maria said. “My youngest brother was almost called Donfuentenago, simply because my father’s uncle had a friend named that and he was a close friend to the family while my father grew up.”

Sheba was silent for a moment, until she burst into a fit of giggles. Maria tried to remain composed, but soon she too broke down, and they were both giggling like mad when they exited the doors, only to find Badr waiting for them with an expression of pure befuddlement on her features.

“Did... did I miss something?” she asked, clearly not having heard the little discussion of foal naming from her side of the doors.

“No, mother: Maria was just telling me a little joke,” Sheba said, smoothing out her dress as if she had not been crying at all.
“Well, then, can we proceed?” Badr asked, wringing her hands slightly.

“Yes, mother: we may,” the Arabian mare said, smiling a great big smile.

“Thank goodness: for a while there, I thought I might have to get the guards to break the doors down,” her mother said, leading the two mares back to where the others had been.

“Good thing she didn’t,” Maria whispered to Sheba, causing them both to smile again.

Upon reaching the others, the first thing Sheba did was throw her arms around Mehmed’s neck and whisper something into his ear. Only Spike could hear what she had said, and he turned to Maria, who looked none the worse for wear.

“Did I miss something important?” he asked as they all made their way out to the waiting carriages.

“Life-changing, my dear,” Maria said, earning a few snickers from Trixie and Asalah. “Rest assured, I shall fill you in on all the details once we continue on our way.” She turned back to the other three mares, her eyes focusing, kindly at that, on Meia/Chrysalis. “All of you, that is: no secrets between us anymore, right?”

“Of course,” the disguised Changleing Queen said with a smile. “No more secrets between us.”

Spike, on the other hand, knew plenty of secrets were being kept by him, only not to his wives. To his friends, family and soon-to-be fellow monarchs back home, yes: he had a plethora of secrets they knew nothing about.

A few hours later...

After the “minor” scare of a possible runaway bride, the rest of the day went rather smoothly. The carriages moved through the streets at a leisurely pace, giving the ponies time to see their prince and his bride. Banners and streamers flew high over the entire city, with the proceedings continuing on right on schedule: the dispensing of much coin to the gathered masses, the entertainment consisting of dancers, jugglers, singers, and just about every other great profession under the sun.

Arriving upon the steps of the palace, Sheba and Mehmed stood before the anointed minister, a pegasus, oddly enough. He was old, and of course he was nearly half blind, as it seemed many ministers at his age were. Spike stood with his wives, so still one might have thought he were merely a statue of metal polished up for the event. Across from him stood Husam, his normally rough exterior softened by a few tears glistening on his snout as he silently cried. These, however, were tears of joy, something he had not cried in quite some time.

Amidst a great roar of approval from the gathered crowd, the minster blessed the young royal couple and announced them married. By now, it was near midday, and already the prince had Spike light a few magical fireworks with a plume of fire breath. When they exploded high above, though, they did not become easily-fading sparks of light. Instead, they burst into large red flower petals, which floated down lazily over the entire city: soon, every street was filled with their sweet scent.

Almost immediately, the partying began for the city in general. The food had been prepared, the alcohol, mostly wine, had been brought out of storage, and the coin flowed freely from the pockets of many. Meanwhile, in the palace, Spike and his wives had soon changed into more suitable traveling garments, and were well on their way to leaving behind Saddle Arabia.

“Spike? A moment of your time, if you will,” Mehmed asked the dragon after he had sent every gift they had been given, including Spike’s set of ceremonial armor, back to Equestria. The gifts are too numerous to list, but suffice to say Twilight would be very busy sorting and cataloging it all before Spike reached Baghdad.

“Yes?” Spike said, walking away from his wives, who were already loaded up in the carriages. Contrary to popular belief, Saddle Arabia did have many fine roads, with spells enchanting them to not become blistering and to keep sand off of them. So, for a while at least, the traveling would be smooth once more.

“My parents would not want you to know of this, out of fear that you might do something foolish, but you must be very careful outside of our borders,” the prince said, looking around as if disclosing some great secret. “Some of the places you will pass through are either distrustful of strangers or have had bad experiences with dragons in the past.”

“Like who?” Spike asked.

“Like the Ottomares, for starters,” Mehmed said. “A thousand years ago, a great dragon came upon the massive city of Istanbul and died whilst high in the air: of old age, I have heard. When he landed, he crushed much of the outer wall, and almost overnight an army showed up to try and take the city: barbarians, you see.”

“What happened?” Spike asked again, not sure if Luna deciding this would be a good country to go through was such a good idea after all.

“They were defeated, though barely, but from then on, large dragons are very “encouraged” to stay away from that city,” Mehmed said. “And by “encouraged,” I mean by way of warning ballista bolt shots: massive ones, too, I imagine.”

Spike was silent for a moment: well, that was something to consider. But Luna had told him that was the way to go, and even he knew to take a detour rather than go directly through Istanbul would take more time than he had allotted for in this trip. “Then I’ll be sure to stay nice and small,” he replied with a small chuckle. “Perhaps incognito as well, just to be safe.”

“Then good luck, my friend,” Mehmed said, pulling Spike into a hug. “Ma’a salama,” he whispered as they broke apart.

“What does that mean?” Spike asked, having never really heard any Saddle Arabian speak in a language dissimilar to his own.

“It means ‘good bye’, Spike,” Mehmed said as they walked back to the carriages. “May your travels always bring you home safe and sound: I would like to see you again sometime.”

“As would I, my friend,” Spike replied, climbing into his carriage. “As would I, your highness.” With that, he and his wives set off, winding through the streets of Saddle Arabia’s capital until they reached the mane gates. With a nod from the guards, they exited, with a few more flower petal fireworks going off from one of the carriages behind them.

Four heads poked out to see Trixie holding a few empty containers, a sheepish smile on her face as the fireworks exploded high in the air. “Sorry: couldn’t resist,” she said, her horn’s sparks dying down as she retreated to her carriage.

Everypony else laughed as the petals flittered down around them, a rather beautiful sight as they bid Mehmed, his now-larger family and his city goodbye.

Author's Note

I personally liked writing this because it's not clop, it's not full of action, and contains no crude humor. Strange, I know, but it struck a chord in me: how would a pony react to the fact her husband-to-be was a miracle baby, and that there was the possibility she might not bear him any foals? Plus, we also get to see a bit of Maria being a bit more noble and kind, a development many might not have noticed.

Also, sorry it took a wee bit longer to post, but I had much to do the last week, and I mean MUCH to do. Hope you enjoyed it, and see you sometime next week!

Homefront Again

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Homefront Again

It did not take long for Spike’s letter detailing his departure of Saddle Arabia’s capital city to reach Canterlot. It took even less time for all parties involved to arrive in the royal throne room to wait for Celestia to finish conjuring up the spell. Soon enough, the magic mirror-esque projection was completed, and they were staring at the interior of a large carriage, which coincidentally happened to be Spike’s.

“Hello,” Trixie said, appearing as the image cleared up. Spike had stopped the carriages by a relatively quiet oasis, and had been outvoted by his wives that the meeting would take place in his own carriage. He had wanted it to be outside, so they could all speak together, but once again he had been outvoted: each wife wanted their private time in the carriage, so Spike begrudgingly set up a tent for the others to wait beside him.

“Hello,” came a multitude of replies. However, unlike last time, Zecora, Luna and the Cutie Mark Crusaders had not been able to join in the meeting. The CMC were helping Zecora gather ingredients for some anti-poison joke, as some ponies had accidentally walked through the stuff, and Luna was off on a diplomatic mission with the buffalo chieftains. This left “only” Celestia, and the Mane Six: seven friendly faces that most definitely wanted to hear all about what Spike and his family had been going through.

“How have you guys been doing?” Rainbow Dash asked, hovering in mid-air as she was wont to do. “By the way, that armor Spike sent back: so cool.” She made a mock-fawning gesture, though in her heart she knew she meant it more than she had let on. His armor was amazing, even if it was primarily ceremonial: the sheer intricacy of it had some blacksmiths in Equestria begging Celestia to let them go to Saddle Arabia and learn their blacksmithing secrets. She had delayed them for a bit, saying “eventually”. They still had jobs to do and couldn’t just run off to learn how to bend metal differently.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that. We’ve all been doing rather well, or have been ever since a... incident off the coast of East Africa,” Trixie said, knowing full well the “incident” had happened before their arrival in Maredagascar and the situation had only deteriorated after Meia was no longer Meia. That was behind them, but she had been sworn to secrecy by Spike to not say Meia was not Meia: they all had been.

“What kind of incident?” Twilight asked.

“Well, it all began back after we exited the Samarea Desert,” the blue unicorn replied. “We were visiting some pyramids in northern Sudan, and a sandstorm blew in. Luckily for us, there was a nice pony with a dirigible who helped us escape it, with a bit of help from Spike. After that, we sailed on the breezes over Ethiopia, where we... ran into some difficulties.”

“What happened?” Rarity asked, on the edge of her seat. This wasn’t exactly a thrilling story yet, but it had the makings of one, anyway.

“A bunch of murderous thugs showed up, and then tried boarding us,” Trixie said. “Spike and the pilot pony, Mr. Wells, fended them off very bravely, but a few got on board and threatened us wuth bodily harm.”

“W-what happened n-next?” Fluttershy asked, her eyes wide with fear and intrigue.

“Wells grabbed for an heirloom from his parents one of the thugs had. That thug accidentally killed another one and fell overboard with Wells, and then Spike let loose.” Trixie recalled it with a clear and exact mind, a trait she had always had but never really used, as her showmanship skills had been more of an asset to her.

“Let loose what?” Twilight asked, her hands itching to write this all down.

“He breathed fire right onto the lead thug, setting him ablaze,” the blue unicorn said, taking pleasure in the gasps and the amazed looks of the others through the magic mirror. “The villain, even as he held onto the sides, on fire, threatened not only us, but all of you and indeed Equestria. Then Spike kicked him off.”

“He... he did?” Rainbow Dash asked, her jaw hanging low. “I... I didn’t think Spike would have it in him to do something like that.” She didn’t know the half of it: just wait until she heard about the bandits out in the Samarea Desert.

“Well, we were in danger, and you know those draconic instincts...” Trixie trailed off, letting the others figure it out for themselves.

“Wait, but what happened to Wells?” Pinkie Pie asked, sounding confused. “You said he went overboard with that other nasty thug.”

“Yes, but Spike pulled him up: he had grabbed onto the side, you see, and was dangling for dear life,” the unicorn mare said in reply. “He was hurt, but thankfully it was nothing too serious.”

After that, they talked of less “exciting” things, such as news from back in Equestria and how Trixie’s pregnancy was going along. She of course said everything was fine, patting her stomach gently as she did. She even told them she felt a feeble little kick from within, making Celestia smile even more than what everypony thought was possible, and it made Twilight very happy that she would be an aunt again. Her brother and Cadence already had two foals, but Spike had been with her almost as long and they had been just as close: for him to be gone for so long already, with herd of his own, and three of those four herd wives pregnant, made her wonder just how different everything would be when he got back.

“Have y’all been thinkin’ ‘bout names?” Applejack had asked, the thoughts of little ones bringing almost as much joy to her heart as it did Celestia’s. “I know ya still got a lot of time to be thinkin’ ‘bout it, but the due date’ll be here before y’all know it.”

“Well we haven’t really discussed it much,” Trixie said, glancing down at her tummy. To think, what had been flat before was now bulging out, containing in it the union of love Spike and she had shared on that train all those months ago: it was... beautiful. “We... we’ve kinda been busy, and Spike was really, really busy these last few weeks. I’m hoping it’ll be a little filly: I was thinking of the name... Callula.”

“Ah, a beautiful name,” Celestia said, noticing how special of a name Trixie had involuntarily thought of. Callula was one of the first unicorns in the past to move the moon, long before the events of Hearth’s Warming Eve came to pass.

“What if it’s a bouncing little baby colt?” Pinkie Pie asked, her face taking up the screen for a half second.

“Well, in that case, I was thinking... Magus,” Trixie replied, rubbing her stomach softly again as another feeble little kick was felt against her hands. “It was the name of my great-grandfather, and... I was hoping Spike would like it. It’s a strong, masculine name.”

“I am sure he’ll love it,” Celestia said softly, her smile a welcome reassurance to her words.

After a few more small bits of conversation, Trixie left and in her stead arrived Maria, who took off her turban-like veil to free up her mane a bit. “Hello,” she said, closing the carriage door behind her.

“Hello,” everypony responded through the mirror.

“We heard about what happened over Ethiopia,” Fluttershy said. “Was it... was it really that bad?”

“Yes, Fluttershy: whatever Trixie may have told you, it was indeed rather terrifying,” Maria said. “That being said, I’m surprised Spike only set their leader on fire. He usually does something much more severe to somepony when we are threatened.”

“Wait, something more severe?” Twilight asked with an almost scared expression. “When did he have a chance to do something worse?”

“You didn’t know? We were ambushed by a large group of bandits in the Samarea Desert three days before that spell of yours wore off, Twilight,” the Spreignish noblemare said. “The anti-erection one, I believe?”

“Oh, yeah, that: I uh, I didn’t...” Twilight trailed off, a blush spreading over her face even as the news of a bandit attack filtered through her head. She decided to shut up: the memory of her punishment came back in a rather unwelcome clarity. She had acted brash the day she did that.

“What did Spike do?” Fluttershy and Rarity asked, both of their voices sounding rather subdued.

“He... he was like a beast,” Maria said, remembering the event with the slightest bit of fear trickling down her spine. “I... I’ve never heard of anypony acting like that. It was like somepony had replaced him with a monster. He tore them apart like they were nothing more than bits of paper.”

Fluttershy let out a little eep and Rarity made a motion as though she would faint. “But why?” Applejack asked. “Little Spike would nevah kill somepony just like that.” She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. “I mean, it just ain’t in his nature, or at least, so I thought.”

“The Spike you knew is no longer so little,” Maria said, her expression calm but entirely serious. “Dragons are fiercely territorial of all things, remember. We were in danger, and with the strife between us all, his repressed anger needed an outlet.”

“The strife? What strife? What was going on?” Pinkie Pie asked.

“We... well, mostly I, were upset with his marriage to Asalah. Upset as in he should have run things by us first, but he made a mistake and did his best to take it in stride, though things were a bit... frosty for a while.”

“But why?” Twilight asked. “You said before she’s a good friend now.”

“Yes, but at first we weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome wagon for her,” Maria said softly. “She was new, exotic, and distant: her culture was so radically different from ours, we just... I don’t know, shut her out for some time. Then the bandits attacked the caravan, and Spike went all frenzied-beast mode, and we were scared, and we bonded over that experience. And, of course, over the next few weeks and such, we became good friends.” She didn’t want to mention the orgy in Maredagascar, lest it give them an even worse impression of Spike: a blood-hungry, sexual beast perhaps?

“It seems to me you learned a valuable lesson of accepting others into a fold,” Celestia said, some thoughts about the others around her preventing her from saying something about friendship. “Tell me, how often has Spike done this? Transform into some... beast, as you said?”

“Mmm, only twice, I believe,” Maria responded, thoughtfully tapping her chin. “That time in Prance and in the desert. The few other times he did something, he didn’t... change, per se. Sure, his mood and actions became radically different from his usual, mostly-cheery self, but I’m sure Asalah will have lots to tell you about that.” She had already said something about those bandits, and now she wanted to talk about something less exciting: things more close to home. “How have things been going along in Equestria? Pertaining to much of what Spike has sent back, of course.”

Everypony looked slightly puzzled as why she steered the conversation away from Prance, something they had not heard much about besides a few obscure medals the king had personally mailed to Equestria. But, the call time was limited, and so they decided they would ask somepony else about it.

“The museums have been absolutely fawning over much of those older trinkets and relics,” Twilight said, glancing at Rainbow Dash. “Some ponies with itchy fingers have even tried to try on some of the armor, though luckily most of the pieces are far too heavy for them to successfully wear.”

Rainbow Dash blushed slightly at this. That armor of ancient Roam had just looked so cool...

“Indeed: such armor was made for those bound and trained for war, though the decorative pieces are simply marvelous to behold,” the Spreignish noblemare said. “Tell me, how goes these “renovations” Spike has informed us of? I had thought he already had a castle of his own.”

“No, to separate rulers is to invite less savory advisors into the mix: those with their own agendas, you see,” Celestia said. “Direct and complete communication between those in power and those being ruled is essential to long-lasting peace and prosperity. It is one of the reasons why so few ponies have been dissatisfied with the ruling of myself and my sister: we listen to our subjects, often face-to-face.”

She cleared her throat, having remembered it was not polite to go off on a tangent about how Equestria’s history was relatively unblemished when compared to other countries. “Ah, yes: the renovations are on schedule, and I might add, under budget as of this time. If I may ask, how many foals do you think Spike might have with the four of you? We assume the children will want to sleep in separate rooms once they grow older.”

“I’m not exactly sure, but around three apiece would be a good estimate, I think,” Maria said slowly. “It’s not like he’s going to pick up many more wives, right?”

“Unlikely, if your previous assertions have left any impact on his mind,” Twilight said with a small laugh.

So, after a few more discussions on room size and an additional astronomy tower, Maria bid everypony goodbye and exited the carriage. Soon enough, Asalah entered, her veil gone and her mane falling down to her shoulders.

“Good day to you all,” she said, rather formally but in a very pleasant tone.

“Hello,” everypony responded. Before the zebra could say anything, Pinkie Pie had her face pressed up against the mirror and was looking through one eye at the zebra.

“Maria and Trixie said you guys ran into some trouble? We heard about the Samarea Desert and the balloon ride, but what was this about Prance?”

“Pinkie Pie, Asalah was not yet married to Spike when he passed through Prance,” Rarity said in exasperation as a small spell from Twilight pulled the excitable pink earth pony away from the floating mirror spell. “She had not even met him yet, for heaven’s sake: how in the world would she know any specifics?”

“Oh, I guess I didn’t think of it like that: thanks for the heads-up, Rarity,” Pinkie Pie replied.

“Prance? I have never been to Prance,” Asalah said with a slight tone of confusion tainting her words. “I do know of the pirates.”

“Pirates? There were pirates? Where?” Rainbow Dash and, surprisingly, Celestia asked at the same time.

“Off the coastline of Somalia, after we left Maredagascar for Saddle Arabia,” the zebra replied, her hands twisting a few loose ends of her mane. Oh, how she wished she had Chrysalis braid it like she had a week ago: it had been so beautiful.

“You were a-attacked by p-p-pirates? Why?” Fluttershy asked, her eyes seeming to take up the other half of her face. Her mouth and nostrils had shrunken down to what appeared to be just tiny pinpricks, and her ears were standing on end.

“The leader was a warlord name Undi, somepony we should have been looking out for after Ethiopia,” Asalah said. “He was something like a king of the region, only he ruled through intimidation, violence, and kidnapping. No government stood up to him, or at least, no government that wanted its families to stay alive.”

“But why did this Undi have a “bone to pick with you”, so to speak?” Rarity asked. “I mean, surely you couldn’t have done something too drastic to draw his attention to yourselves?”

“Bara was his son,” Asalah said simply.

There was silence on the other end as everypony processed the four words the zebra had just said. Bara, the thug whom Spike set on fire and sent plummeting to his death, had been the son of a vicious warlord that ruled whatever he could with an iron fist.

“Oh,” Rarity said, her voice suddenly very soft and almost... afraid. “W-well, then I guess he would go after you, after something like... that.”

“Yes, well, things were scary for a long time,” Asalah said as she glanced out the window of the carriage at Spike. “It was all so loud, with those cannons going off, and we could feel every the ship was struck: whether it was one or many cannonballs, we could never tell. Spike left us to help the captain and the crew topside, and then... it happened.”

“What happened?” Twilight asked, sounding as if she were afraid to even ask.

“A cannonball tore through the sip and flew right through our cabin, sending splinters and dust everywhere amidst a deafening thunder of noise. It went right through where Meia had been sitting just a minute before.”

“Oh my,” Celestia and Rarity said softly, their eyes going wide. “Was... was anypony hurt?”

“No, no, we were fine, or at least, Trixie, myself and Maria were,” the zebra continued. “Meia... after the initial shock, she got... mad.”

“Mad? Like, scared mad?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“No: it was like she was... furious, in a crazy sort of way,” Asalah said, remembering the look on the now-disguised changeling’s face clearly, even all these weeks later. “She... I don’t know how, tore through the debris that had blocked our cabin door and walked calmly up and out of there, the debris falling back in place. Then Spike came in, smelling of smoke and stuff, and we told him where she had gone.”

“Where had he been?” Applejack asked. That in and of itself was a good question, though if Applejack had been paying more attention, she would have remembered Spike was topside helping the captain.

“I don’t know, but he had come through where the cannonball had torn through the ship, so I’m guessing he had been flying around and burning the pirate ships,” the zebra mare said, trying to remember things exactly. “We told him what Meia had done and where she had gone, and he left us. Less than a minute later, we heard another boom sound from outside.”

“Was it more cannons blasting away?” Fluttershy asked, her face barely poking out from behind Twilight’s shoulder, even though Twilight herself was a little shorter than the pegasus.

“No: it was thunder,” Asalah said, recalling how the sky had darkened through the hole in the wall left by the cannonball. “Spike came back down with an unconscious Meia in his arms and told us she had summoned a storm with her rage-induced magic. The flashes through the window and hole in the wall were blinding at times, and we even saw one of the pirate ships explode from a strike.”

“Meia summoned a storm?” Twilight asked, arching an eyebrow in both disbelief and a bit of awe. “I had no idea she was that magically inclined: it requires a lot of concentration to move things around like that out of the blue.” Indeed, that was a strange bit of news, one she would have to investigate further, if only to sate her own curiosity.

“Neither did we, and it must have taken a lot out of her,” the zebra said. “It dissipated around the time Spike came back down to us: he said the pirates were all gone, so we just lay there and hoped for the best.” She paused for a minute. “Meia only just recovered a few days ago, so if you do have any questions for her, I’d suggest they were short and somewhat simple.”

“We are not inconsiderate of another’s needs, so we will do as you suggest,” Celestia said softly. Stressing out a pony during her pregnancy was never a good thing. “Is she ready to see us? I am not sure how much longer this spell will hold: it is a difficult one, after all.”

“She should be ready now, and Spike will be with her,” Asalah said softly. “Give me a minute.” With that she left, leaving behind only an empty carriage for everypony to look at.

“Don’t you think it’s a tad strange Meia was able to summon a storm just like that?” Twilight asked the others, snapping her fingers on “that” to emphasize her point.

“Twilight, you of all ponies should know how magic can be used when somepony gets angry enough,” Rarity said simply.

“Yeah: didn’t ya kinda burst into flames when Pinkie said that doozy with the hydra wasn’t the doozy she’d been talkin’ about?” Applejack asked.

“Yes, well, that was... somewhat similar, but I-,” the purple unicorn began.

“Hush, Twilight: we will discuss your possible misgivings later,” Celestia said, just as two more figures appeared in the mirror. Spike and Meia, though the latter looked a little worse for wear than they had thought she would.

“Hello,” the married couple said, though Meia sounded a bit out of it, as if she hadn’t had enough sleep the night before.
“Hello,” everypony else replied, all of the greetings started to blend together into a monotony of words.

“Well, while I was out, I heard from Asalah you wanted to know something about Prance?” Spike said, idly scratching the bottom of his chin.

“Yes, as we heard plenty about what you did to ruffians who got in your way in the Samarea Desert, the Ethiopian skies, and the Somalian seas,” Celestia said, tilting her head slightly as if wondering just what Spike was becoming.

“Well, most of it is somewhat of a haze for me,” Spike said, rubbing the back of his neck in a slightly embarrassed manner. “Meia, are you well enough to tell them?”

The unicorn slowly nodded her head, brushing her mane out of her eyes. She really did look tired, though up close it seemed she was more tired from exertion than from a simple lack of sleep. “I... I remember there had been a thunderstorm the night before, when we were all down in the dungeons together. Maria and little Pierre, the king’s nephew and successor, had been taken to an adjoining cell.”

“Why were you held captive in Prance?” Twilight interjected, earning a look of exasperation on Celestia’s part. If only Twilight learned manners as well as she did spells...

Meia was silent for a moment. “When we stopped near the border, we were ambushed: Spike was hurt, and we were taken to a robber baron’s castle. That was where I... confessed my love for Spike, and he replied in kind.” Yeah: brain-melting sex that night and the quick rut the morning after were not the best things to confess to doing.

“There? That was where you confessed? If I may ask, when do you believe you started loving him?” Rarity asked, arching an eyebrow in not suspicion, but in interest.

“After he saved my life not once, but twice aboard the ship we crossed the Barnlantic on: the Crowhop, right?” she asked, looking at Spike for confirmation.

“That’s right,” he said softly, rubbing the small of her back in a comforting gesture.

“In the morning after my shall we say, intimate confession, Maria and myself were taken away forcibly, with little Pierre being forced into the same cell as Spike. I don’t know what the guards taunted him about when we were brought before the baron, but it must have been something... awful.”

“What happened?” Rainbow Dash asked, on the edge of her seat.

“Spike... he broke free from the dungeon and rescued us,” Meia said. “He... he was a giant: at least, I don’t know, eight feet tall, and he swatted those guards around like they were flies. Then he grabbed the baron and made as though he was going to kill him, but little Pierre stopped him.”

“But why would he do that?” Pinkie Pie asked.

“Because he said killing the baron would not make much of a difference: better he pay for his crimes than get the easy way out,” Meia said, running her hand through the bangs of her mane.

“He was a smart little colt, I’ll give him that,” Spike said. “If I had killed that baron, then I’d likely not have been knighted: more likely just thanked for the justice I had brought to the area.”

“Wait, you were knighted? By the king of Prance?” Rainbow Dash asked, jutting her face between everypony else and the mirror. “Why didn’t you ever tell us?”

“I seem to remember doing just that: you must not have been paying attention, Dash,” Spike said, just as the edges of the mirror began to fray slightly.

“But... w-why did you kill those other bandits, and t-the thugs, and the pirates?” Fluttershy asked, peeking out more from behind Twilight. “I mean.... w-why the sudden change?”

“I’m not sure, myself,” Spike said. “Perhaps there wasn’t an equivalent little Pierre to stop me from following my baser instincts. He was very persuasive, I remember.”

“No, that’s not it,” Meia said softly, her fingers intertwining with Spike’s own. “That wasn’t it at all.”

“It wasn’t?” Pinkie Pie asked, Applejack restraining her from jumping close to the mirror again as Rainbow retreated to Celestia’s side.

“No: I’m not entirely certain, but I have a theory,” the disguised changeling said. “Before then, Maria and I were just his wives: nothing more, to be honest. But after he was found and married by Trixie, he was no longer just a husband: he was going to be a father.”

“That’s right,” Spike said, his eyes widening slightly as the revelation met his own thoughts. “You and Maria didn’t become pregnant until sometime in the Samarea Desert, which means-,”

“-that your feelings for us, strong as they had been, increased exponentially,” Meia finished for him. “You loved us as your wives before, as your mates, but after we too became pregnant, you were defending not only our lives and honor, but the unborn foals we carried within us. That love, that bond, has only strengthened as time has gone on, or else-,”

“-the trouble we were in would not have needed me to change so drastically, or alter my behavior so much,” Spike finished for her.

“Wow,” Rarity and Applejack said softly, a small tear forming in the corners of their eyes. “That’s... that’s a beautiful thought," the white unicorn added.

The edges of the mirror blurred more, and Celestia swayed slightly behind everypony. “Our time is finished here, Spike and Meia,” the alicorn said, though her smile was mirrored on everypony else’s at the little speech they had just witnessed. “Goodbye, Spike: we shall speak again sometime in the future, but as to when, we do not know.” With that, the mirror faded completely, the image of everypony waving goodbye disappearing in a small puff of vapor.

With a shimmer, the Meia facade disappeared, and Chrysalis’s true form reappeared. “This theory of mine: do you think it is perhaps part of the reason you didn’t banish me from your sight when I revealed myself to you?” she asked, looking at Spike with something akin to puppy-dog eyes.

“Maybe, but the truth is I loved you as Meia, and I love you as much, if not more, as Chrysalis,” the dragon said softly, pulling her into a hug.

“Truly?” she muttered into his shoulder, her body begging for more rest and eventually, food.

“Yes,” he replied, gently holding her for a few minutes. Then, after a few more minutes of that silent hug, did they part, exiting the carriage to help the others into their own. The sun was still far above the horizon, and the roads were still free from sand, but there was only so much food the carriages could carry, and there was not a small town or village for miles in any direction. Spike, back in his own carriage, spurred the magic contraptions onward, hoping to cover some distance before night fell over them all.

In her own carriage, Chrysalis gently rubbed her stomach, hoping to feel a small hoof-kick against it. She did not, but she was not troubled. She was filled with hope that soon, perhaps right on time in the last few days of her pregnancy, she would bring into the world an example of pure love that only a wife could provide.

A foal.

Author's Note

I cannot apologize enough for the delay. I just got swamped with so many things, but enough about my life. Here's another chapter for you all, and to those who celebrate today like me, happy Independence Day!

Center of Learning

Chapter Forty One

Center of Learning

It was another week of traveling before the carriages crested over one last sandy hill and found themselves staring out at a simply amazing sight. It was the shining beacon to the world of literature, arts and science. Contained within the mighty walls, the city held vast, uncounted scrolls, books, pieces of parchment; many of them centuries upon centuries old. Gleaming towers topped with golden spires, great jewel-encrusted libraries dotting the city’s upper echelons, teeming markets and wide, spacious roads leading into the cultural heart of the area.

The city of Baghdad was a treasure beyond measure. It’s halls of knowledge rivaled that of even the long-lost Library of Alexandria in Neighypt, lost to a fire so long ago that few creatures in the world even remembered it had once existed. Those few happened to be leading experts on the city, but could not recall any of the texts in detail, so none could learn the secrets of the past from them.

The five traveling figures stood in awe upon the hill, their gazes fixed upon this beacon in the middle of a harsh, unforgiving wasteland. Such awe did not diminish as they drew closer; nay, it increased tenfold as they entered the city, past the high, thick walls that had kept out countless invaders for generations.

“This city is... massive,” Spike said in amazement as they went along their journey, passing countless numbers of vendors, soldiers, artists and merchants. Exotic silks from the farthest reaches of Asia were displayed down countless roads and alleys; innumerable vendors displayed their exotic birds, in bright colors of gold, green and red. Guards patrolled the streets in loose formations, signifying the city was a rather peaceful one. Colts and fillies ran freely around their parents as the adults went about their daily businesses of shopping for food and home furnishing. Rugs, oil lamps, incense candles, dyes and so much more dotted the landscape. Statues were inlaid into the very sides of buildings, and the mosaic patterns that seemed to pop up everywhere were refined in their splendor. It was a menagerie of the crossroads of the area, where the realm of Asia interacted with the Arabian Peninsula and Africa. There was only one other city in the entire world that rivaled, nay, surpassed this one in splendor, and it so happened to be their destination in a few weeks.

“I’ve never seen so many ponies of all kinds in one place before,” Trixie said in awe as the carriages moved about. Merchants, soldiers, artists, philosophers, bankers, blacksmiths, government officials, couriers and the common folk; they were all there, and in numbers none of the five had ever seen before. Nearly every race was there as well, ranging from pegasi, earth ponies and unicorns to zebras, minotaurs, and griffins. The five amazed wanderers had all managed to cram into the largest carriage, and the four other empty ones followed them closely like a string of ducklings following their mother. “How many do you think there are?”

“I have no idea, though if I had to guess, more than one million, at least,” Asalah said softly, her eyes taking in everything at once, lest she miss something magnificent. There was much to see, and as such there was just as much to miss if one was not attentive. “There are so many homes, and gardens, and statues, and-,”

“Libraries,” Chrysalis said softly, her gaze floating over the numerous, clearly-marked centers of learning. Great inscriptions on massive slabs of imported lumber signified such monuments, the logo of a large open book and an overlying scroll being a very clear indicator of the building’s purpose. They were everywhere, with ponies streaming in and out, many busy with not-entirely private conversations, judging from the number of ponies that would call to them. Philosophers, doctors, scribes, artists, architects and students of law; they all came to the libraries to study and it clearly showed. There were small indented paths in the very stone steps as to where the most foot traffic came through.

“Twilight would cream herself if she saw all of this,” Spike muttered to himself, his eyes roaming over many of the larger buildings. So many were inlaid on the upper tiers with golden and silver ingots, likely to both prevent thievery and display the splendor of the magnificent city. Jewels of all kinds dotted the arches above the entrances to the libraries, likely each categorized and inlaid with some special significance attached to it.

“Spike, who exactly are we supposed to meet here? We’re not exactly staying for just a day, are we?” Trixie asked as she gently rubbed her belly. Her cravings had been fluctuating for the last few days, and right now she could sure go for some cherries.

“I got the letter this morning, but Luna was a bit fuzzy on details,” the dragon said, peering around as the carts moved on their own towards the center of the city. “All it said was ‘go to the center of the city, look for some guards, and ask for Saladin’ or something along those lines. I don’t even know who this “Saladin” guy is, to be honest,” he added. Was it a governor or a statespony? Perhaps even a member of some local royal family?

“Probably somepony important, if you have to ask the guards for him,” Trixie said. “He sounds like somepony who must have good connections, or else how would Princess Luna have contacted him? It’s not like she has the corresponding spell to find anypony in the world and send them a letter, right?”

“I guess,” Spike said as the carriages rolled to a gentle stop. The place where they stopped so happened to do so in front of a large barracks, complete with an archery range, a pair of blacksmith shops, large metal gates and several watchtowers. It looked a bit foreboding, though nowhere near as foreboding as Husam’s personal home-fortress had been.

“Should we get out?” Asalah asked, glancing around. There were several guards stationed outside of the building, and a few were glancing at the carriages with curious looks on their faces. None had bows, but the few that were armed sported spears and swords, with rather square shields slung across their backs. Strange, that guards inside a city would need shields, but it was of no matter to the five in the carriage.

“I will; all of you, stay inside,” Spike said, getting up and stepping lightly past his wives. “I don’t exactly like the look of this place.” Opening the door and stepping out, he made sure to shut it tightly behind him. As he did so, several guards moved up to him, their weapons at their sides, but their hands not touching them. A good start so far, as such an indication meant they were not agitated; yet, anyway.

“May we help you, sir? You seem lost,” one said, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. “The markets are three block down and to the right.”

“Oh, uh, I was just looking for somepony is all,” Spike said, glad his dragon identity was concealed by the golden-hued robes he wore. “I was told he would be somewhere around here.”

“And who might that be?” a second guard asked, his hand twitching towards his sword. Ah, this one was on edge; likely either a new recruit or just plain skittish around strangers.

“I was told his name was Saladin,” Spike said. In a few seconds, he wished he hadn’t, as in an instant the guards had their swords drawn and leveled right at him. Two more joined, pointing two long spears at him as well.

“What business do you have with Saladin?” the first guard asked once more, his voice still calm but tainted with a hint of seriousness that left no room for inane answers. “Very few ponies ever have any business with Saladin.” What, was this Saladin guy the captain of the city’s guard or something?

“He was sent a letter from the one who sent me here,” Spike said, surprised that he was so calm in the face of being attacked by six heavily-armed guards. Maybe it was the innate smugness knowing his dragon hide was impermeable to any of their weapons. Still, he didn’t want them to try anything on the carriage, or Luna might receive a letter on how Spike managed to kill every guard in Baghdad, turn into a giant monster, and burn it to the ground in anger. “You may have heard of her; Princess Luna of Equestria?”

“Princess Luna?” the second, twitchy guard asked, his sword trembling slightly as his voice cracked. Yep; definitely a new guy. “We... we were told to be on the lookout for a dragon. You are no dragon!” There was a new assurance in his voice, along with a triumphant smugness, as if he had cleverly discovered Spike in the act of telling a lie.

Spike sighed. “I am the one Luna sent. Should I prove it to you?” He didn’t want to set anything on fire, but if he had to, he’d scare the pants off of these guards just to prove his point.

“Show us your face then, dragon,” the second guard said, brandishing his sword at the carriage. “Or we will confiscate your carriages for your untruthfulness.”

“You will do no such thing,” Spike said, cold seriousness invading his tone. He knew things could go bad in a hurry, but if he had to, these guards would die violently before they laid a hand on the carriages and what was inside them.

“Ha! As if you could stop us,” the second guard said, making the other guards look at one another. They obviously did not like this pony, as his brazen attitude gave away that he was of Blueblood’s ilk; spoiled, pompous, ill-mannered and just plain unpleasant. Likely the son of some rich merchant or common noble, if his sneer was anything to go by; he must have practiced it in front of a mirror.

Calmly taking a step forward, Spike reached up with one hand and gently grasped the end of the guard’s sword, all the while the rest of the weapons moved in closer, should he try anything. The guard pressed it closer to Spike, as if egging him on to do something, but for some reason, the guard couldn’t push forward any more than before. Spike simply smiled under his robe and shook it off, revealing his spines, his scales, and his toothy smile to the group.

They were stunned into silence as Spike quickly twisted his hand, and with a sharp snapping noise, the tip of the sword broke off in his hand. He let it fall to the ground, watching as the annoying guard’s smugness evaporated into abject terror. If he hadn’t been in front of two other guards, the stallion might have turned tail and fled like a little bitch.

“Now,” Spike said calmly, taking a turn to look each and every guard in their eyes. “Please tell Saladin I am here. My wives and I are tired from our journey, and would be ever-so-grateful for some refreshments.”

There was some movement and some quick shouts from the door of the barracks, which opened to reveal a rather statuesque earth pony stallion. A hard, lean face and an equally tall, lean body meant this stallion had likely grown out in the desert, farther from cities than most would like to live. However, from the look on his face, he was anything but unfriendly.

“Ah, Mr. Dragul, I am sorry I did not meet you sooner. I was busy in my study when news of your arrival reached my ears,” he said, bowing gracefully before the dragon. “Please, please, come in, and I would be delighted to have your wives join us.”

Spike returned a small bow as the guards sheathed their weapons and stood aside. “I thank you for your hospitality, though the manners of your guards could use some work,” he said, glancing specially at the one whose sword he had broken.

“Ah, yes; they mean well, but know little of the finer methods of greeting,” Saladin said, a flicker of annoyance evident in his eyes when he too looked upon the guards. “Highly trained and even more loyal, but sadly, it seems there will be new lessons for them to learn.” He turned back to Spike and clapped his hands once. In an instant, the doors to the barracks swing open once more, and Saladin beckoned for him to follow.

“You can come out now,” Spike said to the carriage. Tentatively, the door opened and Trixie stepped out first, her growing belly bulge showing through her robes. Out next came Maria and Chrysalis, who had once again managed to cast the Meia disguise over herself. If this stallion was on speaking terms with Princess Luna, then any disparity between his own letter mentioning her and what everypony thought they knew back in Equestria would surely alert them to something amiss in Spike’s herd. Asalah came out last, somewhat glad they had all agreed to wear concealing robes for this stint in their journey.

“May I introduce my wives, Saladin,” the dragon said as he motioned to each mare, who in turn bowed slightly. “Trixie, Maria, Meia, and Asalah; say hello, please.”

“Greetings,” the four mares said. “We thank you for your hospitality,” Asalah added softly.

“Greetings to you as well, and you are most welcome,” the earth pony stallion replied, bowing once more. “Please, follow me. I shall show you to your quarters for the evening.”

“For the evening? Are we not staying for more than one day?” Trixie asked her husband as they followed Saladin inside. With a gentle clang the doors swung shut, leaving them inside a rather sparse hallway.

“The letter said we’d be leaving near the end of our second day here, though Luna seemed rather vague as to why,” Spike said. He turned to Saladin as they walked. “Were you told as to why we would not be staying for more than two days?”

“Indeed I was, Spike Dragul,” the stallion replied. “You see, we are embroiled in a rather tense standoff between ourselves and the Marengols. They haven’t attacked, but some of their emissaries were treated horribly by an outlying city’s ruler, and we fear a massive retaliation. That is why you will not stay long; if any army is coming towards this city, they’ll have to follow a few select roads, as they’ll be the only ones with oasis along the way. The roads you’d be taking would be going in the opposite direction said army would be coming from.”

“But just what happened to those emissaries?” Maria asked. Ambassadors and the like were usually received in a rather good manner, regardless of a nation’s attitude towards another. It was like some unspoken rule.

“They were all decapitated, except for one,” Saladin said, his tone suggesting he found the idea rather repulsive. The four mares gasped at this, and Spike’s eyes went wide. “The last emissary was completely shaved and sent back in disgrace, as their culture dictates that shaving is a sin to the stallion’s ruler.”

“But... why would that city’s leader do such a thing?” Spike asked as they arrived in a rather cramped room. “That is just... horrible!”

Another clap from Saladin, and several servants rushed in, arms laden with baskets of fruit, vegetables and several choice bottles of water. Due to it being such a hard thing to come by in a desert, water was more valuable in Baghdad than wine. Even though a river flowed through the city, ponies revered it with a somewhat religious respect, as it was the only real reason the city even existed. The water was drunk from it, yes, but it received offerings near the end of its journey through the city. Clean offerings, though, as nopony wanted the water to become filthy and polluted.

“He thought to make a show of force against what he sees as “barbarians”, though from my travels, I can tell you they are anything but that,” the stallion said as they all took their seats. “They are a fiercely independent, highly militarized society where the strong are in charge and anypony who is deemed to be weak is thrown into the lower tiers of society. Bloodlines and prestige are as important to them as winning battles, and they rarely if ever lose a fight, even when outnumbered.”

“How did they come to be?” Trixie asked. “We will have to pass through their lands in some time, and I don’t want to go there knowing next to nothing about them.”

“Well, then you are in some bit of luck, Mrs. Dragul,” Saladin said. “The Marengols have existed as long as there have been ponies living in that region of the world, but only relatively recently have they been united under one banner. Now that they are, they are quickly showing to be perhaps the most dangerous foe any nation in this portion of the world could think to face. Though, since you are from a country far across the sea, you should be rather safe. The Marengols are not hostile to visitors without ties to an enemy country. In fact, they welcome nearly all ponies into their empire, so long as they follow the rules and conform to their ways of life.”

“But why not let them keep more of their traditions?” Asalah asked.

“That would upset the delicate balance of power between the Khan and his subjects, as minority factions can wield significant power of any kind within the empire, should they chose to do so.”

“Who is this Khan?” Spike asked. “I’ve never heard of a title like that before.”

“Translated, it means something similar to what you might call “ruler”, though I can tell you the Khan is no mere ruler,” the stallion said. “But enough of that for now; I have been entrusted to show you much of what this city has to offer, and though it is not yet noon, it would be best for us to begin now, rather than have to rush things near the end of tomorrow.”

The four ponies and the dragon sat in silence. Then, like a lantern bursting into flame above him, Spike had an idea. It was an old one, a thing he had nearly forgotten in his travels. Baghdad was the city of libraries, and there was one particular librarian back home who would likely cut off her own horn for the chance to see all of the knowledge hidden away in this desert oasis.

“I should like to gather as many scrolls from the libraries around here as I can, if that is possible,” the dragon said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Saladin said as he stirred some herbal tea.

“Why not?” Trixie asked as she took a sip of surprisingly cool water. Who would have thought Baghdad had special basements for keeping water cool in the middle of the day?

“Well, the city has a very strict rule on the sale and removal of their priceless knowledge. Nopony can have it without direct permission from the country’s leader, and even then they must pay an exorbitant fee for such a treasure.”

Spike was silent about this for a few seconds. “What about copies? Would it be possible to make copies of the scrolls, books and such?”

“That is perfectly legal, as we long ago decided there would be back-ups of the city’s knowledge stored all over the country, with Baghdad being the “central hub”, if you will,” Saladin said. “However, it can take hours to copy a couple hundred scrolls, and there are thousands of them all over this city. I doubt you have enough gold to pay enough unicorns to do such a thing.”

“You forget something, Saladin,” Spike said, an urge to grin coming over him like a cascading waterfall. “I have three unicorn wives, and all of them are highly proficient in magic.” He turned to his wives, his smile making them grin as well: it was infectious, really. “What do you say?”

“We would be glad to help,” Meia said, her smile slightly strained by the pregnancy’s effect on her disguise. Nothing was showing, thankfully, but her horn had an ever-so-slight curve to it.

“Then I will show ou the way around the city; after all, it is my duty to do so,” Saladin said with a smile. “Shall we bring along a few guards? They can help you with finding whatever you’re looking for.”

“That... would be splendid, though you may want to pick different ones than those who greeted my husband outside your barracks,” Maria said, her tone having just the tiniest touch of a chill to it.

“Of course, my lady; it will be done,” the stallion replied. “So then, where to first?”
Meanwhile...

Twilight slowly opened her eyes, the glare of the early morning sun shining easily through her paper-thin blinds. Yawning, she rolled out of bed and fell flat onto the floor. Luckily, she had prepared for this and had a second mattress waiting for her.

“I really need to stop drinking coffee late at night to help study,” the purple mare said, rubbing her temples as she rose up off the floor mattress. Dressing as quickly as she could after a quick shower (which would have been quicker if the water hadn’t needed two minutes to warm up), she slowly strolled downstairs and found none other than Pinkie Pie sitting at her coffee table with...

“Pinkie? Why are you here, and why do you have a surfboard?” Twilight was used to oddities in her life, but right now, this one was a bit odder than the rest.

“Oh Twilight, my Pinkie Sense went off and told me there’d be one heck of a doozy here at the library this morning! I told everypony else, but they either shut the door in my face or just said “later”. Huh, they must have been too tired,” the pink mare said as she sipped some hot chocolate from a thermos.

“Pinkie, that explains why you are here, but what’s with the surfboard?” Twilight asked, still confused as ever as to the exact source of Pinkie Pie’s crazy ability to predict the most random of things.

“You’ll see in about five seconds,” was all the pink pony said as she jumped onto the table, her surfboard clenched tightly in both hands.

“Pinkie, what are you-,” Twilight began, and then she was unable to say anything. A gaping hole in space-time, or so it appeared, suddenly opened up under her hooves. In an instant, a seething mass of scrolls and books flew out like an erupting volcano, the massive plume of literary treasure surging into the library like a herd of buffalo.

“YAHOO!” Pinkie Pie said, diving towards the erupting mass of paper as it quickly filled the room. Twilight, floundering in the sheer mass of paper, struggled to keep her head above the line of parchment as the pink pony beside her simply floated on her surfboard like the paper was water.

“Pinkie! Help me!” Twilight said, slowly sinking into the ever-growing pile of papyrus. Pinkie quickly grabbed her and threw her onto the surfboard, just as another hole appeared next to the first. And then another, and another, and another, until a total of ten gaping holes were on the floor.

“Hold on!” Pinkie said, standing up and bracing herself. Twilight was unable to even make a noise when the roar of paper swelled to new heights, heights unheard of in the world. Like a tsunami and an erupting volcano making sweet, sweet love, the holes poured forth great heaping volumes of white... paper, along with large sections of books and even entire bookcases. This surge proved too much for the library’s door, and soon it burst off its hinges, flooding the unsuspecting citizens of Ponyville with a solar mass of scrolls. If the door had not given way, then the entire eastern side of the library might have instead.

Twilight found her scream as Pinkie shouted in turn, the surfboard doing its job very well to hold them aloft of the tidal wave of paper. The surge continued, with more and paper and books and even a few stone tablets surging out into the streets. Ponies out for an early morning jog ran in terror from the crest behemoth that bore down on them, until they too were caught up in the seething mass of parchment.

Off in the distance, two younger girls were belittling another one. The one, with her smaller wings and orange pelt, looked on the verge of tears as the white and pink-maned two laughed at her. “Scootaloo can’t fly! Scootaloo can’t fly!” the sang in mock-cheery tones, pointing fingers at the poor pegasus.

“L-leave me alone!” Scootaloo said. The one day, the one day Applebloom and Sweetie Belle go to Rarity’s to get supplies for the Cutie Mark Crusader’s new clubhouse, she runs into these two bullies.

“Scootaloo can’t fly! Scootlatoo can’t-,” they were interrupted by a wall of paper rushing them along, catching them up like a pair of ants caught in a mudslide. Their screams were swallowed up by the torrent of paper that rushed by the orangish pegasus, who merely stared in shock and awe. Manuscripts and tablets flew past her, with the oddest sight being the two surfing ponies riding the tsunami of parchment products.

“Awesome,” Scootaloo whispered, her wings becoming stiff and her eyes widening like they never had before.

As the dust and paper tsunami settled, Twilight rolled off of Pinkie’s surfboard, feeling as though she would throw up at any second. The stretch of paper was a good five hundred feet long, thirty feet wide and nearly ten feet deep. Two smaller ponies crawled out of the huddled mass of parchment, crying out something about “a million-bazillion paper cuts”, and a few other townsponies did the same. Twilight lay there, stunned by what had happened. At least, until a single scroll appeared before her, written in green ink and in a style of handwriting she knew very well.

“Three hundred thousand copies of the scrolls, tablets and books of Baghdad, for one Twilight Sparkle. Sincerely, Spike Dragul.”

“Three... three... three...” Twilight muttered, her eye twitching as the words sunk in.

“Oh, oh, oh, is this a game? The next number is... three!” Pinkie Pie shouted, nearly crushing Twilight when she pirouetted off of the surfboard and landed right next to her.

“Three,” Twilight said, her eye continuing to twitch as her body felt like it would explode at any second from sheer joy.

“Yay, I win!” Pinkie shouted, cartwheeling off into a pile of scrolls.

Author's Note

Well, there you go: some more story for you guys and gals out there. Many thanks to Mr101 for making some fabulous pieces of art I posted in my blog, which i hope to use to attract some attention from Solar Embrace to this story.

What do you all think?

Along the River

Chapter Forty Two

Along the River

Spike smiled as he woke up, the morning Baghdad sun shooing away the chill of the night before. Ponies from temperate climates didn’t realize the desert held no heat at night, and it frequently got very cold. Luckily for his wives, though, they had a nice warm dragon to snuggle up against. Gently brushing away said cuddling wives, Spike sat up and yawned, his long tongue flickering out like a snake’s to taste the air. He usually didn’t need to do this, as he had no interest in such things, and this morning it was no different from the other mornings he had been in a desert. The air was dry, and the slight silicate taste still held in the air. Of course Spike, being a dragon who frequently ate rocks, he could taste such a unique quality in the air.

Sitting back and watching his wives, Spike’s mind slowly drifted away from the city of Baghdad, and out towards the city of Istanbul. His wives would likely have little to worry about, as they were ponies, but how the city would react to him had him worried. A cultural dislike of dragons due to an unfortunate accident in the past meant there would likely be ponies who would want to drive him from the city upon seeing him, or worse. If they tried, they might also try to do so with his wives, as they carried his children. Should that proceed to happen, Spike would get angry, transform, and then he’d likely have a full-on war on his hands with the entire city, and then possibly the entire Ottomare Empire. He and his wives would likely be hunted throughout the country, with agents of the empire going after them far outside its boundaries. He’d always be looking over his shoulder for danger, always be on the move and never staying in one place for too long. If he somehow managed to live through all of that and make it back to Equestria, he’d have to talk with Celestia about a diplomatic envoy discussing the terms of the empire leaving Spike alone.

He would have to travel in disguise; this time not to avoid fame, but to avoid infamy. If his family came to harm in any way anywhere near that city, he might just burn it to the ground in rage. A terrible aura would follow him after that, and he’d become perhaps the most infamous creature on the planet, but it was one that would be inevitable if he did not move in secrecy.

The first thing he’d have to talk with Saladin about would be just that. Dressing slowly, he kept glancing over at his wives, making sure his actions did not awake them. Seeing them there, content and safe, made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Finishing with a pair of soft, sandal-like slippers, he walked out the room, making sure to gently close the door behind him.

Walking away from his room and down a narrow corridor, Spike took three rights turns and two lefts, though not in that order, to find what he was looking for. There, sitting at a table and pouring over a few letters, sat Saladin, a steaming mug of something in one hand and a faded-looking piece of parchment in the other.

“Is that coffee?” Spike asked as he sat down. “I thought that wasn’t a common drink around here.”

“Yes, though we in Baghdad who brew it usually do so a bit bitterer than some of our friends closer to the Meditermanean,” the stallion said as he took a long, slow sip. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning to you as well,” the dragon said as he glanced over the papers. “What are these?”

“Just some reports from the front,” the stallion said, rubbing one of his eyes after setting his coffee down. “Skirmishes with bandits, sightings of Marengolian patrols, the occasional caravan guard duty; all rather boring, most of the time. This one from my sister and her children,” he added, brandishing the one in his hand. Indeed, the handwriting was rather splendidly done, but the signatures at the bottom were a bit crude, likely done by the hands of little ones.

“Are they well?” Spike asked, looking around the room. Other than he and Saladin, there wasn’t a single pony in sight. Either all of the other guards were asleep, or the night watch ones were outside of the barracks.

“More or less, although losing their home in Samarkand wasn’t easy on them,” Saladin replied, taking another sip of his drink. Seeing confusion in Spike’s face, he set his mug down once more. “Samarkand was a magnificent city in its time, but it has recently given way to corruption in the lower tiers of the judiciary ranks. My brother-in-law, bless his heart, tried to do a good deed for somepony in need. However, that pony soon turned around and bought out his business and threw him out onto the streets. He tried to make a case against the stallion, but the judge, being the nastier pony’s brother, refused to hear the case. So, my sister and her family left behind Samarkand.”

“That’s tragic,” Spike said softly, not knowing what he’d have done if he had lost his home when he was still living with Twilight. Sure, any one of their friends would have gladly taken them in, but it just wouldn’t have been the same as the two of them living in their own home. “Where are they now?”

“Last they told me, they had moved to a small town far north of Istanbul, in one of the Trannsylmania provinces,” the stallion said, draining his last dregs of coffee. “My brother-in-law found a decent-paying job for the local governor as a scribe, so at least my sister and her little ones won’t have to worry about food.” Scribes usually had it rough in life, but if one could find a job with a government official, they would earn more than enough to feed their family.

“Well, that’s good,” the dragon said. “So, what can you tell me of the Ottomare Empire? My wives and I will be traveling through there on our journey, and we’ll surely be passing through Istanbul at some point.”

“Well, I’d first recommend you find yourself a very fitting disguise,” Saladin replied. “I am sure you’ve heard of that city’s problem with dragons?”

“Indeed I have,” Spike said.

“Well, along with a disguise, you’ll be in need of papers to get you through many of the garrisons stationed around the city,” the stallion continued. “Istanbul is incredibly bureaucratic, so much so that I’ve overheard some say it’ll be their downfall. Most of these checkpoints are for stopping spies and scouts from rival armies, like the Marengols. The Ottomare Empire was founded by Turkish ponies, many of whom were simple nomads. However, in time, they grew in both power and influence, and lo and behold, they conquered the Byzantine Empire, technically formerly known as the Eastern Roaman Empire. They are a proud, easily-combative people if they are not shown respect, and the city of Istanbul, formerly Constantinople, formerly Byzantium, is an example of that. Ponies from all over the world live there, but have to adopt many of the local customs if they wish to get anywhere in life.”

“That sounds like a rather... condensed history lesson, if I do say so myself. So, where can I get these papers you mentioned?” Spike asked, wondering just how in the world he’d get through the city unscathed.

“I imagine anything signed by your own monarch would be enough for almost, if not every checkpoint,” Saladin said. “Would it be possible for that to happen?”

“Most definitely,” Spike said, thinking back to how quickly his method of sending messages could yield speedy results. “I’m guessing I’ll also be needing some money, correct?”

“Indeed,” Saladin replied. “Any currency is accepted so long as it meets a global gold standard, and seeing as how the majority of the world uses bits of some kind, I’m sure any currency from your country would be accepted in Istanbul.”

“Well, after that, then what? I’ll still have to get out of the empire before I’m discovered to be a dragon,” Spike said, knowing the mountains littering the Balkans would prove to be a rather formidable obstacle to a hasty exodus.

“Well, seeing as you are a good friend of Princess Luna, and as part of my oath to her services, you can stay with my sister’s family for a short while,” Saladin said. “It would not be hard to hide you, but I would not want to beggar my extended family by visiting strangers on them for too long; you understand.”

“Of course, and we shouldn’t be in one place for too long anyway,” Spike said. “Three of my wives are pregnant, and not only is it beginning to show on all of them, but the clock is ticking for us. We must be able to reach the Grand Duchy of Marescow before any snow storms close the mountain roads of the Balkans. We cannot afford to be stranded on our journey.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck, my friend,” Saladin replied. “I wish I could give you more, but it would likely lead you to ruin to be taken care of by my hospitality for the entirety of your journey, yes?”

“I can see your point. By the way, you said letting us stay with your sister was part of an oath,” Spike said slowly. Seeing the stallion nod in agreement, he continued. “What sort of oath did you take with Princess Luna?”

“It was a simple one, made several years ago,” the stallion said, piling some of the reports together. “I was just a new captain of the guard, freshly minted from the local barracks, if you will. Your princess visited here those few years ago to discuss a small treaty with the local magistrates. I was assigned as part of her guard detail.”

“And?” Spike asked, wondering why Luna never really talked about her worldly excursions with her apprentice.

“And that’s it: she and I became good friends before she returned to Equestria, and she had me take an oath before she did. A simple one, really; take care of the city, and any who may pass through its gates.”

“Did she know I would come here one day, perhaps with wives in tow?” the dragon asked, pieces of this puzzle seeming awfully well-connected in his head.

“Perhaps, though I think this oath was a far more broad one in scope, and not one specifically catering to you,” Saladin replied, standing up. “Well, you’d best be on your way soon; it would be a good idea to leave before most of the city awakens, or else it might take you an extra few hours to meander your way to the far northern gates.”

Spike rose from his seat and shook Saladin’s hand. “Thank you, Saladin; for everything.”

The captain of the guard merely shook his head, smiling as he did so. “May Allah smile upon your journey, my friend.”

Later...

Having found his wives awake and already packing, Spike hurried them along, making sure to carry all of the heavy things so as not to burden them with anymore unnecessary weight. Loading up everything they had collected in Baghdad, they set off, the carriages rolling past the opening market stalls as the rest of the city began to wake up. True to his word, Saladin had sent a small detachment of guards with them to see them off at the gates, though thankfully none of the ones who had confronted them were amongst them.

“Though I would have loved to stay in this city a while longer,” Chrysalis said, glad to be free of her disguise the moment they had cleared the outlying watchtowers half a mile outside of the gates. “I do have to agree with Maria on this one: getting through Istanbul is going to be rather dangerous. Possibly even more so than those pirates, since it won’t be just a few nasty ponies after us. It could be an entire city, and then an empire, should your true self be found out, Spike.”

“To think, it’s not even possible to pass around the city, from what we’ve heard,” Maria said. “To think, the minor rebellions along the coastline have made it impossible for anypony to charter a vessel outside of the capital that won’t sell them as slaves the minute they get the chance.”

“Tell me about it,” Spike said, lightly combing Trixie and Asalah’s manes as they all lay propped up in one carriage. The other few were crammed with the things they’d need to make the letters to Celestia asking for diplomatic papers, and right now, Spike didn’t feel like writing them. None of them did, actually; the rest of the day would be relatively smooth sailing along similarly sand-free roads, and with the possible threat of a Marengolian invasion, they likely wouldn’t have to worry about any bandits. “I can’t even imagine how we’d get through the first checkpoint without papers, and we don’t even know where that will be.”

“I’d think it’d be in one of the more outlying towns surrounding the capital,” Trixie said softly. “That’s usually how things like that work. Too far out and it’d take too long to report anything suspicious back to the city; too close, and reporting it would be not only redundant, but an unneeded expense, should it be an invasion of some kind. There’d be no time to mount any sort of defense if it was close enough to the city.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Spike said softly as he finished combing the two mares’ manes. “But we shouldn’t worry about that now, right? Can we just all sit back and relax before we reach the border?”

So they did, content to discuss rather plain and yet prospectively great things, like what royal life in Canterlot would be like. Spike had a general idea of what it would be like, but even he didn't know everything that went on in that city's upper echelons.

Seven days later...

Twilight blew a bit of her mane out of her eyes. Spike, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to send a complete list of the diplomatic papers he would need to pass through Istanbul. That in and of itself would have been fine, had it not been for the fact he sent it during the middle of a conference with the princess and several visiting dignitaries. Coincidentally, a pair of these dignitaries happened to be two ponies Spike would find awfully familiar: the king and queen of Saddle Arabia. Celestia had been expecting them for some time, but to see Spike’s absolutely enormous list of requirements suddenly poof into existence before the royals and the other dignitaries still brought a slight scowl to Twilight’s face.

Luckily for Spike, she was still in a three month long forgiving mood, as she had nearly passed out from exhaustion after categorizing all of the scrolls, stone tablets and manuscripts he had sent back the week before. However, since she had trained her body to do fine with less sleep than normal ponies (and the fact her go-to Instant REM sleeping spell helped rest in three hours what would take five normal hours to accomplish), she was rather chipper as she sorted through all of the tax forms needed to submit to any possible magistrates, judges or similar high-ranking officials in Istanbul, should they ask for them. Spike's information had been the easiest, as it was not only the most recent and well-documented, but the most readily-at-hand for her to go through.

She had had no trouble retrieving information from Maria’s parents, who had been beside themselves with glee when they found out that Maria was expecting. Maria had sent a letter to Twilight, who had then sent it to the Del Riviosos, since Spike’s magic fire breath couldn’t send to just any location in the world. Financial charts, the locations of guilds operated by her family, the total revenue she had stashed away in several different bank accounts across the Meditermanean: it had all been there.

The sultan of Agrabah, Asalah’s father, had been a bit more difficult to barter with, and Twilight refused to answer half of the questions he had sent back in his return message. Most of them pertained to whether or not Asalah was pregnant, to which she politely replied “no news yet”, or something along those lines. He himself owned and operated several large salt and gold mines, two of which were included in Asalah’s inheritance, should she provide him with a grandson.

Trixie needed double the work, as she was a grown mare with her own business and sorts of financial records. Her parent’s records had been easy to come by, and Trixie’s own were no state secret or anything. Business transactions, show earnings, taxes deducted from total income; all easily gathered in a fortnight. The compilation of those had been almost easy; it took Twilight only twenty minutes to have it all assembled before her.

However, when it came to Meia, Twilight found she could not find anything in the right place. There was a mentioning of a Meia Morphos on the Crowhop, including a fee paid to get on board and stay until Equineland, but before that, it was as if the mare was a ghost. A few purchases here or there in Manehatten, a small plot of land owned by her supposed family; none of it was easy to acces, and even harder to assemble. On one of her few days off from the Wonderbolts, Rainbow Dash had volunteered to look at the place where Meia hailed from, only to return saying that the “house” Meia owned had been bulldozed to make room for a park.

Now, Twilight liked Meia; everything from her personality, to her unending love for Spike, to her surprisingly insightful and rather detailed letters. She was ideal for Spike, and perhaps was one of the smarter wives in his herd, though by no means were the other ones unintelligent. So, naturally, Twilight didn’t want to think she had anything to do with the difficulties involved in finding out about her past. But the more Twilight looked, the more embroiled she became in what seemed to be a largely-empty trail of breadcrumbs.

Of course, her friends had all thought she was just putting too much effort into something she shouldn’t have been doing on her own, and normally Twilight would have agreed with them. She was working extra-hard to make sure Spike would be safe, and yet... there was something off about the whole situation, but for the life of her, Twilight couldn’t put her mind to work on finding out just what that was.

She was interrupted by a knock at the door to the library. Sighing and putting down the copy of the family registry of Trottin, she opened the door to find a rather skinny stallion waiting for her.

“May I help you?” she asked, wondering if she had seen him before.

“Oh, uh, this is for you, Ms. Twilight,” he said, a slight lisp accompanying his statement of her unmarried status. “I was told to bring this for something you were compiling.”

The purple unicorn gingerly accepted the package from the stallion. “Gee, uh, thanks?” she said, not sure if she had actually asked for any compilation-type work in the last day or two. “Who told you to give me this?”

The stranger rubbed his temples, as if deeply concentrating on a fleeting thought. “Uh, I think her name was... Futter... Fluller... Fluttershy!” the stallion said, smiling as he remembered the name.

“Oh, okay,” Twilight said, glad at least one little mystery was solved. She turned and retrieved a small bag of bits from her purse. “Thank you, by the way, Mr.-,”

He was gone. Twilight, blinking in confusion, stepped out of her doorway and looked every which way down the street. Whoever that pony had been, he was gone; just like that.

“Well, that was weird,” the mare said to herself, walking back inside and closing the door behind her. “Time to add these reports to whichever ones they are a part of.”

Meanwhile...

“That was a close one,” Clearwing muttered to himself, barely making it into the edge of the Everfree Forest before his disguise fell away. Surprise, surprise, he was a changeling, and yet no ordinary changeling at that: he belonged to a special caste, the Scraetori, which directly served the queen in times of need, whether or not she knew. In the minds of every changeling involved, this most certainly was a time of utmost importance. A foal had not been born into the ruling caste since Chrysalis, and not one with so powerful a heritage. A changeling ruler, with the might of a dragon and power of a shape-shifting race gifted in the magical arts; it would be... interesting, to say the least.

That was why the instant the Scraetori had heard of Twilight Sparkle’s little “research project” pertaining to their queen, they had sprung into action. Several had posed as distant cousins of Meia, both to fool busybodies and to help supply documents of Meia’s existence. Of course, those documents were are genuinely real in a sense, but they were also entirely forged by the most brilliant mind the Scraetori had at their disposal.

Gibby the Grubling, a changeling born with the innate abilities of a changeling, but with the mind of the greatest thinkers in the animal world; an octopus. His conception between a female changeling and a male octopus would likely be the stuff of some poorly-written fanfiction involving tentacles, tremendous amounts of bukkake and ink-based watersports, but he was nonetheless a marvel. He could make forgeries seem genuine, write things down in such clarity and interconnecting purity that few questioned his methods, and could even fly, something nopony thought possible.

It helped with his writing that he had tentacles coming out of his back to write with, and they could even spin around like propellers on a windmill, thus granting him flight.

Anyway, Clearwing knew those forgeries by Gibby would be good enough to pass inspection by one even as careful and studious as Twilight Sparkle, but they would have to remain cautious. Twilight had a knack for finding things out when least expected. The Scratori could only pray she remained unwary until Chrysalis chose to reveal herself.

“Seems to me you’re rather worried,” a voice said from one of the bushes. Turning around, Clearwing spotted his partner for this mission: a changeling by the name of Nymphie.

“Of course I’m worried: that unicorn could discover everything, and we cannot do anything truly overt to protect our queen,” the male changeling replied.

“No, I meant you seem worried, even more so than the rest of us,” the female changeling said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why?”

“My baby brother was born the other day, and he’s one of the different ones,” the changeling said as the pair walked deeper into the forest. “I’m worried our queen’s... decision could spark a war.” His little brother was one of the newer breed; stronger, faster, and far more powerful than previous changeling incarnations. The discussion had been long and very divisive, but the consensus was clear; Spike’s draconic heritage was seeping into the changeling race, as had countless other’s.

“There will be no war, Clearwing,” Nymphie said softly. “You need to start relaxing a bit more. Here,” she added, pulling his hand from his side and up to her no-longer-clothed breasts. “Let me show you how to relax.”

She always did know how to relax him: that tongue of hers....

Meanwhile...

In the mountains of the Ottomare Empire, the carriages passing below were like tiny, gleaming jewels to the two hooded figures. High above, on a secret and ultimately quicker path, the pair had made good time. In fact, they would likely reach the city of Istanbul a full three days ahead of those carriages.

“So tell me, my friend, when I first found you on that beach, what did you think I was?” the one hooded figure asked.

“A fool,” the other figure said, the raspy voice sounding like that of one permanently on their death bed.

“And now?” the first asked. “I have delivered you thus far, and they are within your grasp. Soon enough, they will be in your grasp.”

“I still think you a fool, Turkish goat,” the second figure said. “A deadly and dangerous fool at that, from what I have seen.”

“My friend, you do not know the half of it,” the Turkish pony replied. “So tell me, what have these fellows done to you that is so horrid that they deserve the punishments you suggest?”

“I told you once already, and I will not repeat myself,” the second figure replied. “That dragon will see his entire life end in that city, I tell you. If not by my hand, then by the hand of your superiors. Although, I am not sure of how you will bring that part along, should my part in this fail.”

“Oh, do not worry, my friend,” the Turkish stallion said as they went along their way. “There are events about to happen in Istanbul that will shake the very empire. All I’ll have to do is... nudge it in the right direction, and your part in this plan will not be needed.”

After that, they moved in silence, outpacing the carriages far below.

It Hits the Fan

Chapter Forty Three

It Hits the Fan

The mountains and small, lonely villages of the Ottomare Empire countryside soon gave way to rolling hills and open fields as the carriages neared the coastline. Tranquil meadows, silk farms dotting the landscape, the faint glimmer of the blue-green waters of the distant sea: it was serene, peaceful, and utterly majestic.

It also proved to be the source of endless frustration for Spike, the source of which was his inability to enjoy the sun soaking into his scales. His wives had insisted he wear a disguise like that which he wore in Baghdad; he could understand that, since nopony in the Ottomare Empire would just let a dragon walk around for no reason. The innkeeper at the city of Ankara had told them as much after they had stayed for the night.

“Ponies are obligated by law to report dragon sightings the closer they live to Istanbul,” the stallion had said, a rather gruff, older fellow with a twinkle in his eye and a long, white beard. “Dragons are allowed to live within our borders, sure, especially on the outskirts, but may simply choose not to. Too much hassle, what with all the paperwork involved. Negative attitudes towards them have been cooling over the years, but larger dragons are greatly shunned, and sometimes diplomatically asked to leave under penalty of imprisonment.”

“How would one seek passage through Istanbul?” Spike had asked, not sure if his disguise had actually fooled the old pony. His smile had been a bit too... knowing for it to just be common courtesy. “We are travelers from Equestria and wish to know how to reach the other side without encountering many... difficulties.”

“If you’re going that way, then you’re bound to run into the outer defensive networks. Nothing much, to be honest: small forts with small garrisons designed to raise the alarm should an army approach the city,” the old fellow had said. “My advice would to be to go along the highways with the rest of the travelers going in and out of the city. Much easier and safer, to be honest, I can tell you now it may be a bit more crowded to anything you’re used to.”

So Spike, after asking for directions from a few altogether none-too-bright guards, found himself, his wives and their subsequent carriages travelling down the widest, busiest roads any of them had ever lain their eyes on. Smooth stones, ground down by untold years of wheel and hoof traffic, stretched out before them in long, winding paths. The roads themselves were wide enough that a good five coaches moving along side-by-side could pass another group of five carriages. Untold numbers of ponies traveled along the highway, many of their carriages moving in small groups. Spike, disguised and sitting in the largest carriage with his four wives, looked out in awe as they made their way over ancient bridges and through rolling hills.

Then, coming around the corner of one hill, Asalah started making a frantic noise. “There, there, there it is!” she cried, causing the others to all look in the direction she had been.

Like a glimmering jewel set in the center of a winding oceanic river, and with mountains far behind it, lay the city of Istanbul. Formerly Constantinople, and Byzantium before that, it was an old city, founded centuries before even the rise and imperialistic expansion of the Roaman Empire. It was the crossroads between Asia and Europe, and the trade that went through it was likely the most extensive on the entire planet.

It showed: the walls of the city gleamed in their mighty splendor, the radiant light cascading off of their sides. The height of the walls was immense: Spike wasn’t even sure something other than a dragon could penetrate such defenses. Gates, towers, defensive ballistae, trebuchets and catapults lined the walls like great jagged teeth, and the closer they drew to the city, the more apparent just how formidable these defenses were became apparent to them. What looked to be giant tubes on rotating platforms formed an outer barrier around the wall, complete with smaller but no less impressive sets of towers, walls, and even large ditches filled with huge stakes.

“Excuse me, what are those tubes for?” Asalah asked a passing griffin, who was tending a small herd of goats along the busy highway.

“Greek fire,” the old griffin replied, adjusting the shepherd’s crook he was leaning on. “Spits out sticky flames that’ll cook you alive: I hear they could rival a dragon’s fire in potency.”

“Sticky?” Asalah asked, everypony else in the carriage as perplexed as she was about that term. It wasn’t like any of them had ever heard such a descriptive term for fire before.

“Yes, sticky,” the old griffin replied. “The flames are flung out with long strands of wax and tar, almost like fountains. That stuff’ll stick to you and never go out, even if you jump in water.” He waved them goodbye after that.

“Sounds like a thoroughly unpleasant way to go,” Trixie said, shuddering slightly as they passed said tubes. “Burning to death in unimaginable agony as the flames eat you alive? No pony, no matter how cruel or evil, deserves a fate like that.” She must have forgotten how most of the pirates under Undi’s leadership had died out at sea when Spike turned into a flaming missile.

“Rival a dragon’s fire? Psh, please,” Spike said, waving his hand like it wasn’t a big deal. “If it can’t melt what I can, or teleport messages, then what good is it for besides war?”

“I don’t know, it would be an awfully powerful deterrent for any army foolish enough to come close to this city,” Asalah said as Maria gently combed her mane.

“As if those walls weren’t deterring enough,” Chrysalis muttered, glad she no longer had to wear her Meia disguise. Soon enough, it would be downright impossible for her to wear it, and if Spike’s friends called him again with that magical mirror spell, she’d definitely have to hide and just have the others say she was “unwell” with the pregnancy.

Eventually finding nothing more to talk about, the five (or more, depending on how you looked at it) travelers continued along the highways until they reached the very edge of the city’s massive walls. There, a long line greeted them, with guards coming up and stopping every carriage before they were allowed through what looked to be a rather expensive toll booth.

“They must be checking to make sure every has their papers,” Maria said as they all made sure everything was at hand and they were all properly dressed. Spike’s spines and tail had been more of an issue to hide than his wings, but eventually they managed to make do with a tall headscarf and a flowing cloak that allowed him to tuck his tail as close to him as he could. His wings, actually, had been rather easy to disguise: now it just looked like his shoulders were a tad broader than most might expect.

Eventually, after the line had more or less passed through most of the checkpoints, a pair of bored-looking guards approached the carriage, with a small and rather rotund little minotaur in tow.

“Papers please,” the little minotaur said, adjusting a small pair of what seemed to be reading glasses along the edge of his snout. Asalah, the designated “paper” pony, gently handed him the small collection of documents. With a slight huff, the minotaur flipped through the papers rather rapidly, his beady little eyes a blur as they examined each and every line of writing.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he said, handing the stack of papers back to Asalah. “May I ask your business in our empire’s most glorious city?”

“We are travelers seeing passage to the Grand Duchy of Marescow,” Maria said, making sure to have her voice sound every bit the weary but no-nonsense noblemare. “A few of us are carrying foals, so we thought it best to avoid travel by ship through the Meditermanean and Aegean Seas.”

“Ah, yes, a wise decision,” the minotaur said as he motioned for the guards to move on to the next carriage. “Well, I wish you safe passage through our most fair and glorious city. Here is the marker you’ll need for the next checkpoint,” he added, handing them a small medal that almost seemed like the one a pony would win in a tournament. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” With that, he waddled away, leaving Spike and his wives to their own business.

“He seemed nice, if a bit too... bookish,” Trixie said as the carriages lurched forward, spurring themselves onward and through the gates of the city. Son enough, they were beyond the city’s walls, and already nearing what would undoubtedly be the outermost third of the city.

“Bookish? If anyone were bookish, the scribes and librarians in Baghdad were beyond that simple term,” Chrysalis said with a slight chuckle. “The looks on their faces when you sent that enormous pile of copied manuscripts and such back to Equestria with your flames? Priceless!”

“Yeah, I thought they were all going to keel over from shock!” Spike agreed, chuckling as they went along their way.
Falling into silence once more, the carriage’s passengers found themselves in the middle of a great square, with a small fountain and innumerable shops built in to the surrounding buildings. Creatures of all kinds did their business there: zebras, earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns: minotaurs, griffins, the occasional hippogriff and even a few diamond dogs, though they seemed to be more like hired help than actual business owners. Guards of all races patrolled the streets, all dressed rather intimidatingly in reddish-gold armor and carrying wicked-looking scimitars at their sides. A few were adorned with intimidating-looking masks, golden in color and covering everything but their eyes. Surely they were captains, as they traveled in front of their miniature contingents of fellow guards.

The things they were selling in that square were astonishing, both in quality and sheer diversity: it made the markets of Baghdad look like lemonade stands set up by ponies in kindergarten. A naga, a snake-creature from India was there, selling small pets as what seemed to be reasonable prices. Tiny imported wolpertingers from the northern forests of Germareny, fierce-looking scarlet eagles from the Marengolian steppes, curious-looking amphisbaenae that slithered in their cages: there were just so many different creatures, it was a wonder the place didn’t reek of animal excrement. Next to him were several stalls that one would expect to find in such a mercantile area: a potter’s place, a blacksmith’s workshop, a small scribe stall and several reclusive banking houses. These seemed to be the most fortified, as they were absolutely covered with iron gates and had not a single window other than the teller’s exchange platform.

A horn blasted down the road, causing all of the milling pedestrians to stop, look up and get off the road. A great many of them pressed themselves against the side of Spike’s carriage, which had parked itself with the others down an alleyway. The guards patrolling the area also moved off to the side, occasionally “motivating” others to do the same by way of a threatening gesture or a loud shout. The horn blew again, much closer and louder this time, and soon enough, Spike saw why.

Over the heads of the civilians milling about the edges of the square came a banner supported by two large servants, the banner itself written in a language neither Spike nor his wives knew of. Strange, that the majority of the planet seemed to speak a common language, and yet regional and written variations could differ so vastly. Behind the two banner-supporters came a small set of soldiers, personal guards judging from their state of dress. Behind them came a carriage, which in turn was followed by even more guards.

The carriage pulled its way into the middle of the square and stopped, and soon enough two figures emerged from it. One was a tall earth pony stallion with a short, neatly-trimmed beard, and the other was a shorter minotaur, rotund like the one who had greeted them, but obviously much “higher up” on the totem pole of politics. Unrolling a scroll, the small minotaur began to read it aloud.

“Fellow citizens of the Empire, it is well known that we are experiencing an age of peace unlike any that has preceded it. Our people are well-fed, our coffers are filled with the coins of trade, and even now, our diplomatic envoys are connecting us with the most prosperous nations far-removed from our borders. These are words of our Mighty Sultan, may he never grow frail.”

The minotaur indicated the taller stallion standing next to him. “This is his nephew, Devrim. He speaks for us all when he proclaims how gracious we are for his uncle’s prowess in delegating peace unto our enemies and in turn encouraging them to become our allies. These are all good, but the times are changing. Even as we speak, there is growing dissent amongst our neighbors in Europe, and to the far East, there lies the ever-present shadow of the Marengol menace.”

The crowd, utterly silent at this point, burst into a quiet but utterly overpowering chatter of whispers. The minotaur, apparently unfazed, continued on. “We have been rebuffed by our European neighbors, who say we are overestimating the threat of these Marengols. Instead, they call us cowardly, worrisome and fools. Are we not under the same threat of annihilation as they are? Do we not bleed like they did when our ancestors extinguished the last embers of the former flame that was the Eastern Roaman Empire? Did they not fight us for decades in long, bloody toils that ended with the ascension of Devrim’s uncle to power?”

The buzzing of the civilians began to grow a bit louder, and there were even a few shouts of agreement amongst the more rabble-rousing aspects of the crowd.

“Devrim asks why should we listen to their doddering old leaders, who still bargain and work ceaselessly to undermine our control over our own territories?” the minotaur continued, his voice rising above that of the crowd’s buzzing. “Why do we not assert ourselves as the rightful heirs to this nation we have founded on our blood, sweat and tears? Do we not fight for our honor? Will we not fight for the return of our once proud glory? Will we-,”

He was cut off by a crossbow bolt thudding into his midsection. Looking down in stunned surprise, the minotaur silently moved his lips before he slumped over onto the ground. Then, all hell broke loose. Figures dashed across the rooftops, letting go their crossbow bolts in a frenzy at the guards below. The guards returned fire with what few crossbows they had, shouting and ordering their fellow soldiers to pursue the brigands. Devrim himself grabbed his fallen minotaur companion and dragged him back into his carriage as several bolts thudded into the frame, leaving it looking like a severely-aged porcupine. He managed to shut the door just as a few more bolts impacted the side.

“Görkemi için imparatorluk!” came a shout from the rooftops as throngs of the would-be assassins leaped down into the panicking crowd. Everywhere, ponies and griffins and minotaurs and all sorts of citizens descended into a mindless panic, running and screaming and calling for their loved ones as every single one of them fled the area. Spike’s carriage was rocked to-and-fro from the pressing bodies trying to escape, and Spike didn’t care. He was more concerned about his family inside with him that anything that was happening outside.

Outside, the guards and the assassins met in clashes of steel and armor. Bolts continued to pour down from the rooftops, striking many a guard and fleeing civilian in the torso. Guards struck down assassins as fast as they could, all the while hurrying the carriage of the sultan’s nephew out of the square. As soon as it disappeared, the assassins flung down small devices and ran, vanishing into the sudden clouds of smoke they had just created. The guards shouted for order and to find the scoundrels, gathering up their wounded and spreading out to find them.

Spike, his body covering his wives’ in a protective embrace, did not see the figure approach their carriage from the shadows. With a motion similar to that of somepony trying to hide something, the figure tossed a crossbow into the carriage and fled back into the shadows, disappearing as though they had never been there to begin with.

Three guards rushed up to the side of the carriage, and upon peering inside, began to shout and pound against it. Spike, looking up from his wives, saw the crossbow lying next to him. Turning to face the guards, he felt the door swing open and a set of burly hands grab him by his clothes. With a good yank, he was pulled outside and thrown to the ground, where three swords were soon pointed at his throat.

“Why do you have that crossbow!?” one of the guards shouted as another rushed up and tried entering the carriage. He must have done something, as Trixie screamed out in panic and what sounded like pain. The poor guard had actually managed to tug on her tail slightly when he shifted his weight inside the carriage.

Spike felt his blood run cold. Knocking the weapons out of his way, he jumped to his feet and grabbed the guard inside the carriage. With one swift motion, he pulled him out by his armor and tossed him away, his flight ending upon a collision with (and subsequent destruction of) a market stand. The other guards sprung on him, shouting for more to join them as Spike struggled.

Spike threw one off of him into a pair of other guards rushing to their aid. He saw more than felt one try and stick him with a spear, only for said spear to splinter and shatter upon contact with him. As another guard tried to bring him down to the ground, Spike pushed him away, his sleeve tearing off with the guard.

Immediately the guards fell into a panic and began outright screaming. “Dragon! Dragon!” they cried, many pointing at Spike’s obviously scaly arm and hand. More and more guards tackled Spike, trying to bring him down. “Leave them alone!” Spike roared when he saw another guard make way for the carriage. His tail unfurling from his side, he swatted said guard away from the carriage just as three approached with rather odd-looking tubes. Roaring into their faces just as they took aim, Spike saw each puff out reddish smoke. Catching it full in the face, he tried roaring again, but suddenly felt his mouth close on him. His knees giving out, and his body suddenly becoming unbearably heavy to hold up, Spike fell face-forward onto the ground, more guards piling on top of him. As his mind drifted off, the last thing he heard was Chrysalis shouting at the guards hauling them out of the carriage.

An hour later, the captain of the royal guard looked up from her mile-high stack of paperwork at the sudden knock on her office door. To be fair, she didn’t exactly have an office; it was more of a large, open room that resembled a courtroom more than any kind of office. Plus, she wasn’t alone with her paperwork: there were well over two dozen guards with her, also filing through the tedious processes that kept the empire more or less running smoothly.

“Who is it?” Myrrine Aeraktos called out, her voice carrying with it the weariness and irritability she and her entire section of the royal guards felt.

The one who knocked didn’t even bother to answer before entering. “It is I, my captain,” a reed-thin unicorn said, entering with his helmet thankfully removed.

“Hyginus, why are you here? Didn’t I tell you to stand watch out at the outer gates with the rest of the guards?” Myrrine asked, a tone of displeasure entering her voice. She really didn’t have time for any of this stallion’s bullshit. Why a griffin of her status had to be in charge of such a conniving, unrepentant, complete scoundrel of a guard, completely escaped her.

“There is a matter of utmost importance for you to oversee,” the reedy stallion replied, his voice polite and his slight leer anything but. It was a well-known fact that guard had only gotten his position due to familial connections, and even though he would likely go nowhere in the terms of advancing in rank, his position allowed him to perform... activities usually reserved for those bound for prison. Of course, said family connections, a distinct lack of evidence and eyewitnesses, combined with his silver tongue and a penchant for unconfirmed bribery meant he was all but untouchable.

“Really?” Myrrina asked, arching an eyebrow in surprise. “What could be important enough for you to risk my wrath and enter without stating your business to my own guards?”

“There was an attempt on Devrim’s life an hour ago, under the watch of some of our colleagues,” the stallion said softly, loud enough to be heard by all but not loud enough to be interpreted as a boastful shout. “He managed to survive, but many of our guards were wounded, and almost all the assassins escaped.”

“Almost?” the griffin asked, her eyebrow traveling further still up her forehead. “I take it one was apprehended... alive, this time?”

“Yes,” Hyginus replied, his voice sounding incredibly smug, as if he were not telling her everything. Considering his background, that was almost a certainty.

“So, after a -might I remind you unsuccessful- attempt on Devrim’s life, you managed to capture one of the assassins? How exactly is this big news?” Myrrina’s patience, short as it was, grew ever shorter the longer she had to talk with Hyginus.

“The failed assassin we captured was in the presence of four mares: two unicorns, a zebra, and a changeling, all of them female, and three of them pregnant,” the stallion replied, obscenely licking his lower lip at the mention of the word “female”.
Someday, she was going to kill him; of that, Myrrina was certain. But for the moment, she would continue to allow him to live and serve the glory of the empire. “Anything else? They will likely be spared, even if they carry what we assume are his foals.”

“They aren’t carrying normal foals,” Hyginus said with a rather evil look in his eyes. “The one we captured was... a dragon.”

Instant silence greeted the room as every single soldier, whether male or female, pony of something else, stopped what they were doing and looked up at the boastful stallion. All eyes were on him, one thing he truly loved, and to be the center of such rapt attention truly made him feel alive.

The silence ended with four words emanating from Myrrina’s mouth. “Take me to him.”

Meanwhile...

Spike slowly opened his eyes, feeling the urge to rub them. Trying to do so, he out something rather unsettling: his hands were chained together. Looking down, he saw the same was for his feet: a glance back at his wings proved to just confirm the same. “No problem, I’ll just break out of these,” he thought, prying his arms apart to bust the shackles like... like...

He couldn’t break them: in fact, he could barely move his arms at all. “What?” he said out loud, unsure of just what was happening. How could he not break these? There wasn’t a material in the world that he knew of that a dragon couldn’t break through! Experimentally, he tried biting it, but found he just couldn’t put in enough jaw strength to actually do anything.

“Spike! You’re awake!” a voice said, causing Spike to look up. In an instant, four bodies were pressing in on him, three of whom pushed into him with swollen bellies.

“Hey,” was all Spike could say as he tried to regain his bearings. Looking over his cuddling wives’ heads, he saw he was in some sort of... dungeon? Except, it wasn’t technically a dungeon: dungeons didn’t often come with wide-open cells, grated windows, and several guards within clear view of the prisoners. Nor did it have a griffin standing on the “free” side, watching their every move with a slightly intrigued expression. “Where... where are we?”

“You’re in one of Istanbul’s many prisons,” the griffin said, her voice causing Spike’s wives to shuffle off to his sides. “I expect your stay will be rather short, given the charges filed against you.”

“Charges?” Trixie asked, protectively shielding her stomach behind Spike as he sat up.

“Attempted assassination, conspiracy to commit assassination, accomplice in numerous murders of civilians and attacks on city guards,” the griffin said, counting off the charges one by one on her talon-tipped fingers.

“We are just travelers seeking passage through the city,” Asalah said with a pleading look. “We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Then how do you explain the crossbow in the carriage with you?”

“Somepony threw that in with us while Spike here protected us during the... fight,” Maria said, her anger almost getting the best of her. She would not stand for such accusations: she wouldn’t! “This is all a big misunderstanding.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t: it is not my place to separate the truth from the lies,” Myrrina said softly. “Even if that is the truth, and you were just victims of some unfortunate coincidence, I cannot let you leave.”

“Why not?” Spike asked. “We are not citizens of this empire: we haven’t caused any trouble!”

“Tell that to the guards recuperating from your “resisting arrest” episode,” the griffin said, her wings ruffling slightly behind her back.

“They were threatening my family,” Spike said, a growl emerging against his will as he said this. "I'm guessing you know what happens when a dragon's family is threatened: we react on instinct, not rational thought."

“That is entirely beside the point,” Myrrina said. “You are a dragon, and while that in and of itself may not be a crime, to many of our citizens, you are no better than the assassins that attempted to kill the sultan’s nephew. While you will not be executed, you will likely be staying here indefinitely until you either provide proof of your innocence or you receive a pardon. I highly doubt either of those will happen.”

Before she turned to walk away, the griffin cast one last look at Spike. “Don’t even think of trying to break out, dragon. You may be wondering why you couldn’t just now, yes?”

“Umm... yes?” Spike said.

“Those chains you all are wearing absorb magic, though that only works on non-dragon folk. You, Spike, were subjected to our anti-dragon smoke: it disrupts your body’s natural magical abilities for an extended period, so I suggest you just sit there and behave. I have too much paperwork to do to babysit you five.” With that, she left, closing the door behind her.

“Well.... shit,” Spike muttered. The looks on his wives' faces all seemed to mirror his sentiments exactly.

Outside of the prison, Hyginus looked gleefully at his captain as she emerged from the complex. “Well? Do you have any orders for me?” he asked, sounding somehow eager, bored and resentful at the same time. “Am I to separate the mares from the dragon?”

With a swiftness that made the weight of her armor seem meaningless, Myrrina grabbed the stallion by the throat, brought him up to her eye level and slammed him against a wall. “You are not to go near any of those prisoners, you hear me?” she whispered, her voice deadlier than a nest full of cobras. “You so much as look at those mares in a manner I find distasteful, I will cut off your head with my bare talons and mount it on a pike in front of my barracks. Do you understand me?”

Now, Hyginus was a scoundrel: a bastard, a horrible pony, and altogether one without morals. He did what he wanted without much fear, but then and there, he knew he would have to tiptoe the line very carefully around the griffin. She was known for being utterly ruthless with it came to “improper” treatment of prisoners, especially female ones. She had severely penalized other guards for so much as looking at female prisoners the wrong way, and he had no doubt she’d carry out her “promise” if he stepped out of line and got caught doing so. “Crystal c-c-clear,” he gasped, wincing as the griffin dropped him back onto his hooves. Rubbing his neck, he waited until his captain had disappeared before glancing back at the crowd milling far from the prison doors. With a small, curt nod, he signaled to the pony hiding in the shadows like a wraith.

The figure disappeared in an instant, vanishing amongst the milling pedestrians as if they had never even been there.

Meanwhile...

“You cut that awfully close, my faithful servant,” a tall pony said as a rotund minotaur took the traveling cloak off of him. Settling down, the pony picked up the small piece of paper he had managed to recover from his own carriage before the guards had inspected it.

“Forgive me, sir, but I thought that speech you had me write was rather excellent,” the minotaur replied as he poured his master a cup of imported tea. “Though I wonder why the crowd needed me to announce just who you were: surely they recognized your face from some of your more popular public appearances?”

“The speech was good, but your... how shall we say, “death”, was rather lackluster,” Devrim said as he took a sip, letting the flavor roll around in his mouth before he demurely swallowed it all. “You have no flair for the dramatic arts, Tycho. Besides, what would those poor sniveling plebeians know of me: me, a pony of the highest class in the empire?”

“Yes, well, I was undoubtedly lucky that bolt wasn’t sharp and only embedded itself in that sack of flour you had me wear under my clothes,” the minotaur replied. “I could have been killed for this to all work. On the other hand, if I had died, your plan may have been far more difficult to pull off in the end.”

“While I do enjoy your company, more so than most, I hope you know that you, like every single pony or creature around me, is replaceable in the grand scheme of things. I, a descendant of conquering emperors, am not, and you would do well to remember that.”

There was a knock at the door. Rushing to it, Tycho the minotaur opened it and stepped aside when a hooded pony strode it, with one rather unpleasant-looking one in tow. Unbidden by his master, the minotaur felt a shiver of fear creep up his spine when he saw the faces of the two hooded ponies. One was just an unpleasant one he already knew of, but the other... he had never seen burns so extensive on one’s face, even those from the survivors of the Greek fire attacks from long-ago naval engagements.

“Were you followed?” Devrim asked softly, not even bothering to look at the two for more than a mere moment. “I especially liked your performance when you cried out “for the glory of the empire” or whatever it was you said.”

“Of course not, and you know as well as I the words I shouted were meaningless,” the one replied, sitting down across from the stallion who employed him and others like him. “I see the plan went off without a hitch.”

“Indeed it did,” Devrim responded, chuckling slightly. “Our enemy knows nothing of what his about to happen, my power is being consolidated as we speak, and we have the scapegoat you so excellently framed.” He raised his cup of tea immediately after his minotaur servant refilled it. “To the glory of out empire: may it return in a river of blood.”

Author's Note

Well, I managed to crank this out after finishing my studying for the weekend, and now I can sit back and... wait, nope, gotta keep studying every day. Well, seeya sometime in the future.

Many Revelations, Many Plans

Chapter Forty Four

Many Revelations, Many Plans

Have any of you ever been in a Turkish prison? The conditions are beyond hellish, but the surprising thing is, a more “upscale” part of the prison is a far less unfavorable place to be held captive. Sure, it stinks, its can get cold at night, and the ever-present feeling of the bars closing in on you can really make one feel hopeless, but overall, it’s not so bad.

When you are imprisoned with no way of validating your identity, however, things can take a turn for the... unfair.

“I’m telling you, all the paperwork we need was with our things in the carriage,” Spike said for the umpteenth time to the prison guards, a pair of griffons who spent more time playing cards than actually listening or talking with them half the time. Understandable, seeing as how nothing ever seemed to get done in this place, but you’d think the lives of Spike’s wives and their unborn foals would take precedence over some managerial oversight in need of correction.

“We’ve told you more than once that any and all items seized during such an event are stored away for proper judicial review,” the one guard said, glancing up from his cards over into the prison cell. “Besides, even if what you say is true, there are well over forty proper channels to go through, most of which are incomparably busy all year round. You’d be lucky if someone found and was able to properly sort through all of your papers by the time your foals were five years old.”

“Five years old? I’m expecting in less than eight months, and Maria and Chrysalis here are due within a month of that!” Trixie said, her anger as palpable as fear. She did not want her foal born in some prison cell, far from the warmth of his/her home in Equestria, and surrounded by fear, uncertainty, and the possibility of nigh-unending imprisonment. “Isn’t there any way to... speed up the process?”

“I’m afraid not, miss,” the other guard said, looking awfully bored as he drew another card from the deck. “We are under strict orders to keep the five of you under control, and prevent any... mishaps from occurring.”

“Mishaps?” Asalah asked softly.

“Anypony trying to come and see you without the proper paperwork, anypony trying to break you out of the prison, any attempt by any of you to break out... you know, something along those lines,” the first guard said. He glanced at Spike, almost seeing the cogs working in his head. “Don’t even think about it, dragon.”

“Think about what?” Spike asked, confused why they instantly seemed to think he'd try and break out. granted, that had been on his mind, but for the time being, he had a feeling breaking out would be far more trouble than the freedom it would provide would be worth..

“Trying to use your abilities to break out of here,” the second guard said. “See those bars surrounding you, and the stone above and below you? They’re cursed, the kind that most pleasant folk don’t want mentioned in the history books. Plus, your food; it’s specially made to keep you in good condition, but not to help you restore your energy.” Maybe that explained why it tasted rather bland and yet, at the same time, like something made of tofu and toenails. Spike only knew what that tasted like because of a dare by the Cutie Mark Crusaders back when he was younger.

“Cursed?” Maria asked as she fiddled with the ends of Asalah’s braids. There wasn’t much else to do in the cell, and nopony (or dragon) was in the mood for getting frisky. “What kind of curse?”

“The kind I doubt any of you would even remotely stand a chance at breaking,” the first guard said as he drew another card from the deck. “It’s a magic-storing curse, a “dungeon-well”, if you will. It absorbs all magic directed against it, innate or material, and uses that very magic to strengthen itself.”

“I’m guessing it’s a very old kind of curse?” Chrysalis asked, glad for once nopony in this entire empire knew of who they were, or more importantly, who she truly was. Now, for the first time in what seemed forever, she could travel without having to don her “Meia” disguise. None of the guards had really reacted differently to her appearance than the others, other than a passive curiosity pertaining to how she could fly, given the holes in her glittering wings.

“Ancient in type, a bit over a century in age,” the second guard replied as he laid a pair of fives down on the small table. “It cost the enchanter their magic to place such a powerful curse.” There was a particular viciousness to the way he said “enchanter”, as if the mere word brought a very bitter taste to his mouth.

“Oh... my,” Trixie muttered, her eyes going wide at this startling revelation. “It... it was blood magic, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed,” first guard replied, shuffling his wings behind him slightly as he lay down a pair of sixes. “Nasty stuff, that blood magic; it’s banned now, but back in our empire’s not-so-illustrious past, it was common in all but the most conservative of cities, Istanbul included. Of course, back in those days it was Constantinople, and before that Byzantium, but I digress.”

“What happened with it? The blood magic, I mean?” Spike asked, curious as to why the guard sounded sarcastic, and a little pained, when he mentioned the past.

“One of our emperors was assassinated with it,” the second guard said, looking up from his cards and turning to face the dragon in full. “Murdered in his own court, by a dissenting member of his own retinue; the villain took down the last griffin emperor our proud country ever had.”

“What... what happened next?” the dragon asked, sensing a rather patriotic side to these guards, although this patriotism seemed to have little to actually do with the Ottomare Empire. Empires in this part of the world often had a long and terribly bloody history, complete with fratricide, patricide and all manners of coups, rebellions and outright wars. Ponies and other beings here never seemed to agree on anything, and if any of the three hundred thousand scrolls he had sent Twilight had informed him of anything, then there was likely even more bloodshed and betrayals in this empire’s history than he had been led to believe.

“All forms of blood magic were outlawed, upon penalty of excruciating death, along with anypony harboring such a practitioner, be they friend, relative or random civilian,” the other griffin said softly. “As punishment for his crime, that traitorous unicorn was forced to create that very cell you are in now, and thus was promptly stripped of his magic in the process. He was then thrown into that very cell, sentenced to live in it for his entire life, which coincidentally did not last long after his betrayal.”

“Why is that?” Asalah asked, she and the other mares shivering slightly at the thought of being trapped in what was the last act if magic by an emperor-slaying unicorn. Did he starve himself to death, or did his magic come back and rip him to pieces? Strange things happened to magic when separated from their users; spells could become twisted far beyond their original form if left alone for far too long.

“Killed himself,” the second griffin said simply, almost sounding a bit happy as he said that. “Took him a few months, but he managed to saw off his own horn with a loose stone, sharpen it in secret, and then plunge it into his own heart. The pain of slowly filing through that living bit of bone must have been truly terrible, judging from the screams he was purported to have emitted in his sleep. That must have been the only time his self-control was at its weakest.”

“Haven’t other assassins throughout this city’s history been killed on the spot?” Spike asked. He didn’t questions others too much, but it seemed rather odd that this unicorn had been spared, if only to take his own life in a manner that brought a shiver to Spike’s spine.

“No, dragon: many were imprisoned, or a few pardoned, in the case of the emperor they slew being a total fiend to his country,” the second griffin said. “Our last emperor before the conquest by the Turks was a griffin, an heir to a bloodline that had originally been in charge of this city, but had then been subverted several centuries before. The line itself had been kept secret, safe, until at last they could return with as little bloodshed as possible. That emperor’s father was ruler for forty years before he grew too old and decrepit to rule fairly and justly, and his son took over.”

There seemed to be a token of sadness in the second guard’s voice. “He was just like his father, I’ve heard: fair, just, chivalrous, kind yet firm, and altogether unwilling to sacrifice his citizens for false glories and other nonsense. He... he was going to bring us greatness through peace, just like his father, and...”

“I take it you’re not exactly the biggest fans of your current lords?” Maria asked quietly. Her voice was soft and understanding, and yet it carried with it a sense of knowing just how these griffins felt. She knew of the hardships many of her own kind had faced at the hands of invaders over the centuries. For her, many of these events belonged in the distant past, but it was obvious these events were still fresh in the minds of griffins.

The two guards looked at her with a pair of curious expressions, almost as if both startled by her question and unsure if they should even be speaking to them at all. “Well... we are taken care of, and we are at peace,” the first guard started slowly. “It’s just... we griffins don’t have the same advantages we used to. We were hunters, gatherers, herdsmen and fishers: we supplied all of the meat-eating beings within a massive portion of the empire. The lands of Greece are our home, where many of us believe we first originated from. But...”

“We were reduced to second-class citizens after the fall of the Byzantine Empire,” the second guard replied. “The same went for our long-time allies in these lands, the minotaurs, which call Anatolia and many of the Grecian islands their home. Many simply fled these lands all those years ago, spreading to the four corners of the world, and from what I’ve heard well across the sea, to establish their own kingdom.” He sighed, in what seemed a wistful manner. “I heard a few of our kind did that so many years before, back when the Roamans were conquering everything in sight.”

“Yes, well, there is a Griffin Kingdom in Equestria,” Spike said slowly, as a creaking noise emanated from the far wall. “It’s-,”

“-none of our concern,” a sharp voice said, causing the two guards to stand at attention. In walked the griffin from before, her eyes sharp and her beak twisted into a bemused smirk. “So, been chatting with the prisoners, have we?”

“Yes- I mean, no ma’am, we just-,” the first guard sputtered, only for a raised hand to cut him off.

“I did not say it was against the rules to converse with them,” Myrrina said, looking over the prisoners as if herself curious about them. “In fact, it is a good thing that you do, so that we may learn more about them. I just came to check on you, and to make sure Hyginus hadn’t showed up: has he, by chance?”

“No, ma’am: none have shown up today besides ourselves, and you,” the second guard said. “Shall we inform you if he does drop by?”

“Yes: be sure to do that as soon as you can,” Myrrina said. “I don’t want him anywhere near these prisoners, especially the mares.” She glanced over at the five in the cell, who seemed rather intrigued and mortified by her tone of voice. They had no idea just how much of a monster Hyginus could be when he was alone with prisoners. “Unless I come in, or the guards I send to relieve you do, I want not a single being alone with them: understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” the guards said in unison, saluting her with utmost respect. “Stand firm.”

“Live well,” Myrrina said, the phrase of her culture holding much more significance to her and the guards then the five prisoners could even begin to understand. Turning around after her own return salute, she closed and locked the door behind her, leaving the seven of them behind.

Strolling out of the very foreboding-looking prison building, Myrrina walked down the steps leading up to it, only to find the griffin she had left behind feeding a few errant pigeons. Sighing at the griffin’s antics, she watched the pigeons fly away when she approached.

“Mother, you know I don’t like this part of the city,” the young griffin said, the smile on her beak betraying her tone as being nothing more than fake whining. “I wish the prison was down by the water’s edge: at least then I could go swimming whenever I want. Maybe the prisoners could go for a swim too, huh?”

“Ah, Eutropia, if only I had had your sense of humor when I was your age,” the griffin said with a small laugh, clasping her daughter on the shoulder and hugging her close. Together, they walked on, their home not too far from the prison. “I told you, prisoners would try to escape far too often from that prison if there was water right next to it.”

“I know, I know, I’m just curious as to why no prisons were ever near water,” the younger griffin said as they walked along.

“Well, when you get old enough to understand, you’ll likely have your own clutch of hatchlings to attend to,” her mother said with a small smile. “Authority can make ponies and others think crazy things, and even I have trouble understanding such plans and ideas from time to time. Most of it's above my pay grade, anyway, so don't think too long on it, my sweet.”

Eutropia was somewhat of an oddity, even for a griffin. Firstly, she did not have good social skills outside of her family: griffins were almost notorious for introducing themselves to others and trying to be friendly. Sure, there were a few exceptions, but they were the ones that exemplified the others. Eutropia, on the other hand, had a very cold and/or dispassionate way of dealing with strangers, something she had inherited from neither her mother nor father.

Secondly, Eutropia was a great flyer, but was not a quick climber. There was nothing wrong with her in any aspect of climbing, but unlike the rest of the griffin race, which had evolved to learn how to climb if their wings were hurt or the conditions in their mountainous homes was unfavorable, Eutropia grew weary and exhausted after only a few minutes of climbing. She could run plenty fast, faster than most griffins, but her lack of social skills and her weakness in climbing had made her somewhat of an outcast among the other griffins her age. As such, she usually only spent her time training in the armory, or swimming, or flying; in those areas, she excelled.

She was her mother’s daughter all right, from the way she carried herself, to the way she had a particular passion for the simpler things in life. But there still was a small bit of her father inside the young griffin, something Myrrina was glad existed.

She missed him.

“Mother, is something wrong?” Eutropia asked, looking up at her mother with a curious expression. Her mother’s silent smile had gone away, like the last vestiges of spring as the year progressed into summer. It was subtle, incredibly so, but to her it was blatantly obvious.

“What? Oh, um,” Myrrina said slowly, regaining her composure after losing herself in her thoughts. “Just... just thinking was all.”

“About father?” the much younger griffin asked as they passed several merchants selling some fruit.

Myrrina sighed: there was that bit of her father in her. Sharp, inquisitive, able to read others like an open book: no wonder he had been the sultan’s most prized spy and assassin. “Yes, Eutropia, it was about your father. How many years has it been since his passing?”

“A week from now, it’ll have been seven years,” she said softly, not sounding upset, but not the sort of thing one would say in a happy tone. “I miss him, though the pain isn’t what it used to be. Is that normal?”

“More than you think, my sweet hatchling,” her mother said, pulling her close once more as they finally arrived at their home. “To feel pain, even in diminished ways, is proof you are alive. Physical or not, it is your own: not a single thing in this world can truly change you from what you are.”

“And what am I?” Eutropia asked as they walked inside, making sure to firmly lock the door behind them. In this part of the city, crime was nearly nonexistent, but a closed door would keep out the few honest thieves.

Myrrina smiled and pulled her daughter in for another hug, ruffling up the feathers on her head as she did so. “A griffin of Sparta, heir to a tradition older than any Turkish pony can imagine. But more importantly, you are my daughter. Nothing will ever change that, be it time or distance.”

The younger griffin chuckled as they went to the family room, a space others might think of as a living room. It was a place for gatherings, both great and small, and one where conversations were held in any manner, be they private or public. Waiting for them was Myrrina’s own mother, a shriveled old griffin by the name of Ligeia. She already had three cups of steaming tea waiting for them, an import from the East that griffins had taken a rather strong liking to.

“Hello mother,” Myrrina said as she and her own daughter sat down. “How was today at the market?” Ligeia ran a small fruit stand during the middle of the day, if only to be able to listen in on gossip and still manage to sell some fruit to youngsters.

“Good,” was all the old griffin said, her voice soft and low. She wasn’t terribly old as griffins went, but the years of her working out in fields and forests, compared to her daughter mostly working in buildings for the government, had prematurely aged her. That, and her clutches of eggs had always been numerous in number: Myrrina had a large extended family, though most of them still lived back home in Sparta. “Tell me about yours.”

Myrrina sighed: her mother had always been rather harsh, even if she was an entirely lovable griffin. She’d have thought time away from the fields and forests and the hardships within them would have mellowed her out a bit, but not Ligeia: tougher than nails and about as abrasive as glass shards, even if she didn’t mean to be. “Well, as you know, there are five new prisoners in the dungeon; foreigners, from the look of things, and rather interesting ones at that.”

“How so?” Eutropia asked, politely taking her own cup of tea from her grandmother’s outstretched talons.

“Well, the most interesting one is a dragon from Equestria with four wives, as documented in a few of his travel papers,” the griffin said, glad for once she’d been able to “officially” swipe a few of the documents before they had been hauled off to storage for later examination. She felt nothing wrong with spying on these individuals, especially if it meant going through their stuff: she was just doing her job, however difficult it may be, and any bit of information she could learn on these five might help her understand their true intentions. “He’s around your age, my dear, but other than that, I wasn’t able to find anything else out about him before the majority of the five’s travel papers were sealed away.”

“A dragon? I didn’t think dragons traveled in this part of the world anymore, what with our empire’s views on them,” Eutropia said, taking a sip of her tea. “What is he like?”

“I bet he’s good-looking,” Ligeia said softly, stirring a few cubes of sugar into her own tea. The youngest griffin in the room snickered at that, while Myrrina just sighed in exasperation.

“Mother, that’s hardly appropriate,” the captain of the guard said.

“Appropriate nothing: it wouldn’t hurt for my granddaughter to start looking for a nice griffin to settle down with,” the oldest griffin said, casting her eyes upon Eutropia. “Half of her cousins are already married and caring for clutches: why not she?”

“Because I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, mother, Eutropia does not need to be saddled with eggs so early in her life,” Myrrina said. “We live in a city, where too many hatchlings are a detriment to one’s livelihood, unlike the countryside. Besides, it’s cramped enough in the city: do you really think this house could support a couple of rambunctious hatchlings?”

“Well, getting married can be a blessing too, my daughter,” Ligeia said, taking a long sip of her tea. “Take for instance this dragon you mentioned: you said he had four wives, no?”

“Yes, I did, though how that connects to all of this remains unclear,” Myrrina replied. Her mother could be stubborn at times; stuck in the “old ways”, as some of the other city-dwelling griffins had said. The more grandchildren she had, the more she could visit and/or spoil them. It was like a drug to Ligeia, to see her line grow so vast in her lifetime.

“Well, I should like to hear about these four mares,” the old griffin said, glancing at her granddaughter. “I’d like to hear of at least someone who’s young and married.” Ligeia was an old coot, for sure, and an outsider might have seen this comment as something rude, but Eutropia knew better: her grandmother loved her very much, and meant nothing by those comments.

Little did she know just who else was listening in on their conversation, or else she might have not told her mother anything. A hooded figure, pressed up against the bars of their shut window, managed to hear almost everything through the small cracks in the woodwork. Silently leaving, they quickly made their way across the city, passing through shadows as though they were part of them.

Arriving at a rather decorated palatial estate, the figure scrambled up the side, the tresses holding up baskets of flowers providing a very easy method of climbing. Hopping inside through the open balcony, the figure removed the hood and looked around.

“Right on time,” a voice said, causing the figure to turn around slowly. Dressed in his day clothes, Devrim walked over to the spy in his employ. His day clothes, of course, were worth more money than a griffin guard might make in a year, but he didn’t care; he was the sultan’s nephew, and as such had access to funds other ponies could only dream of. “I take it your mission was a success?”

“As always,” the spy said, clasping his employer’s forearm as a sign of respect and comradery. The two of them had known each other for a very long time, so it was only fair that Devrim contacted him first whenever he had a job in need of being completed. “I take it you wish to hear of it?”

“Yes, yes, of course: tell me everything,” Devrim said as the pair sat down in two comfortable chairs. “What news could you find about the dragon and his group? The bureaucracy prevents even me from finding his papers, and I knew that griffin captain couldn’t resist looking over even a little bit of it, if only for security reasons.” He paused for a moment. “I take it she’s rather open-lipped with her close relatives?”

“Incredibly so, sir,” the spy said. “I doubt she’d even tell her most trusted guards as much information as she told her family.”

“Well, go on them: tell me everything,” Devrim said.

The spy cleared his throat before he began. “Well, as you know, the dragon, called Spike Dragul, is a citizen of Equestria. That was really all I could gather, since most of his papers must have been locked up before our clueless captain could look through them. He has four wives: two unicorns, a zebra, and some rather odd-looking pony that the griffin believes to be a changeling, called Chrysalis.”

“A changeling? I thought they were just a myth, told to scare little ponies to bed,” the sultan’s nephew said, sounding rather surprised. “I never thought they were actually real.”

“Well, according to the griffin, they most certainly are real,” the spy said. “One unicorn, named Trixie, is from Equestria as well, but the other is from Spreign, judging from her accent. Her name is Maria.”

“Ah, this Spike fellow must be traveling around the world looking for wives to add to a herd,” Devrim said, cackling slightly. “Let me guess: the zebra is from north Africa?”

“Exactly,” his spy replied. “Out of the four, Asalah, that being her name, remains the only one who is not yet pregnant.”

“Ah, seems our dragon visitor has been awfully busy during his travels,” the sultan’s nephew said. “Tell me, did the griffin say anything... unusual to her family, concerning our prison’s guests?”

“Not terribly so, though she did mention the changeling seemed rather... unsettling,” the spy said. “She mentioned how at times, the changeling would close her eyes and mutter to herself, as if trying to cast a spell or something. It wouldn’t work, anyway: they are in the special cell, as pertaining to your cleverly-suggested orders.”

“Well, we have no idea to what extent a changeling’s abilities are, so it would be best if we kept an eye on her,” Devrim said softly. “Other than that... did the griffin seem trustworthy?”

“She’s not going to set them free by abusing the system; that much, I can tell,” the spy said. “She is far too invested to risk her career and the safety of her family to do such a thing. Her mother seems intent on the granddaughter, Eutropia, marrying at some point in the near future, but other than that... the trail turns cold.”

“Well, I am sure more information about these travelers will make itself known in time, but for the moment, we must turn our attention elsewhere,” Devrim said, glancing out the window. “Tell me, how goes my plan?”

“It is proceeding ahead of schedule, and in total secrecy,” the spy said in an almost gleeful tone. “However, your father’s death last year did throw things into a bit of a mess.”

“Yes, well, he didn’t know what we were planning, even though it revolved around him and myself,” Devrim said. His father had been a misguided soul: foolish, short-sighted, complacent in the empire’s peace and tranquility with its belligerent neighbors. But he had been his father, a stallion whom he loved very dearly, and even though Devrim’s plans were better off without him, it had still been a deep wound to have lost him to the plague that had swept through that small portion of the city the year before. “With my uncle not having any heirs as of yet, and my own line secure enough for my rise, all we need to do is... push things in the right direction, and I shall become sultan.”

“Of course, your highness,” the spy said. “And with you at the reigns, the world will witness our ascension to new realms of power and glory.”

“Indeed it will, my faithful spy,” Devrim said, his smile wicked and utterly devilish as the two chuckled in unison. “Indeed it will.”

Meanwhile...

Deep within the bowls of the Changeling’s fortress capital city, a long-sealed section of the catacombs was beginning to stir with life. During times of war, any and all changelings could join and serve in the armed forces. However, when the queen herself was threatened, a special section of the military was bred with certain talents instilled into their very flesh.

The Censcorpions were the most feared forces the changelings could ever put to battle. Taller, stronger, faster than any changeling, they were bred for two things: battle and magic. In these there were few equals in the entire world, and fewer still had ever faced them. But the price of their existence was that they could only serve for a short period of time, a few weeks at the most, and then they would have to rest deep within the bowels of the queen’s capital city. To keep them up to date, they were connected to organic tubes that imparted all new information that could help them in a future battle. Tactics, spell types, coordinating maneuvers: it was instilled into them, even though their own minds had long since become one large collective mind.

However, something had been happening to them over the past few months that no changeling other than Chrysalis could have expected. The mingling of dragon and changeling blood in her womb had created new life, life unseen before by the world. As such, Spike’s innate dragon properties had begun to be passed on to the rest of the changeling species, something none of them could have foreseen at the time. It was slow and gradual for the species as a whole, usually being present in newer foals being birthed every day, but for the Censcorpions, it was different entirely. These creatures, for lack of a better word, were mentally connected to the well-being and mind of the queen, and only awoke when she gave the order. Due to their deep and innate connection, the mingling of their queen’s blood with that of a dragon had brought forth within them a change that was quick and frightening, even to other changelings.

As such, when they emerged from the catacombs deep within the fortress, many changelings fled in fear, hiding as they passed by; not a single one tried to stop their advance towards the surface. Upon reaching the surface and spreading their forked insect wings, the large group of Censcorpions began flapping. Like a thunderstorm rumbling across the plains, the beating of their wings echoed across the lands, sending chills up the spines of any creature unfortunate enough to be able to hear and understand what it meant.

As one solid mass, the ensemble of nightmarish creatures rose into the air and flew off, heading in a straight line for where their queen was imprisoned. It would be some time before they arrived, but when they did, all of Istanbul would learn a very powerful, and painful, lesson.

It is not wise to anger a changeling queen; it is downright stupid to do so when she is carrying a foal.

Meanwhile...

Chrysalis opened her eyes, only to find it was nighttime in Istanbul, and by the light of the dim torches in the prison, she could see Spike watching her carefully. The others had fallen asleep, but Spike must have known something was off.

“Chrysalis, just what were you up to?” the dragon asked from where he was laying, propped up on one arm on the admittedly not-uncomfortable cots they had been given to sleep on.

“Contacting some of my species to come rescue us,” she said simply.

Spike blinked a few times. “You can do that? Why haven’t you used it before? That sure would have come in handy several times on this trip, you know!” He could have named several occasions when such a thing would have saved them a lot of trouble: in the baron’s fortress in Prance, out in the Samarea Desert, off the coasts of East Africa when those pirates attacked...

“Spike, we’re thousands of miles from home: even the fastest pegasus wouldn’t reach us for a few days, and the ones I summoned are not the fastest things with wings,” the changeling queen said softly, laying on her side as she readjusted the pillow that the others had given her.

“Chrysalis, are the changelings going to war with the Ottomare Empire?” Spike asked softly. It was barely a question: almost an accusation, if he were capable of actually feeling accusatory towards her anymore. He needed to know, since if that was the case, he’d have to prepare for the worst. There was no telling how bad things could get if Chrysalis decided her species was going to war with an empire half a world away that was known for incredible brutality both on and off the battlefield.

“No, my kind are not going to war with the beings of Istanbul and the lands they control,” the mare muttered as she began to fall asleep. Awakening and summoning her most loyal servants from half a world away had taken its toll on her remaining energy reserves. “They are simply going to...help us escape.”

As her eyes closed, Spike lay back down on his cot, his mind jumbled with thoughts even as his own eyes began to close from exhaustion. That powder... whatever had been in that smoky substance that had subdued him before, it had done something to his internal dragon systems. He felt... sleepy, far more often, and his energy just didn’t seem up to par with what it had been. Would he continue to feel like this, or worse, would it continue to increase in severity?

He’d ask that guard captain as soon as he could. Right now, he needed to try and find a way to escape. But how to escape a cell impervious to all forms of magic, especially with four mares, three of them pregnant, in tow?

His mind was not at ease as he slept, the darkness of the night enshrouding the entire city in a thick blanket. Little did Spike and the rest of the city, save for a few malicious individuals, know just how bad things would get.

Author's Note

Well, published this technically on my birthday, so yay for me! 22 years old, and still kicking!

...man, I still have a long way to go. XD

A little bit of information for the confused among you: the term "Censcorpions" is an played off the words Centurion and Scorpion. Why? Because why not? Roman terms and arachnids combine to form awesomeness!

Just like Ultron, or maybe Bruticus.

A Breach in Protocol

Chapter Forty Five

A Breach in Protocol

The sun that rose over the city of Istanbul was as bright and cheery as ever, even though the clouds moving in from the mountains were definitely not friendly in appearance. Due to the location of the sea and the city’s borders, any storms that managed to gather enough strength before striking usually continued to rage far longer than storms further in the countryside. Perhaps this was why the docks along the more windy side of the city has more posts with which boats could anchor themselves; it was insurance against disaster.

Inside the enchanted (or cursed) cell, one figure in particular wasn’t feeling terribly well. Spike had barely felt any hunger since he and his wives had been more or less thrown in prison, and now he felt... unnatural. His scales had even started to lose a bit of their usually vibrant purple color, and his spines were becoming a bit more gray than their usual green. His body felt weak, and his mind, while still sharp, was beginning to feel fatigued by something he had no knowledge of.

The dragon coughed slightly, muffling it with one of the few small blankets he had allotted himself after making sure his wives were properly covered. He had no idea what was happening to him; it wasn’t a change of some kind, and dragons, sick or not, couldn’t catch the usual diseases of other creatures, like feather flu, cutie pox, rabies or pneumonia. No, dragons had their own set of unique diseases, usually having something to do with their scales, fire breath or eyesight. Spike had studied many of these diseases under his tutelage of Princess Luna, and for the life of him, knew none that had symptoms like this. He was growing weaker, sickly, and felt as though he wanted to do nothing more than sleep. This was not a disease destined to just get better with time; this, he could somehow innately tell, would just keep getting worse until he... until he...

No; he didn’t want to think of where that road would lead. He couldn’t contemplate his wives and future foals being left alone in this world, with no dragon to look after them. He had to find a way to stop whatever malady was afflicting him, before he grew too weak to really do anything about it. If he became too sick to travel, then in the ensuing months (assuming they were even released before then), his wives would grow only more and more labored with their foals. If they gave birth in this dungeon, or even so far away from his home, he would never forgive himself.

He had to know what was happening to him. He shivered as he slowly sat up, facing in the direction the guards would be. They were not there that morning, but instead in the room adjacent to the cell room. He had to speak with one, but not wanting to wake his wives, he decided to wait it out, coughing into the blanket again to muffle the noise. It was a terrible, retching cough, the kind lepers and those with some sort of plague usually made. Spike, being neither of these, sounded like he were dying instead; a fair observation, had anypony actually been observing him.

All the dragon could do now was wait for the guards to arrive and perhaps tell him what was wrong with him.

Meanwhile...

Slavers along the coast of north Africa, close to the boundary waters of Spreign, had once again struck along the coastlines of southern Europe. A small fishing village, one of many that sold their wares in larger cities farther inland, had been raided in broad daylight, though the cover of fog that had blown in had surely helped these slavers in sneaking up unannounced. The mares and foals had been lightly beaten and toyed with, and a few taken as slaves; the majority of the stallions had either been enslaved or mercilessly beaten. These simple folk had almost nothing with which to defend themselves, so it was no surprise that nopony was killed in the melee; none of the slavers had even been hurt.

On the deck of the boat that the slavers transported their “wares” in, the captain looked over some of the future merchandise. These were hard-working folk, and would fetch a hefty sum from some of their more regular clients. Some of the mares, especially, would be sought after by other pirate captains as personal slaves for their amusement, a fate more often worse than death.

“This is the best of them?” he asked his first mate.

“Yes sir; the rest are down below, in the cargo hold,” the nasty-looking stallion replied. “Should we put these down there with them?”

“See that you do: use ropes to tie them up. I don’t want them damaged from any chains, or else they’ll be worth less than what they should be,” the captain snarled as he watched the line of merchandise be led down into the ship’s bowels. “Leave the one with the blond mane for myself.” She was indeed a beautiful mare; young, firm, and most likely a virgin. A perfect little treat for a scoundrel like him to take advantage of. He watched as she struggled against her bonds, tied to a small piece of railing alongside him; soon, soon.

The weather would likely take a turn for the worse in a few hours, judging from some clouds in the east. Lucky for him the ship was still anchored within sight of the village they had just plundered, where deep currents and large waves would not be too troublesome, and he could almost imagine some of the more daring and foolish stallions still on shore trying to come up with a way to save their friends and family. Pathetic infidels, they would-

He heard the scout up in the crow’s nest give a shout of warning. Looking up and to the west, he saw in the distance a black cloud that seemed to be moving against the wind. It was constantly changing shape and apparent density, something he knew was impossible for clouds to do.

Upon the cloud getting too close, he screamed in alarm as the rest of his crew, upon returning from securing the captives down below, came up to see what the scout had shouted about.

They too, upon seeing the seething mass barreling down on them, screamed out in alarm and made for their weapons, spears, shields and swords and all the panoply of war. They were born and raised as warriors and had a long career of raiding and pillaging. They were experienced, mostly fearless and utterly ruthless when it came to a fight.

They never stood a chance.

It was only a few minutes later that a few small rowboats came out from the village, the few stallions in them armed with a few makeshift clubs and torches. Upon approaching the vessel, they clambered aboard, ready for a fight. Instead... they found no resistance, no slavers willing to fight for their cargo. They could hear cries of relief from below, as their fellow villagers had seen them through the cracks in the ship’s lower windows.

As they walked around the deck, all they could find and step in were obscene amounts of blood and guts, the sight of which made several of the stallions puke over the side of the boat. A limb here, a limb there, bone and bits of matted pelt lying around like the slavers had been ripped apart; surely they had been. Only, other than the bits and pieces here, and the sheer amount of blood coating the decks, and the hull, and the captain’s cabin, and the sails... there was no sign of the slavers.

One of the villagers walked over to a huddling mass, and found the one he had been looking for the most; his beautiful blonde-maned daughter. “What happened here?” he asked softly as he helped her up. Curiously, she had been on the deck, but the blood that covered her wasn’t hers. She appeared unharmed, and most strangely of all, her ropes had been cut by something before they had even arrived.

“D-d-demons,” she stuttered, her wild-eyed look like that of one who had stared death and madness in the face. “Great, b-black, w-w-winged demons.”

“What do you mean?” her father asked as the rest of the villagers wound their way up from their brief captivity down below. “Who did this?”

“T-they came from t-the west, and one s-spoke to m-me,” she said, sounding as though she would faint. If the creatures hadn't been utterly terrifying, she might have thought of them as roguishly handsome. “It a-asked me the way e-east, and I t-told it.” As if to validate her point, she pointed east, towards a great city far beyond the horizon.

“Why?” her father asked as she fell limp in his arms.

“V-vengeance, it said,” was all she said in reply.

Back in Istanbul, the pair of guards from the day before had managed to finally return to their posts, upon which Spike had immediately tried to engage them in conversation. It took a bit longer than last time, but eventually they listened to him speak of his symptoms, to which they simply said...

“Sounds like you inhaled more of that powder than we thought,” one said. “Though, I can tell you now, you’re not going to die.”

“Oh, really? That’s such a relief,” Spike said, his words truly earnest.

“Yes, well, don’t be too hasty in celebrating that good news,” the other guard said. “You might say that death could be preferable, depending on your pain tolerance.”

“What? What do you mean, pain tolerance?” Spike asked.

“You dragons; your species is a curious one,” the first guard said. “So strong, so long-lived, so wise and powerful and able to adapt, and yet for all that, you have weaknesses like no other. Your greed and wrath at any slight are the usual ones, but your biology works against you now.”

“How? In what way?” the dragon asked, wondering just what these two griffins meant.

“That powder that as used on you was the dried up dust of the bones belonging to that dragon who crushed this city’s walls all those years ago,” the second guard said. “In dragons, inhaling the dust of another’s bones isn’t a taboo, but it is highly advised against. The act of doing so severely weakens the dragon in question, giving them sickly symptoms unlike any other disease. Dragon hunters in the past often used this tactic to weaken their quarry enough to kill them without too much trouble, as a fully enraged and healthy dragon is indeed a very hard creature to kill, if not outright impossible to deal with.”

“So... this bone dust... what it’s doing to me... I won’t die?” Spike asked.

“No, but you will experience terrible pain instead,” the second guard said. “You may become irritable at first, followed by your brain’s natural instinct to lash out at whatever is causing you pain. Seeing as it is yourself that is causing this, and that your body will not be able to recognize that, it’ll want to lash out at the nearest being, no matter who they are.”

Spike’s eyes widened at that. “Oh no,” he whispered to himself.

“Then, after that, you’ll become so weak you’ll become lethargic and nearly catatonic, the last stage dragon hunters usually preferred to attack during to finish off their prey,” the first guard finished. “All in all, it’s a terrible thing to experience, from what I’ve heard.”

“Then... you can’t let my family be in this cell with me! They can’t be the unwilling targets of my body’s anger!” Spike said, concern of an all-time high filling his mind. “You must get your captain to move them to a different cell: any cell!”

“I doubt she’ll listen; she’s swamped with paperwork as it is, and transferring prisoners to another cell would only add more paperwork to her load,” the griffin said in reply. “Just because she’s good with that kind of work doesn’t mean she likes it.”

“Please,” Spike said, feeling he had no choice but to beg. Even if this sickness wasn’t destined to kill him, he’d never forgive himself if he hurt any of his wives in his soon-to-be addled state. “Please, at least tell her.”

“Fine, I’ll send her a note, but don’t get your hopes up,” the other guard said. “She’s probably dealing with something important even as we speak.”

“Such as?” a voiced asked, causing the three to look towards the prison’s main door. There, with the door wide open and a cloaked figure beside her stood Myrrina, a crooked smile on her face. “Did you forget I said that I would be swinging by the prison around this time? I needed to ask the prisoners a few more questions.”

“Please, I’ll answer everything you ask, just put my wives in another cell, any cell,” Spike said, his pleading causing the other two guards to roll their eyes. “I can’t put them in anymore danger now, and... please, just get them somewhere safe.”

The captain of the guard thoughtfully stroked her chin, her beak making a little clicking noise, as if she were in deep thought. “Well, dragon, I’m sorry to say, but the rest of the magic-proof cells in this city are currently being used,” she said. “It seems some of those troublesome unicorn dissenters that keep popping up have been getting caught more frequently, what with the more heavily-armed patrols the emperor has been sending out. I’m sorry; they’ll be staying with you for now.”

“But... but... but,” was all Spike could say, his heart sinking as his coughing threatened to spill out. “How... how can you be so... hollow?” he asked softly.

“Hollow?” the guards repeated, taking steps forward and placing their talons on their sheathed weapons. “You dare call the captain hollow? Have you any idea-,”

“No, guards, it is all right,” the captain said, walking forward and kneeling down to look the dragon in the eye. The figure next to her came forward with her and lowered their hood. A young griffin, likely around Spike’s own age; she had to be the captain’s daughter, as the resemblance was just too extreme to be coincidence. “Why do you call me hollow, dragon?”

“I know I’m a prisoner of the state, and by extension my family is, but... why must they suffer for being in my company?” Spike asked, desperation and utter helplessness giving way to inspiration and hope. He could see something in this griffin’s eyes, something he had not known any of the guards would feel: sympathy. He needed to appeal to her more compassionate side, even if it meant putting himself in a far more dangerous situation. “Your guards told me of what will happen when I continue to become weaker; I will become violent before I fall into a coma. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting my family, no matter how much I would no longer be in control of my actions. Please, please, for their sake, just... get them away from me, to someplace safe.”

The griffin’s apparent daughter kneeled down and whispered something into the captain’s ear, and a curious emotion flickered across the elder griffin’s face. Surprise? Concern? Realization? It was so hard for the dragon to decipher, as his own emotions were colliding within a clouding mind.

“What exactly are you willing to do in exchange for their safety?” Myrrina asked softly, the dragon’s pleading striking a chord deep within her. This was a family, and this dragon was willing to send his family away from him, truly for their own safety. Not many stallions or griffins in his position would do the same thing; they would be filled with a bravado of a foolish sort and insist they stay with their loved ones. This Spike knew he would be a danger and wanted to protect his family from everything, even himself; that alone was enough to make the captain want to keep this poor soul’s family safe.

But the fact that her daughter Eutropia, a griffin with no social skills and little discernible reason to do so, had whispered in her mother’s ear to offer her own room for the mares to stay in. Surprisingly to some, Myrrina had made sure her house would be large enough to support an extended family, and each room would comfortably fit at least four. Plus, the home was built like a fortress and would take so much effort to get in, most intruders would likely give up on such a foolish notion of breaking in just from looking at it.

“Anything,” Spike replied, his voice sounding even more sickly than when he had started this conversation.

She looked at her daughter, raising an eyebrow in a questioning manner. This wasn’t exactly illegal, but it would result in some questions on Myrrina’s part. Oh well; she was prepared to deal with the repercussions, and this dragon’s request was seeming more and more desperate and selfless by the minute. It was an admirable quality, to be honest.

“Are you sure of this?” she whispered to her daughter, wondering why Eutropia would even consider such a proposal. Ligeia wouldn’t mind in the slightest, but how would they prevent those mares from trying to escape?

Her daughter nodded, and Myrrina sighed. “Guards, the mares are coming with me, but I want no griffin, minotaur or pony to know where I have taken them understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” the two guards said, snapping to attention. One retrieved the keys as Spike’s four wives awoke.

“Spike? What’s... what’s going on?” Maria asked with a yawn as the door to the cell was unlocked. “Are... are we being sent home?”

“No; you four are going somewhere safe, far from this cell,” Myrrina said softly as she walked in and helped the four mares to their hooves. “your husband has made a very convincing argument to have you released into my custody.”

“Your custody? Why are we going with you? What’s happening to our husband?” Chrysalis asked as she and the other three were gently led out of the cell. The door swung back and was locked, sealing Spike in all by himself.

“He is ill, and does not wish for your four to catch what he has, or to suffer for it,” Myrrina said as she motioned to her daughter. The young griffin rushed over to a small cupboard, where she retrieved four robes and face scarves. “You will see him again, soon, but for now, we must hurry quickly; there are always eyes watching this prison, and I wish for you four to be somewhere safe, as does your husband.”

“Will he be taken care of?” Asalah asked as she was handed a robe. “What if we don’t want to leave him?”

“Go,” Spike said, looking up at his wives. He barely had the energy to do so, and couldn’t stand up anyway. “Go, be safe; we’ll be together again very soon, I promise you.”

The four of them said nothing, for they saw in their husband’s eyes something they couldn’t believe; sickness. Not of the mind, but of the body, and they could see now he had indeed grown sickly overnight. If he wanted them somewhere safe and away from him, if only to protect them, then they would do as he wished. Quietly they donned the robes and followed Myrrina and Eutropia out of the prison and into the light, their groggy minds still waking up from the night before.

“When will he be better?” Trixie asked the captain softly as they walked away from the prison. Of in the distance, thunder rumbled and arc of lightning danced across the gathering clouds.

“Soon; as I said, you will see him again, very soon,” the captain said. “Quickly, this way.”

As the four hurried after the two griffins, Chrysalis could feel a storm of another kind approaching the city, this one from the west. “We’ll see him again sooner than you might think, captain,” she thought to herself as they turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Meanwhile...

Deep within the bowels of the palace lay a secret set of rooms, only known to a select few servants and the sultan’s closest family members. Within one such chamber, a mare wailed loudly, her voice echoing off the stone walls. She was in labor, and had been for some time. It was not customary within the culture for her husband to be present, but the emperor was a kind and utterly selfless stallion, and even against the wishes of both his guards and the attending midwives, he was by his wife’s bedside, letting her squeeze his hand with all her might. He ignored what pain was transferred to him; the only thing that mattered was that his wife would survive this, and so would their child.

With one last great push, out slid a tiny foal, smaller than the stallion would have believed would come from his wife’s womb. It cried almost the instant it touched the cool air, its cries healthy and strong. “A good set of lungs, your majesty,” one of the midwives said as they wiped the infant clean and wrapped it in blankets to keep it clean.

“What is it?” the emperor asked, wiping the sweat and tears from his wife’s face.

“A son, my lord; an heir to the throne,” the midwife said, her smile reflected in her liege’s own.

“A son,” the stallion whispered into his exhausted wife’s ear, whose smile was weak but heartfelt. “We have a son, my dear.”

“Then make sure... he is safe,” she replied, laying her head back and closing her eyes as the little foal was placed in her arms. “Your nephew... I don’t trust him.”

“I never did, my dear,” the stallion said as he gently stroked his newborn son’s cheek. “I have been keeping tabs on him since he was just a child, and from the reports my spies have been sending me... he has been up to no good for these past few years. With the birth of our son, his claim on the throne has been all but erased. He will try to move quickly to eliminate the opposition. The only thing is, I shall strike first; he thinks me a fool, but I know what it takes to keep our empire and its citizens safe. If brutality is what he wishes, then it is what I shall give him.”

“Strike hard and strike fast, my dear husband,” the empress said softly as the little colt in her arms began to coo and snuggle against her. “Not for our empire, but for your son.”

“I will, my dear,” her husband replied, gently placing another kiss on her forehead and turning to leave. “I will.”

Upon closing the door behind him, he was greeted by three of his most loyal guards. They had all grown up together and were the best of friends; they would forsake their families for their emperor, something the stallion hoped would never have to happen.

“The foal?” one asked.

“A son, and your emperor” the emperor replied. “You all know what to do.”

“And of your nephew, should we capture him alive?” the guard asked.

“No mercy,” the new father replied. “He would have given none to me or my son, and as such, shall receive none. Ready the troops: we strike within the hour.”

“As you wish, your excellency,” the three guards replied in unison.

Meanwhile...

The storms to the east continued to approach, growing ever larger and more fearsome looking by the minute. They would likely be within the city by nightfall, and thus would provide the perfect cover for Devrim’s forces. Or at least, that was what the spy had told the emperor’s nephew.

“I always thought we should strike early as possible, before too many of the guards have been roused from their slumber,” Devrim said as he and the spy enjoyed the afternoon delights of several exotic dancers.

“No, I have learned from experience that striking too soon can doom a plan,” the spy said, orders unknown to the stallion across from him still drifting in his mind. Delay was the key, or else how else would the plan come to ultimate fruition? “Are your forces positioned correctly? That royal guard you own seemed awfully intent on seizing the prison for some reason.”

“He wants the mares of that dragon inside, and can have them when we are nearly finished with the day’s bloodshed,” Devrim replied. “The emperor has no idea of what is going to happen.”

“Of course not,” the spy said, lying through his teeth. In his profession, he could hire himself out to as many different employers as he wished, but at the end of every day, he was still loyal to his emperor, and as such had been designated to be the one to infiltrate Devrim’s inner circle. The fact that Devrim had paid him well for his own espionage activities was just a bonus. Thankfully though, his many years of such covert operations had given him the ability to be able to lie without giving any sort of hint he was indeed lying. “How could he know? He suspects nothing, and since he has no heir, he wouldn’t be looking for competitors within his own family.”

“You are right, my loyal friend,” Devrim said as the dancers continued to writhe before them. “Now then, about this zebra you brought with you; will he be joining Hyginus for the... festivities at the prison?”

“Most indeed,” the spy said, a bad taste in his mouth at the mention of the zebra. That ousted warlord could have been a great asset to the emperor if he had been willing to let go of his pain and hatred, but no; he clung to it, and the scars on his body were matched in severity only by his hatred of that poor dragon. He knew not why such an innocent creature would incur such wrath, and frankly, the spy didn’t want to know. “I must say, he is particularly looking forward to it, though the way he hides in the shadows all of the time is rather... unsettling.”

“Bah; merely some aspect of his religion or whatnot stating he must not be seen by the light for too long, lest his anger be destroyed by it,” Devrim replied. “A bunch of hogwash if you ask me.”

A rumble of thunder sounded in the deep, and a gust of wind out of the east put to rest any hope that the storm would arrive sometime during the night. Out in the city, ponies and griffins alike began closing up shop, barring windows and getting all of their wares inside. The few naga in the city did none of that, as they were from an area of the world where it would literally rain every day for months on end. To them, a single thunderstorm was nothing to be scared of, any more than a week-long rain shower. All they did was put up enough of a shelter to protect their outdoor goods from the coming storm, and continued on with their business, calling out to one another in their native hissing language.

Inside Myrrina’s house, the four wives of Spike huddled against one another in a room, the chill of the storm barely offset by the warmth of the blankets around them

“You needn’t fear the coming storm,” Eutropia said as she shut the door to her bedroom. “It will pass in due time.”

“It’s not the storm we fear,” Asalah said softly. “We fear for Spike; we’ve never seen him in such a state before, and Trixie here is the one who has known him the longest.”

“I’m not sure if ‘known’ is the correct word for this situation, but yes, I met him many years ago when he was so much younger,” the blue unicorn said. “It pains me to think of him all alone in that cell, but as you told us, there’s nothing we can do for him. I just wish there was.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” the young griffin asked a sharp bolt of lightning seared through the clouds high above. The rumble of thunder grew closer with each boom, and the winds had indeed picked up even more.

“You have no idea,” Maria said softly. “He would gladly give his life for us, and has rescued us from certain death several times. In any other instance, we would likely do the same for him.”

“But I’m guessing that would destroy him, no?” Eutropia asked. “He sounds like quite the husband to hold you in such high regards.”

“Oh, he is; he just doesn’t like to show it in front of strangers most of the time,” Asalah said softly as she slowly rubbed Chrysalis’s shoulders. “Chrysalis? Are you all right? You’ve been quiet almost this entire time.”

“They are coming,” the queen said, and for once in their whole trip, her voice was devoid of all emotion. In it’s place was something deeply troubling; like the enchanted voices of seers and fortune tellers, it carried with it a sense of an impending doom.

“Who are coming?” Eutropia asked, somewhat intrigued by the changeling. She had never seen one before and had plenty of questions to ask her.

“My legion,” the queen said, her emotionless voice still managing to convey happiness and severity. “This city will burn in the fires of conflict, and my legion shall watch from on high.”

“Is she okay?” the griffin asked, glancing between the two unicorns and the zebra mare. “Is she normally this cheerful?”

“I’ve never seen her like this: usually she’s mad, happy, or some emotion inbetween,” Maria replied. “Your mother said the prison was being watched; by whom, may we ask?”

“Likely some of the less honorable guards in her unit,” Eutropia replied softly. “You four are quite beautiful, even with three of you pregnant and your husband being the most feared creature in this section of the world. There are many stallions would love to have a piece of you; one in particular.”

“Who?” Trixie asked fearfully.

“That would be me,” Hyginus whispered to himself under the barred window of the room. They did not hear him, but he had been quiet enough to sneak up on the house under the cover of the storm. He would find a way in and have his fun. That zebra fellow who had been with him was nowhere to be seen; likely on his way to the prison to try and find a way inside. “That fool will get himself killed,” the evil guard muttered to himself. “Devrim should consider himself lucky he has a pony of my skill in his employ.”

Slinking around the outside of the house, he was not surprised he could not find a way in. Oh well: there was a nice hiding spot near the front door where he could weather the storm and wait for one to come outside. Then, oh then, he’d have his fun.

High above, swirling around in the dark clouds, was what appeared to be an even darker cloud. It moved with a purpose and seemed intent on one area of the city in particular as it soared around overhead. The Censcorpions had finally arrived, and with a small burst of their combined magic, the storm began in earnest, rain and wind pelting the massive city far below.

Istanbul would be at war with itself very soon, and in the midst of that, the greatest escape in the city’s history would commence under the watchful eyes of a foreign army.

Author's Note

Well, I found a small flash drive of mine I haven't used in a good two years, and transferred my newest chapter from there to here. Voila!

Prison Break

Chapter Forty Six

Prison Break

A sharp crack filled the air as a bolt of lightning thundered across the sky, the delay between the light and the sound almost nonexistent for the city down below. The bright flash of light illuminated almost every dark corner of the city, and in one such alley, a figure moved with a swift, silent purpose. His pelt color did wonders for camouflage, as the stripes served well to break up his outline whenever the light of the lightning shone where he was.

Undi did not care for the light of the lightning, just as he did not care about the wind that whipped around him or the rain that seeped through his clothes and into his very bones. The chill was kept at bay by a fiery torrent of rage in his heart, twisting and blackening his already corrupted soul. He had no qualms about killing the dragon; it was an eye for an eye, after all, that his son had perished at the hands of such a foul creature and that many of his soldiers had been granted a similar fate. No, this dragon was his alone to kill, and kill him he would.

The wives didn’t matter; let them stay and rot in this retched city, at the mercy of the bureaucracy and that ignoble guard. Their fate would be far worse than their mate’s, something that struck a chord of delicious irony in the zebra’s belly. All he truly cared about was the dragon and his vengeance, and as he found himself in front of the prison, he let his lips form a rather nasty sneer.

“This is it,” he whispered to himself, drawing from his pocket the key he had been given by Hyginus. Opening the door amidst the rumble of another peal of thunder, he closed it gently, the shadows from the flickering torches within more than giving him places to hide in. Stealthily making his way past the room where the two guards slept, he stood up straight as he found himself in front of the cage Hyginus’s master Devrim had told him of. There was no need to kill the guards; he would be silent enough to make sure his work went unnoticed, and he would leave, the guards none the wiser to his deed until it was too late.

“So, we meet again, Spike the dragon,” the warlord said softly, his anger and rage spilling forth from his lips with every syllable. “I knew I would find you again, and I know now you are weak; too weak to defend yourself, unlike the last time we met.” Hyginus had informed him of the dragon’s “problem”, and as such, had known now was the perfect time to strike.

All that emerged from the cell was a low groan, like that of a wounded animal in great pain and begging for death. This was accompanied by a series of coughs, like those of somepony who had spent the better part of their life inhaling smoke or coal dust from mining.

“Pitiful, that such a mighty creature of this world be brought so low by its own biology,” the zebra stallion said as it opened the cell door, the creaking of the hinges drowned out by the sound of the wind and rain lashing against the building. “If you hadn’t killed my son, and had instead injured him, I might have forgiven your transgressions. I may have even congratulated you for teaching him a valuable lesson.”

He smirked as he drew a dagger, short and carved from a talon of the great dragon that broke the city’s walls so long ago. “Maybe I would have just maimed you instead of killing you like some animal, to show my son that even our enemies when beaten can still be further dishonored.” As fragile as it was sharp, due to its severe age and apparent use, the dagger glinted in the light of every flash of lightning. Dragon scales, teeth and talons, after all, were the only things that could pierce the hide of a dragon without the aid of strong magic, and with a small stabbing motion, the zebra lunged, intent on inflicting as much pain as possible on his hapless quarry.

Only, when he struck, the dagger did not dig into scale and flesh and bone; his entire arm had been stopped at the wrist by some impossible force. In a flash of the lightning, Undi saw the dragon looking at him from the cold floor with a blank, cold stare. His taloned fingers had enclosed the zebra’s wrist, and with a rather terrible crunching noise, broke his assailant’s wrist in a crushing embrace.

The zebra let out a strangled cry from his scarred throat, but the dragon ignored it. He simply tossed the zebra away from him into the cell bars in an almost dream-like state, his eyes not seeing as the zebra’s did. No, as the dragon lurched away from the cell, his body moved on its own, without any real input from its brain. It was as if Spike were running on instinct now, yet without conscious thought or even primal input. No, it was if he were possessed by some spirit, a malevolent entity that did not care for the welfare of its host.

“Must... find... them,” the dragon croaked, shuffling away from his cell like a leper seeking shelter in a monastery. The zebra behind him did not rise to strike again, instead trying to no pass out from the pain of his shattered wrist. The storm outside continued to rage, but the dragon did not care.

Spike needed to find his family, and with them escape.

Meanwhile...

Devrim marched in the rain with his soldiers, with a purpose that caused the watching civilians to close and bolt their shutters in fear. Lamps were extinguished and doors locked as more and more of the stallion’s troops came out of the shadows to join their master. They had all been promised riches and glory, the right to command troops and armies in his name when he would sweep over his neighbors and return glory to their empire. Very tempting offers, to be sure, and many of these had been raised at their grandfather’s knees on the legends of conquest and glory. Just like their chosen master, none knew the real price of war.

Turning a corner, Devrim found himself face to face with a wall that had not always been there. Instead, the wall moved and shifted apart; it was indeed a wall, but a wall of shields. None of his soldiers had shields like these: great tower shields with large knobs embedded into their center to bash apart enemy shields. These great defenses were those of the Janissaries, his uncle’s personal guard, a rank and position higher even than a regular captain of the guard could hope to attain.

“Devrim! This madness ends!” a voice shouted, and the prince was indeed surprised to see none other than his spy emerge from the shields, alongside a very heavily-armored individual.

“What madness would that be? Have you turned traitor to your cause?” Devrim shouted back, earning a rather nasty set of insults from his more rambunctious troops towards the shield wall. “Here I thought you were made of sterner stuff, but it appears I was deceived! No matter to me!”

“It is you who have turned traitor, you foolish whelp!” the heavily armored figure said, and in an instant, the prince knew who it was. He actually let loose a small chuckle, a bitter sound that would have sent many a lesser stallion grabbing for his weapon in fright.

“Ah, uncle, I thought you might be behind something like this,” Devrim replied, drawing his sword from his scabbard. “Tell me, did you not think I might have expected you to catch whiff of my plan? This army of mine is infested in the entire city; even should I be captured, my troops will be sure to make sure your victory is short and I am returned to the throne as this empire’s rightful ruler.”

“Really now? You mean the paltry few I had killed or imprisoned these last few hours?” the emperor asked, his own guard deathly silent as they watched the proceedings. “Your “army” is but what you have with you now: there will be no reinforcement coming to join your rebellion, Devrim. Lay down your arms, and both your army and you shall be spared.”

“Oh, uncle, didn’t you ever learn from history? If somepony wants something bad enough, they will never stop until it is theirs! We will not back down with our tails between our legs: we will fight, and we shall win!” Devrim shouted, earning a cheer from his troops. “My army is far vaster than you think, my connections spreading across this city. Even as we speak, my agents are working their way into the very heart of the bureaucracy, in ways you cannot even imagine! I-,”

“Now!” the loyal spy said, and from behind and to the sides of Devrim’s forces, Janissaries poured out of the streets and alleyways, their shields and swords glinting in the flashes of lightning and rain. The prince’s own forces met them headlong, but had been surprised and were surrounded. The battle was not short, and was indeed bloody. Arrows rained from the rooftops, along with javelins and crossbow bolts from the archers and skirmishers that had taken up position there.

“Fall back!” the prince shouted, watching in horror as his loyal minotaur servant Tycho fell, several bolts sticking out from between the plates of his armor. There was so much blood, so much screaming and shouting, so much noise from the clashing of steel; it was madness!

Blood poured down the streets in rivers as the prince and his ever-shrinking army fled, only to meet walls of spear, shields and swords at every corner. Arrows continued to fall in time with rain, pouring into the huddled mass of rebellious troops, with Devrim at their center. Steel met steel, swords were broken, shields splintered, and countless dead began to littler the streets as the rebellion continued. The hundreds were whittled down to dozens, and the dozens down to a paltry few, until at last Devrim was the only one left, his back to a fountain as the emperor and his personal guard closed in all around him.

“I am your kin, you cannot kill me!” Devrim shouted, his arms weak from all his stabbing and slashing and his lungs gasping for breath. Such exertion was something he had never done before, and why would he? He was a prince; the price of war on the body was never discussed in all of those books he had read when he was younger. “You would not kill your own flesh and blood!”

“You would not have thought the same of my son, should your places have been reversed,” the emperor said, his sword glinting in a flash of lightning. “Tell my brother I said hello when you see him... in Tartarus.”

Realization of his uncle’s ultimate deception dawned on Devrim’s face just as the sword struck with blinding speed, and with a look of incredulity and finality, the severed head flew off of the former prince’s shoulders and into fountain like some grisly offering. The body, still clutching the sword in one hand, fell to its knees and then slumped over at the hooves of the emperor. The rain continued to pour in sheets as the stallion walked past the body, grabbed the head out of the water by its soaking mane, and lifted it to the sky, giving a roar of triumph. His own troops echoed his cry, a sound that carried on the wings of the thunder until it was heard throughout the city.

On the same night the rebellion had begun, it had ended.

The emperor shoved the soaking head on a pike and gave it to one of his guards, if only for him to display it on the castle ramparts as a symbol of what happened to those who plotted the deaths of the innocent. It was custom all over the world, after all.

“My lord, we bring news of the raid on Devrim’s home base within the city,” a captain of the guard said, walking up to his emperor as the royal stallion sat beneath an overhanging tarp. The emperor was not in as good of shape as he had once been, but he had been more than a match for his younger and foolish opponent. Still, he wanted to be out of the rain for a little while longer before returning to his wife and infant colt.

“Speak, Captain Titus,” the emperor said.

“We have a list of Devrim’s co-conspirators, though we have yet to look over the list thoroughly,” Titus said. “Captain Myrrina was the one who found it and gave it to us, but soon after, she disappeared.”

“Let me see the list,” the emperor said, accepting the scroll from the captain’s outstretched hand. Hmm, that was interesting: names upon names, and one near the bottom of the list caught his attention. “Well, it seems here my nephew was keeping a tab on my captain, though he did not specify why.”

“Shall we detain her, my lord? Out of caution?” Titus did not sound anxious to do so, as it was known he was a friend of Myrrina’s but his training and loyalty had never been called into question, and as such, he was willing to whatever his emperor commanded.

“Yes, but do so carefully, and without violence: should she give herself up, she is to be treated fairly and without consequence, understood? She is a valuable asset to this city, after all.” He was a fair and reasonable emperor, after all, and few of his guards could handle the paperwork as well as Myrrina. If she was a traitor, the loss of her would be a severe blow to the empire’s bureaucratic ways.

The captain nodded in reply and took off, several other guards following behind him.

Meanwhile...

Myrrina was running through the rain, her armor glinting as lightning continued to flash across the sky. She had long since sheathed her sword and tucked her short spear in the holster on her other hip, and while the weight usually was always a bit burdensome, her pace suggested she didn’t even feel her weapons’ weight.

Her name, her own name had been on that list, along with several dozen other she had recognized; merchants, guards, artisans, blacksmiths and countless city officials. Devrim had been keeping an eye on her especially, along with several other guards, and although she now undoubtedly looked guilty of being a co-conspirator, she knew what she was doing was the right thing to do.

She needed to get her daughter out of the city, far away from the troubles that would likely unfold after the dust settled from this little failed coup. Surely there were associates of Devrim’s still at large, unnamed and unknown to the emperor, and undoubtedly they would be looking for retribution for their master’s death. As such, anypony or griffin, in her case, would be a likely target, and her daughter’s life was far too precious for her to put in as great of danger as it would soon be in. It would be for revenge, plain and simple, and her daughter’s life would likely be in danger so long as she remained within their sights.

The second part was that even if she did turn herself in and was proven innocent, in the time it would take for Myrrina to come to trial, Eutropia would likely be seized as a suspect by some of the emperor’s less honorable inspectors and would likely be tortured for information, with her ultimate condition likely causing insanity or death. Inspectors were known to be utterly ruthless and vile, with their only saving grace that being of the emperor’s own choosing, and most of the time their true natures were so well-concealed that in the instance they were exposed, their usefulness often outweighed their savagery. Eutropia would never be able to stand up to them if they came calling, and Myrrina would be powerless to stop it.

But to get her daughter out of the city, Myrrina knew she would need companions to keep her company and to most of all, keep her safe. She knew of nopony or griffin in the city that could take her far outside of the borders of the Ottomare Empire in secrecy, and even if there were, a pair of griffins travelling would likely raise questions, especially if there was a sudden “anonymous” bounty for Eutropia’s capture. Money was always a motivating factor among the poor, and if her daughter was going to be safe beyond a shadow of a doubt, she’d have to travel in disguise, under the care of some inconspicuous strangers. The only thing was, whom could she trust?

Reaching her home, Myrrina burst inside and slammed the door behind her, making sure to lock it in an instant. The noise of her entry caused her daughter to come out of her room.

“Mother? What is going on?” she asked, having never seen Myrrina bring her armor home with her.

“You have to leave,” her mother replied, shaking off some of the excess water that clung to her like a sheet. “The city is no longer safe; you must leave Istanbul and head away from here, as far as you can.”

“But... but why?” Eutropia asked, sounding (and feeling) rather scared. She’d never seen her mother this serious before, and her tone was positively bone-chilling. Not even when she had been told all those years ago of her father’s death had her mother been this... cold.

“There’s been a rebellion, and the one who started it is dead.”

“But... isn’t that a good thing?” a voice asked, and the two griffins turned to see Maria poking her head out from Eutropia’s room. “Would that not be good for your empire that a traitor is dead?”

“It is, but he was apparently keeping tabs on not only me, but my family and many other citizens of Istanbul,” Myrrina replied, opening a closet and grabbing a traveling cloak. “The list was delivered to the emperor a short while ago and while I was never in anypony’s employ but my emperor’s, that list will serve as a means for his majesty to try and root out any collaborators of the traitor. Inasmuch, my family is at risk, and Eutropia needs to flee, if only for her own safety.”

“But where will I go? What will I do?” the younger griffin asked, stamping a foot as she wrung her talon-tipped hands. “I can’t just up and leave! I have nowhere to go, and I can’t go without you, mother!”

“You will have to,” Myrrina said, throwing the cloak into her daughter’s arms. “You must flee; your very life depends on it. The only things that can save you will be your wits and determination to live. Can you promise me you’ll never stop running until you are undoubtedly safe, that you will live a happy and free life far from me and this city? Eutropia... promise me, Eutropia!”

The griffin girl choked back a sob at her mother’s shout. “I-I-I promise, m-mother,” she stuttered, throwing her arms around her mother in a great hug. For a moment, the older griffin did nothing, but then soon returned the embrace, though it was a quick one.

“We can take her with us,” a voice said, and the two griffins turned to see the four mares looking at them from Eutropia’s room. “We can take her with us, to a safe place, far from this city,” Chrysalis said again, her voice surprisingly calm and regal, given the rather unsettling circumstances.

“How can I be sure of your intentions?” Myrrina asked. “You are prisoners of the state, and-,”

“And we’re the best chance your daughter has of escaping the Ottomare Empire,” Trixie said. “Traveling with Spike under his retinue, as is his entitled power as a future lord of Equestria, Eutropia would have diplomatic immunity wherever we stopped, and even then, we would have a dragon and three magic-users to help protect her.”

“I don’t need protecting...” Eutropia said under her breath, her voice trailing off as if embarrassed.

“How can I trust you? You’re not a mother; you don’t know what it feels like,” Myrrina snapped back.

“Oh? I don’t know?” Trixie said, placing a hand protectively over her belly. “You may be a mother now, but three of us will be mothers within the coming months. Trust us, we will do everything we can to keep her safe.”

“She has a point,” the younger griffin said quietly. She rather liked these mares, even though she had only known them for a short while.

“You are certain of this?” Myrrina asked. “I’m still not so sure about letting my daughter go off into this world with complete strangers.”

“Yet you were just so willing to let her go off on her own, without anything but the clothes on her back?” Asalah asked. “She will be far safer with us than she ever could be off by herself.”

The elder griffin looked from the four mares, to her daughter, and back to them again. This was an awfully big gamble: sure, her daughter would most likely be safe in the company of three magic-users and a dragon, but then again, the escape of these prisoners would be a tarnishing stain on her career as a captain of the guard. What would the other guards say whenever she had to preside over possible promotions? What would... oh, to Tartarus with all that nonsense.

“Then it is settled; Eutropia, you will go with these four mares and their dragon husband out of the country,” Myrrina said, looking he daughter straight in the eyes. “You are never to return to this city, but in time, I will find you again. Do you understand me?”

“Y-Yes, mother,” Eutropia replied, straightening up a little bit and biting back another small sob. “I... I will go with them.”

“Then dress quickly in these cloaks, for we do not have much time,” the elder griffin said, grabbing several more lumpy, thick cloaks from the closet. “They will keep you warm and dry from the storm, but we must get to the Boshorsus Straits as soon as possible.”

“Why?” Maria asked as she threw the thick cloak on over her clothes.

“This city extends to the other side, and if you are all to escape, we will need to find a ferry across, a tough thing to do in this storm,” Myrrina said. “The guards on the far side will not yet know of what has happened, or whom to look for should my daughter be listed as a suspect in the official investigation. As such, it will be the best place for you all to escape through. Eutropia, can you get them to the docks?”

“Where are you going, mother?” her daughter asked.

“I have to go release the dragon from his cell,” the captain said, her voice sounding grim. “If he is indeed at or past his lashing-out stage, he will be far too weak to travel far on his own. I will bring him to the docks; we must go now!”

The six of them, five dressed in heavy cloaks and the other in glinting armor, rushed out of the house just as another bolt of lightning arced across the sky. Myrrina watched as her daughter hurried off with the four mares, her own face grim as she set out towards the prison. Had she been looking back towards he daughter a little more, she may have seen a shadow moving along the streets in time with her...

“This is too perfect,” Hyginus muttered to himself as he slunk through the shadows like a wraith. Years upon years of perfecting the art of the stalk and the subsequent fun that came with its completion had honed him into something ponies were not meant to be: a predator. He had stalked countless mares from the city’s alleys and back passages, and knew most of the city like the back of his hand.

“They’ll just tire themselves out long before I reach them, and then, oh, then the fun will begin,” he muttered. Which one would he sample first? The changeling? She did have an exotic allure to her, though he could say the same about that zebra. The two unicorns would prove a tad more troublesome with their magic, but if he was fast enough, they too would be helpless. The griffin? Oh, the delicious irony of both claiming her and then taking her from her mother, his hated rival...

Meanwhile...

It did not take Myrrina long to reach the prison, but the instant she arrived, she knew something was wrong. The door had been broken down, with many splinters being carried away by the water rushing down the streets. Looking inside, she could see two things; one, the prison cell door was open and empty, and two, the dragon was nowhere to be seen.

“Where in Tartarus is he?” she wanted to shout out, but refrained from doing so. She glanced at the room where her guards were likely asleep; she could not alert them to this, as they too would be under suspicion of treachery if they were found to have helped her for something. No she would search for this Spike all by herself; she needed to find him, and fast.

Rushing out of the prison’s now-destroyed doorway, she looked around. In his addled state, there was no telling where the dragon could have gone off to, and-

“Hnnng,” a voice said, and turning, Myrrina could not believe her luck. There was the dragon, huddled on the ground in an alley right across from the prison. Thank the heavens he hadn’t made it farther than that, or else she might have never found him in time.

“Dragon, come with me, we need to leave,” Myrrina said, rushing over to the sickly drake. “Come on!”

“Hnnng,” the dragon said again, his voice sounding utterly wretched. He was clearly past the violent stage and was now nearing the comatose stage of his sickness. Soon enough, he wouldn’t be able to move himself, and with the weight of her armor already limiting her speed slightly, Myrrina knew carrying him down to the docks would be nigh impossible in this weather.

The captain had no time for this shit. Grabbing Spike, she pulled him to his feet and threw his arm over her shoulders to help support him. “Come on, dragon, we need to get to the docks. You want to see your family again, don’t you?”

That seemed to give the dragon a bit of energy, at least, for he stumbled along with her, managing to keep the pace, slow and stumble-prone it was. Turning a corner, the two of them set off down a sheltered alley, headed straight towards the docks. High above, lightning continued to flash as a dark cloud, far darker than the others, swirled closer and closer towards the city below.

Meanwhile...

“Come on! We’re nearly there!” Eutropia shouted, helping along the four mares as they ran through alleys and along large, empty streets. Asalah was having the easiest time, as she was not carrying a foal within her belly and came from a race long accustomed to running away from danger. Maria and Chrysalis were not far behind her, their pregnancies slowing them slightly but not by much. Trixie, however, being the one whose foal was the farthest along, lagged considerably behind the others, her heavy gasps showing just how burdened she was.

“Trixie, we need to hurry!” Maria said as they stopped under an abandoned warehouse, the utter absence of walls signifying they were indeed very close to the docks. Who needs walls in a building when goods are being moved in and out of it continuously? “We’re almost there!”

“I’m... I’m coming,” Trixie said, stumbling beside the others and barely managing to catch herself from falling. “I... I just need... a few minutes.... to rest.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a few minutes,” a voice said, and the five of them turned to see a guard standing there, his wicked smile glinting like his armor. “No, you’re all going to be here quite a while longer than you think.”

“Says you!” Eutropia shouted, stepping between the stallion and the mares. “Leave us be! We are under orders from captain Myrrina herself to seek departure from the docks.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Hyginus said, and in an instant had crossed the distance between him and the young griffin. With a powerful backhand, he sent the youngster sprawling, laughing as he did so. “I don’t give a damn about what your bitch of a mother ordered you to do,” he said, stepping over the gasping Eutropia and towards the four mares, reaching for a small dagger at his belt. “I’m going to have my fun with them, and there’s nothing, utterly nothing you can do stop me, you little fool.”

“Leave her alone!” Maria called out, taking a step forward despite the glinting of the knife.

“Oh, a brave one?” Hyginus said, licking his lips as he raised his dagger further, poised to strike. “I guess you’ll be first!”

Schk

The four mare cried out at the noise, shielding themselves from the coming strike. Only, a blow did not come, and tentatively uncovering their faces, they saw the look on Hyginus’ face change. It had been malicious, fierce, and downright lewd, but now, it was... confused. The four mares and the guard looked down and saw blood seeping from the stallion’s abdomen, leaking out around a large, jagged and shiny protuberance that had skewered right through him.

“Wh-wh-wha-,” was all the guard could manage to say, gargling as he did so, before he was pulled back from the four mares. With a bloody scream he was pulled up into the air, the protuberance spinning him around to face his waiting doom.

“My Censcorpions,” Chrysalis said with a sigh of relief.

Indeed, the entire flock of the creatures was hovering around the area, their flapping wings drowned out by the thunder and rain. One had skewered Hyginus on its long flexible tail and had brought him up to face them, a wide, hungry-looking grin of its own gracing it’s terrible visage. Teeth of a dragon mixed with a changeling’s lined its mouth, making the grin look very shark-like in appearance. That same look was mirrored on the face of each and every other Censcorpion, creating a collage of savagery and impending bloodlust.

The two stared at one another for a few seconds before it flung the guard into the air, a spurt of blood following him like the trail of a falling star as the sharp tip of its tail exited its victim. In an instant, the whole great seething mass of the creatures descended on Hyginus in midair, their writhing forms staying afloat as they did their work. Blood, entrails and bits of bone flew everywhere as they tore the guard apart, his screams ending in a bloody gargle that was audible even over the din of thunder.
Eutropia rose to her feet with some help from Maria as Chrysalis tried to calm down the others.

“What were those things?” Trixie asked, shivering uncontrollably from fright and the cold of the rain.

“They are my elite guard, sent here originally to help free us from the prison,” the queen of the changelings said, noticing how faint Asalah was looking. “Thankfully they arrived when they did.”

“So... much.... blood,” the zebra said softly, remember back how Spike had torn through all of those bandits back in the desert. Of them all, only Trixie and Asalah had not seen Spike’s rampage in southern Prance, and even this was not the same as his massacre of those bandits in the desert. This was a hive defending its queen, soldiers protecting their leader; there was no love behind this, only unstoppable loyalty and a sense of subservience. Perhaps that was why they tore through the guard with such precision; when they scattered, there was nothing left in one large piece. Even his armor had been bitten through like a dog’s chew toy and torn to shreds by the creatures.

“Come now, we must hurry. There isn’t a moment to lose,” Eutropia said, rubbing her face where the former guard’s blow had hit her. She could already feel a bruise welling up under her eye, and some of the blood running down her cheek thankfully was not her own.

The five of them hurried off once more, taking care to check behind them every so often for any other nasty surprises. Thankfully, nothing appeared, and as they went on, so did the queen’s guard shadow their every move, a thick black blanket of security for the five soaking travelers. The city still lay silent under the onslaught of wind, rain and thunder, and as lightning flashed over the turbid waters of the Boshorsus Straits, the five cloaked travelers found themselves at the docks.

There was only a single boat at the docks, one barely large enough to seat seven passengers, and the apparent ferrypony was untying some of the ropes as they approached him

“We need to use your boat,” Eutropia said, noticing the large bastard sword hanging on the cloaked stranger’s belt. The figure was silent, stopping what they were doing and instead standing there with their arms crossed and face in shadow. They were rather intimidating in appearance, or at least their silhouette was, and they were the same height as Chrysalis. One could only imagine what they looked like under that ratty cloak and strange-looking armor. Whoever they were, the city of Istanbul was most definitely not their home.

“Eutropia!” a voice called out, and the griffin turned to see her mother, with Spike in tow, dash through several empty waterside market stalls up to the same docks they were at.

“Mother!” the young griffin called out, embracing her mother in a hug, even as the dragon stood only with the captain’s assistance. “We need passage, and this one is the only one we can find.” Spike let out another loud groan, and in an instant, his four wives were upon him, helping to support him away from the griffins and towards the boat. The cloaked figure had not moved an inch, save for the slight tilting of their head when they saw the dragon.

“I shall talk with him, Eutropia,” Myrrina said, letting go of her daughter. The welt forming under her eye; had she been in a fight? If so, the enemy must have been defeated, since she and the others were all in one piece. “He will take you far from here; I know this fellow.”

“You do? How do you know... him?” her daughter asked, glancing back at the hooded figure.

“I’d know that sword anywhere,” the captain said, walking past her daughter as rain continued to pelt them. “Ebony Blade?”

“Speaking,” the hooded figure said simply, his voice curt and deep, if a little raspy.

“I am entrusting you to escort my daughter and her fellow travelers out of the city, and in time, out of the Ottomare Empire altogether,” Myrrina said as lightning flashed behind her, throwing the whole scene into even greater relief. Blood stained much of Eutropia’s clothes, Spike had lost almost all of his normal color, and the four mares were shivering from the cold rain. It indeed was a ghastly sight.

“Payment?” the figure said, him cloak seemingly rustling behind him.

“Whatever you deem fair,” the griffin said. “Return after having sent them on their way, and I will pay you in full.”

“Deal,” the figure said, motioning for the four mares and their weak dragon husband to get on the boat. “Your daughter will be safe, captain.”

“Mother, you must come with us!” Eutropia said, gazing into her mother’s eyes with a pleading look. “We can flee together, as-,”

“No, we cannot, my daughter,” the older griffin said, her face grim. “If I were to flee, your grandmother would surely die, and they would hunt both of us to the ends of the Earth. We would never be safe, and I do not wish for my only child to have the life of a fugitive. Enough blood has been spilled over this matter, and I will not see yours added to the river that it has made. I will stay, and face trial, even if it means I may be imprisoned for something I have not done.”

“And then what? What will I do without you?” Eutropia asked, tears threatening to pour out of her eyes once more.

“You will be strong, and grow old and wise and happy,” her mother said, a rather strange note entering her voice. Pride? A grim resolution? Perhaps even... love? She had always loved her daughter, and always showed it, but in accordance with their culture, she had rarely ever said it. “You may never see me again, but I would gladly die knowing you are safe, and would be safe, for the rest of your days. You will grow and learn and love without me, my daughter, and above all else, you will live. There is nothing more that I want than for you to live, Eutropia. I love you.”

“I... I.... I love you too,” the young griffin said, pulling her mother into another tight embrace. She had waited years to hear those words spoken with such truth and emotion, and now she had, even though the timing couldn't have been worse. Rain lashed against them, lightning raged across the sky above them, and the wind pulled at their feathery wings, but the two of them did not care.

“Go,” was all Myrrina said, letting go of her daughter and taking a step back. Eutropia, to her credit, turned almost immediately to leave, stinging tears threatening to burst forth like a wave of sadness. Clambering into the boat with the others, she looked back at her mother, only to see her swallowed up by the thick blankets of rain and the spray of the raging waves.

Then, she let the tears come.

Ebony Blade did not speak as he ferried them across, unwilling to try and lose concentration whilst in the midst of such a storm. Out of the corners of his icy blue eyes, he swore he could see shadows, shapes flying through the thick mist around them, and even bumping into whatever side of the boat he wasn’t paying attention to. He dismissed these as mere tricks of the mind, perhaps nothing more than scared fish bumping them, and the instant he finally reached the other shore, he lassoed the ship to a dock and motioned for them all to get off.

“Your mother was wise to send you with me, young griffin,” the pony said to the crying youngster as they made their way to a small carriage. It was an old one, magically enchanted to move without a power source but still in need of a guiding hand to operate it. Ebony Blade had had it for many years, and it showed.

“Why? Why couldn’t she come with us?” Eutropia choked out as they helped the four mares pile in, managing to squeeze their now-unconscious husband inside as well. The fact that they managed to move him without difficulty showed just how strong these mares really were, and also how resilient in the face of danger. Any other mares would be blubbering messes after the incident with Hyginus and the Censcorpions, but these four were holding their own quite well, something that deep down impressed Eutropia.

“She wanted you safe, and safe I shall keep you,” the stallion replied simply, shutting the door behind the young griffin and locking it. Clambering aboard the front of the carriage, he grabbed the reins and urged the old carriage onward. With a great groan it lurched forward, steadily gaining speed on wheels older than the driver. Blazing down the cobble streets in the middle of the driving wind and rain, the pony watched ahead, his unusual eyesight providing him a greater ability to see in such conditions.

Soon enough, they had reached the far side of the city, and blazing past several abandoned guard posts, they left behind the city of Istanbul.

Inside of the carriage, Queen Chrysalis looked up at the black clouds above her, knowing full well that her retinue could follow her no longer, lest they simply drop from the sky within a week. “Go,” she whispered softly her message spreading through the collective mind of the Censcorpions. “Go, rest in the catacombs.”

With a great shriek from high above that sounded very much like a ghostly wail, the cloud of her personal guard peeled off, flying higher and higher until they had disappeared entirely from view. They would be back where they had started from within only a few days, and there they would rest until they were needed once more.

The queen of the changelings sighed as she let her head fall back, the stress of the day starting to finally fade as the carriage continued its keen pace away from the city, and in time, the lands of the Ottomare Empire. The only thing was, Chrysalis could feel something ahead of them, something she could not quite understand. These lands, they were under the rule of an emperor, but the lands ahead, there... there lay darkness over it, a darkness neither malevolent nor kind. It was a shadow that filtered through all of the inhabitants, spreading like a cancer that never killed, but kept true happiness and peace from the land.

This part of the world was old, far older than most of the nations that graced the face of the Earth. Here, there lay ancient secrets and forgotten places, hidden by time and unknown magic. Darkness and light, good and evil had long fought over and through these lands, never gaining the upper hand for too long and never being extinguished, no matter how hard they tried. The only thing was, here in this place of old colliding with new, what could possibly have such a presence that shadowed over the land like some great blanket of darkness?

They had left behind certain death and unjust imprisonment, but just what in the world were they heading into? “Out of the frying pan, and into the fire, I guess” the queen muttered.

“What?” Trixie and Maria asked, the latter gently stroking her unconscious husband’s face. The dragon moaned softly, as the touch of his wives was a soothing ache to his body. Asalah was too busy comforting the crying Eutropia to notice the conversation, and as the soft wails of the griffin filled the carriage, a shadow seemed to cross over Chrysalis's face.

“I don’t think we’re out of the woods quite yet,” the queen said softly. “We may be in for a different kind of trouble.”

Meanwhile...

Off in the shadows of the city, a lone figure watched the boat cross. Nursing his shattered wrist and tightly wrapping it in a makeshift bandage for the moment, he moved off to find somewhere to weather the storm. There were undoubtedly healers or doctors in this city, and once his wrist was back to full strength, he would set out once more.

He would have his revenge yet, even if it took him to the ends of the Earth.

Eutropia (in her race's armor):

Guilt

Chapter Forty Seven

Guilt

The lands to the north and west of the Ottomare Empire were of a somewhat peculiar sort. Ancient in many ways, shrouded in mystery and filled with all sorts of odd legends, it was not exactly a top tourist destination. It should have been, but wasn’t; it was a temperate land nestled among the Carpathian Mountains and to the east, against the shores of the Black Sea. In fact, out of all the places in Europe, this was without a doubt one of the far less traveled routes, even though it was one of the more beautiful. Foreign ponies weren’t exactly keen on visiting this place due to its highly variable and often confusing terrain, and due to its close borders with the Ottomare Empire, there was always a threat of a regional war of some kind. The locals, while friendly, weren’t exactly advertising what a nice place it was to travel, instead keeping mostly to themselves and the business within their own borders, just as most ponies did.

However, the ones stuffed inside the carriage could ill afford to take a longer route around such a place, especially one that would have them close to the Empire’s borders, so into this strange land they traveled. Besides, the alternate routes would take them high into the mountains, a place some, in their condition, could ill-afford to go. Atop the carriage, his sheathed sword occasionally bouncing against his hip, Ebony Blade quietly scanned the roads he crossed and traveled upon, looking for signs of trouble up ahead.

Bandits were always a problem along these roads during the day, especially so close to the borders, with the nights being even worse. He’d been present in many a bandit attack, and so far had been able to drive them off or at least offer them a bribe when their numbers were too numerous for him to feel comfortable in combating. More than once he’d lost every bit of gold he had on him, as many bandits were filled with more greed than common sense. Several times they had tried to take away his sword, which more or less ended with him cleaning the blood off of it and pocketing his stolen valuables.

However, he hadn’t noticed any signs of previous bandit activity; a dropped blade here, scuffle marks alongside the road, a coin here or there where a scuffle between bandits during the night was forgotten. Thus, the farther they moved into this land, the more at ease he felt.

Of course he would feel at ease; this was his home. His kind had lived in this part of the world for many years, ever since the great exodus of the ancient bat pony tribes nearly a thousand years before. Only a few of the tribes had stayed in their ancestral home far across the sea; the rest had fled across the great Barnlantic Ocean, eventually settling all along the northern edge of the Meditermanean Sea. However, as time went on, the bat ponies soon found themselves at odds with their new neighbors.

Many of the ponies living in and around the sea were highly superstitious folk, and it wasn’t long before the bat ponies were driven from their new homes out of fear. So, they moved on, heading further and further inland, away from the more populated areas. Eventually, they delegated themselves to isolated mountain ranges, vast grassland steppes and the uninhabited portions of rivers, lakes and seas. Many renovated caves into homes, as their ancestors had done many a time, and so built towns, castles and cities into them. Thankfully, most ponies no longer feared them on sight, but they were always discriminated against in some way, be in blatant or completely accidental.

By nature, bat ponies were semi-nomadic, often roaming for many years after their journey into adulthood before settling down in one place, often to raise a family or start a business of some kind. Ebony Blade was just one of these souls, though he was now a bit older than most of his drifting peers; forty years old as of last month. Many by his age had already settled down and started families; he had already done so before.

His daughter, his sweet little Calypso, her eyes an icy blue like his own; she would be waiting for him, alongside his beautiful wife, back at their cottage high in the hills. He could still smell his wife’s mane, which always had carried with it the smell of mountain blueberries and rosemary.

“I’ll see them soon,” he muttered, forcing his eyes to stay focused on the road ahead of him instead of glazing over in memory. “It’s been too long I was last home.”

He would stop there when he passed through; for now, he was content to simply keep going. The night before had been of no trouble, so much so that he had slept through much of it, not letting his passengers know of course. Ebony had checked on them before getting his own shuteye, though, and had been glad to see they had all been asleep. Even the young griffin, though he knew it had less to do with the whole stress of their flight from Istanbul and more to do with her exhaustion brought on by her separation from her life as she had known it.

“Must be tough for her,” he muttered as he wound along narrow mountain roads and across lazily-flowing rivers. Around the marshlands where the rivers spread, he could see butterflies flittering lazily over the tall sedges and reeds, with small birds occasionally flying out to snatch insects mid-flight. “To lose her mother like that; to know she is still alive, somewhere back in that city, but never being able to see her again.”

He did not fully know why her situation was as such, but he could empathize with the youngster. He had been sent off at a young age by his father, a retired captain, to train under a local lord as a squire; that was how he had earned his skills in swordplay and other forms of combat. He hadn’t dreamed of being a knight, and though he wasn’t one, he was still respected for his courage, honesty, and willingness to work for an honest day’s pay.

The biggest problem he faced was finding the right clientele. There were always those looking for mercenaries to fight in their wars, and more often than not, those same mercenaries would turn on those who hired them if their foes offered more. Sure, it was good for business, but bad for reliability, and the whole “betrayal-for-money” thing left a bad taste in Ebony’s mouth. That was why he usually sought out those he not only knew could pay, but would use his services for things that didn’t involve him potentially invading a city and slaughtering anypony who got in his way.

Like guarding merchant caravans, or a bodyguard to some minor noble, or even as protection to some dignitary or tax collector; Ebony Blade had done it all. He liked merchants most, seeing as even though they haggled with him from time to time, they still eventually paid him in full and usually found him more work when they no longer needed him. Nobles and dignitaries he liked as well, though a little less, seeing as they were more often than not pompous and a bit arrogant. Tax collectors he liked the least, simply due to their incessant whining that they were paying too much for his services, or for the fact he had to often fend off angry villagers in towns where tax rates were just too damn high.

An honorable mercenary: an oxymoron if there ever was one.

Still, he loved his job; he got to travel, which appealed to the nomadic bat pony inside of him, but it also allowed him to build up quite the nest egg for his home and family. In fact, when he often had too much to save over, he’d send some of it off to his brothers and sisters in the more distant parts of the country, where they spent their days in the subterranean bat pony cities, living their lives in peace. The rest was spent in the local taverns and inns.

No, he didn’t have a drinking or smoking problem; he just liked to do both when it was available. Thank the stars above that he never gambled, or else he’d likely never make enough money to feed himself and his family.

“Ugh,” a voice groaned. Turning his head slowly, Ebony watched as the young griffon called Eutropia slowly climbed up out of the carriage window and up onto one of the outside seats behind him. This carriage, after all, was special; while it still needed a driver, it was designed to keep the driver out of the rain, and with more than one row of seats in case extra bodyguards were needed.

“Rough night?” he asked simply as he looked back out at the road.

“No,” Eutropia said, lying down behind the mercenary as she rubbed her horribly bloodshot eyes. “My night was fantastic; I love sleeping in a rocking carriage taking me away from the only home and family I’ve ever known with only a bunch of strangers to keep me company. How do you think I feel?”

Ebony was silent for a moment. “Sarcasm is unbecoming of you, young lady,” he said. “I’m supposed to be the sarcastic one.”

“Well excuse me, mercenary, but I’ve never left Istanbul before in my entire life,” she replied, trying and failing to mask the hurt in her words.

“First time for everything,” he replied, glancing back at her.

“Yeah, well, I would have liked this “thing” to have never happened,” Eutropia muttered softly, her wings folding around her like a blanket as she felt the breeze ruffle her feathers. “I would have been fine to stay in my home.”

“You know as well as I do that is no longer an option,” Ebony said as the carriage passed under a lonely old oak tree shading the path, standing like an ancient sentinel over the otherwise flat and exposed road. “Your mother entrusted you and your companions to me, to be protected by myself until you all no longer require my services.”

“Why can’t you take me back when the dragon leaves with his family?” the griffin asked softly, the sarcasm bleeding out of her words with every passing minute.

“The deal was that you would travel with them, far away from Istanbul and the borders of the Ottomare Empire,” he said. “I will not bring you back.”

“But why would you care? You’d still get paid,” Eutropia said, hating the fact he was right. Tartarus, she had been there when her mother and the four mares talked about taking her away from Istanbul. She’d been reluctant but accepting then, and now... be it the homesickness or a feeling of abandonment, she didn’t know, but she wanted to go home so very badly. Her mother had told her to be strong, but... she was already so far from home; just how was she going to travel into the great beyond of what she knew without her?

She just felt so lost, so out of her element, and so very, very alone.

“A mercenary I may be, young Eutropia, but I honor agreements and promises with the greatest of care, and your mother has been a faithful and honest employer in the past.” He paused for a moment. “Besides, I know you do not have the money to have me take you back.”

“You... you served under her? What did she ever need you for?” She didn’t even bother to ask about the money or how he knew; everything she had owned, save for the clothes on her back, were back in her former home.

“That is my business, not yours,” he said softly, breathing in deep as they passed through a field of wildflowers and tall grasses, the scent of the former washing over him like a warm blanket. “You should be more concerned with your future, not my past.”

“What does my future have anything to do with it? In fact, why do you care? It’s not like it matters anymore,” the young griffin said. She didn’t want her words to be so callous and cruel, but she was hurting inside, and lashing out was the only thing she could think of doing right now. Ebony Blade just happened to be the one closest to her.

“Young lady, it is my job to care,” he said, his heart feeling a twinge of pain at her words. They struck too close to home for his liking, and though he would have preferred to just say a few things on the matter, perhaps it was time to just let it out. “You are young, and still have much to learn about life and the world. Things are not always what they seem: losing what you have now does not mean all is lost forever. It is simply a new beginning.”

“Is that supposed to be inspiring or something? Sounds like rubbish to me; all I feel is empty inside,” she replied sadly.

“What you feel is up to you, young one. All I can tell you is that, in time, you’ll grow to understand what has happened, and why it had to happen as it did. For now, just try and not be so bitter, all right? We still have a long way to go before you and your companions will no longer need me, and I would prefer most of the journey to be in silence, not a continuous cycle of listening you bemoan and indulge in self-pity.”

Eutropia shut up after that, his words ringing in her ears. Only her mother had ever talked to her in that tone; it was almost like a slap to the young griffin. Pouting in the back seat, she eventually decided talking with the odd pony driving the carriage was no longer worth any effort. He didn’t want to hear about her story any more than he needed to, it seemed. As he said, he was being paid to transport her far away from Istanbul and the Ottomare Empire, not listen to her problems. However, that didn’t stop her from going over the last few days in her head and wondering just what to make of them. More specifically, the same thought kept passing through her mind, again and again like a chant.

“I could have done something.” It was the thought of one young and hopeful, and almost blissfully naïve; sure, she could have done something. She could have been forced into hiding inside of the city, a refugee within her own home, hiding until the authorities were no longer looking for her. She could have been used as a tool, as a weapon against her mother, beaten and tortured for information in cells so dark and deep that her cries would never have been heard. She could have been the ultimate leverage, even earning her mother false sentences from false confessions, just to stop the pain her “questioners” would have inflicted upon her. Even if all of that had amounted to nothing, and her mother was declared innocent, she'd be scarred for life in ways nobody should ever be.

If she had been taken, and her torture had given her mother a guilty verdict, then Eutropia could have watched her mother hang, just as she too might have been had she stayed. She could have been spared, only to watch her mother’s corpse be pecked clean by crows high in gibbets along the walls of the city.

The thought was too terrible to envision; all Eutropia could do was choke back a soft gasp when the thought of the light in her mother’s eyes fading away passed through her mind. No, no, it was best that she was gone. Without her daughter to use against her, and with the knowledge that Myrrina’s mother would never last through any “interrogation” due to her advanced age and standing within much of the community, the courts would have no choice but to listen to the captain of the royal guard and consider her evidence. Eutropia knew her mother had many connections in the courts; connections brought on by favors paid for jobs that kept the city and the empire running, and would no doubt call these in should forces inside the government wish to see her hang. There were many who were jealous of her ranking in the emperor’s high circles, so much so they would try to block or destroy evidence that might exonerate her from guilt.

The young griffin somehow knew that her mother, even with those within the government owing her favors, would have a long and difficult road ahead. She’d likely even have to resign, or at least be demoted, from her current position, as the stain of doubt and accusation would likely be too much for the emperor to allow in his ranks. She herself would be a target of ridicule by others her age, calling her mother a traitor and whatnot.

Who would ever want to be with a griffin whose mother had been tried for treason? Who could ever bear the burden of such dishonor being associated with their extended family? Who would ever love her for who she was, faults and all?

“It’s all that damned dragon’s fault,” she muttered, wiping a few tears from her eyes. She didn’t want to cry anymore; the fact that a few tears had slipped out showed she still had tears left to shed. “If he hadn’t come, then somehow, the things that happened... wouldn’t have. I’m sure, no, I know they wouldn’t have. If he and his wives had just... gone around the city, or on a ship from wherever they had come from, then all of this...”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence in her head; she already knew the answer to it. She had no idea where the dragon and his family had come from, or even why they had been in the city, but them being in the city had set off the chain of events that had led to all of this. They, no, he was the reason why she was no longer in the city she had grown up in. He was the reason she was no longer with her family, with her mother; he was why her world was all upside-down.

Yet, for all of this pain she was feeling, for all of the hurt she was turning into anger and hardening her heart with, she couldn’t quite bring herself to completely hate the dragon for it. Blame him for everything and carry a deep-seated grudge, for sure, but outright hate him, as she would have that evil guard had he not been torn apart by those vicious flying demons. From what the dragon’s wives had told him, he was hurting deep inside, very sick, and three times an expectant father. The fact that all of this misery and change was connected to him, and yet none of it really being his fault or the fault of his loved ones, made her feel very confused indeed.

So yes, he did not deserve hate, but that did not mean she liked him; far from it. Either way, she knew it would be a long time before she forgave him for the situation she was in now.

“It’s just not fair,” she muttered as she closed her eyes from pure exhaustion, drifting off to a dreamless slumber as the carriage gently rocked beneath her.

Ebony Blade glanced back at her as they continued on, his ears twitching slightly at the sound of her voice. “Life’s not fair,” he whispered to himself. He knew this better than most.

Inside the carriage, a few pairs of eyes had opened not soon after the young griffin had climbed out, and after several minutes of silently looking out into the vast fields, they finally connected.

“Chrysalis?” Asalah asked, gently stroking Trixie’s cheek as the unicorn lay nestled against her.

“Yes?” the queen replied softly, one arm cuddling a still-asleep Maria and the other arm lying protectively across Spike’s chest. The dragon breathed in deeply but slowly, and underneath her fingers, she could feel his pulse beating ever so slowly, like a great big metronome. It was far slower than she would have liked; she knew that she wasn’t the only one who wished he was well and awake.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

“I know it’s somewhat of a sore topic between you and Spike but... why did you hide your true form from us for all those weeks and months, and even longer from Spike? Wouldn’t he have understood, what with your appearance and all, since he’s not really the judgmental type?”

The zebra did have a point; dragons were notorious for judging others, usually based on character and not appearance, but the fact that Spike was just so accepting was a tad... odd. Perhaps it was his upbringing in a land of harmony that taught him not to be so judgmental.

Chrysalis sighed softly. “Asalah, to understand my answer, you’ll have to realize that when I met Spike on the Crowhop, far off the eastern shores of Equestria, it was not just a chance meeting. I had been planning on meeting him, seducing him, and ultimately using him for my own gains. I had actually followed him out of Canterlot, you see, aboard the train where he “met” Trixie, all those months ago.”

It seemed like an entire lifetime ago by now to her; subterfuge and tyrannical to blissfully married and pregnant in just a few months... and several thousand miles.

“Use him? Whatever for?” the zebra asked. She knew Spike and Chrysalis had had a good long talk back in Maredagascar, and that she and the others had been told that everything was now sorted out, but... she wanted to know just why it had all happened the way it did. Spike wasn’t in any condition to be explaining things to her, so the only other source she could go to was Chrysalis herself.

“For my conquest of Canterlot, and then all of Equestria,” the queen said simply. “I wasn’t always like you see me now; once, long ago, I was. More carefree, more kind, and far more generous; it was the better days of my youth, I should think. Then, alas, I had to grow up in very unfortunate times for my kind, and, well, I began slipping into darkness. I kept telling myself it was for “the greater good”, but that road, as I have found out, always lead to a very dark and lonely place. Soon enough, I was no longer honest, gentle or forgiving; I connived, I cheated, and I waged shadow wars against all in my power to do so. I participated in the cruelest of endeavors and sanctioned some of the worst crimes against any threat I saw, including within my own kingdom. Years ago I even outright invaded Equestria, seeking to expand my power and to fuel the power of my subjects so that we might conquer everything in our way. But, alas, I was defeated, and in my exile, I burned with hatred. But it was a two-fold hatred, you see, dear Asalah.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the zebra mare asked softly, wondering how in the world the kind, caring and selfless Chrysalis she knew now could ever have been the... monster she was now describing. It was like they were two completely different ponies, an irony that was not lost on Asalah.

“I hated them for defeating me; Princess Cadence and Shining Armor. Their love returned power to Shining Armor, which gave him the strength to cast a shield spell so strong it defeated my army and I within seconds. They stripped me of what I had gained that day in the merest of moments, and scattered my army and myself to the four winds. We regrouped, surely, and I began to plot once more, but I started feeling something else. Not regret, not sorrow, but a different kind of hate. I hated myself, Asalah, not because what I felt what I was doing and had already done was wrong, but because I had lost. Up until then, I had never lost in anything I had done; I had strived and achieved victory, often at bloody and brutal costs to myself or my subjects. Asalah, I was beyond ambitious, always trying to do better, be faster, smarter and stronger than my opponents. I always had my eyes on the horizon, waiting for my next chance, for my next plan to come into action. My loss showed me just how vulnerable I really was.”

“How did you come to know this?” her fellow wife asked.

“I started looking at my former plans, and began to see the cracks in them; to see the inherent flaws in each and every one. Even if I hadn’t been defeated by Shining Armor and Princess Cadence, my hold on Canterlot would have eventually fallen, as the rest of the country remained totally loyal to the two ruling sisters. I began to focus less on conquest and more on usurpation. I sought to destroy and overthrow Equestria from the inside out. All I needed was a pawn, an unassuming chess piece that could take the board in a blaze of strikes that none would see coming.”

“So... Spike was this piece?” Asalah whispered.

“Exactly,” Chrysalis said. “He was the key. I never would have guessed it before, as when the invasion occurred, he was but a youngster, a mere infant in the eyes of his kind. However, from what my spies could gather, he began to grow in many ways, not only in power, but in connections. He is connected to the Elements of Harmony through a deep-seated friendship with each and every member. Spike is connected to those who had defeated me by way of marriage, as his more-or-less sister Twilight Sparkle is sister-in-law to Princess Cadence. He grew even more connected a few years ago by way of the fact that he began to tutor under Princess Luna herself, as Twilight Sparkle did under Princess Celestia. He also has a direct line of communication with Princess Celestia herself and thus has relationships with all of the most powerful ponies in all of Equestria. So yes, Asalah, he grew into a very fine key.”

“So... what happened? Why didn’t you, you know... try and use him?”

“That, my dear, is where things get a bit tricky,” the queen replied. “As I said, I followed him from Canterlot aboard the train. Now, I was in the cabin next to his, where I heard and even felt him meet Trixie, for what felt like the entire night, and even the next morning. After leaving the train, I followed him through Manehattan, keeping to shadows and crowds so that he wouldn’t suspect somepony was following him. I had been in disguise from Canterlot, though not in the same way that I usually can be. I cast a simple spell about myself so that I would look just any other unicorn, and once on board the Crowhop, I donned the persona of Meia that you grew to know.”

“And?”

“Well... I’m not entirely sure where my plans began to fall apart. Spike saved my life twice aboard the ship, once from almost being killed by some falling pulley and also by preventing my death from drowning.” Chrysalis was puzzled for a second by Asalah’s curious stare. “Oh, I fell overboard in a large gale. He dove in after me and brought me back from the brink of death.”

“Ah,” the zebra said, connecting the dots; hard to drown inside of a sea-worthy vessel if it isn’t sinking.

“Then, after we arrived in Equineland, he bought me a very nice dress and took me on a splendid trip to the White Cliffs of Roaner. I had told him, as Meia, that I had wanted to see them, and truth be told, I had always wanted to. I was just... I had always been too busy with all of my planning, all of my subterfuge back in my kingdom, to go and do so. I was never secure enough in any of my plans to just go out and see the world; I trusted nopony, Asalah, not even my own subjects. I felt so gracious for him taking me, even though it was something I had not felt in so long a time. We continued on, and the more time I spent with him, the less and less I was sure of myself. He was noble in spirit, and like freshly fallen snow, so pure in heart... soon enough, I could not bear the thought to try and corrupt it. Mostly because I started to feel for him, but possibly, deep down, I knew Spike as a corrupted creature would just be wild, untamable, and extremely dangerous. You as well as I saw what he did to those bandits back in the Samarea Desert. I could only imagine what he would do if he were always like that, or worse.”

“So, when would you think you started to, you know... love him?” Asalah asked softly, not wanting to dwell on Spike becoming some feral beast that would sooner tear somepony apart than look at them.

“Truthfully, I don’t know the exact moment,” Chrysalis replied, pinching the bridge of her nose to try and alleviate a small headache. “All I know is that I do now, and that... he brought me back. Back to what I was, so very long ago. My appearance my still be somewhat monstrous, but inside, he... he healed me, Asalah. He’s brought back the mare my mother knew before she died. Surely she is at peace now, for during my tyrannical days, she was undoubtedly rolling in her grave.” She let out a soft, sad sigh at that.

“What’s wrong?” Asalah asked.

“My mother would have loved Spike, would have loved to set us up, let us get to know each other for much longer than we have,” Chrysalis said softly, tears beginning to form as she talked. “I just know she would have wanted to see her grandfoals. Now look at me, a queen decades older than her husband, with his foal growing in her belly, and with so much to atone for. I regret it, Asalah; I regret all the bad I have done.”

“Truly?”

“Of course; can you imagine all those I’ve hurt in Equestria alone, never mind my own kingdom? How many of my subjects do not respect or love me, but fear me? So many are loyal to a fault, and yet, I can just feel that they wish I was nicer, better, far more loving and temperamental, like the princesses of Equestria. I regret the wrong I have done, and feel so guilty for it.”

“Why do you say that?” the zebra asked. “Why do you feel guilty for regretting all the wrong you have done? Isn’t it best to regret our past mistakes and learn from them, to move on and try and be a better pony because of them?”

“Because it just can’t be that easy, can it? I can’t just say “oh, I’m sorry, please forgive me” and it’ll be all right. There’s so much work I need to do, so many ponies I need to apologize to, so many wrongs I need to atone for, so much that I, that I...”

“You’re scared you won’t be a good mother?”

Chrysalis choked back another small sob. “What?”

“You’re scared,” Asalah repeated. “I can see it in your eyes and in your voice. You’re scared you won’t be as good a mother as yours was, all because of all these terrible things you did before you were married. You’re worried your past and your attempts to make up for it will be passed down onto your foals. Chrysalis... you’re scared that your sins will be carried by your babies.”

“Mhmm,” the queen nodded, gently wiping her eyes with a small neckerchief she magically produced of out thin air. “I’m... I’m scared there will be ponies out there looking for revenge, looking to make me pay, and if they can’t get to me... they’ll get to my foals. I’m scared they’ll hurt them, or... or worse...”

“Chrysalis, just listen to yourself,” the other mare gently replied. “You’re incredibly powerful with magic, you have a dragon for a husband, your foals will be half-dragon, and through Spike and us, you’ll be tied to some of the most powerful beings in Spike’s homeland. Any foals of yours will be entirely safe; I assure you.”

“All the magic in the world can’t protect you forever,” the queen said softly.

“But love is eternal, and can,” Asalah said, reaching across and gently squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry, Chrysalis; we will be with you always, as will Spike. Don’t worry on the distant future, on the what-ifs and maybes; just focus on the here and now, with us.”

The queen sniffled a bit before blowing her nose softly. “I... I guess you’re right,” she said finally. “I’m just worried Spike’s homeland won’t be safe for them, but, if you say they’ll be safe, then I’ll... I’ll try, okay?”

“That’s all we can ask of ourselves, herd-wife; all we can do is try. Now, on a happier note, have you been giving thought to the foal’s name?” Asalah didn’t like seeing anypony else unhappy, least of all a mare she loved like a sister; a very close sister.

Chrysalis slowly smiled, her gloomy demeanor washing away like the foam on a morning ocean tide. “Y-Yes, actually, I have been giving some thought to the matter,” she said slowly, her hand trailing from her face to her belly, gently rubbing it under the robes. “I’d like to give it a name befitting her ancestry.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, something simple, like maybe... Neurocordulia.”

Asalah didn’t say anything at first, instead just blinking for a few moments. “That’s... nice.”

“What about you?” the queen of the changelings asked. “I know you’re not with foal yet, but... I mean, who hasn’t thought of a name at some point?”

Asalah smiled, hiding the slight pang she felt in her heart. She wanted to be pregnant so badly, to carry Spike’s foal, no matter how much her body would change or how much it might be a burden for her. She just... she wanted to be a mother so much, it hurt her deep down inside that she wasn’t. She was surrounded by three mares just bursting with life and love, and she... she felt like she was missing out.

But she couldn’t let the others know that; she would keep it to herself, tuck it away and hide it until the day her prayers were answered and she too was carrying a foal of Spike’s. “Well, I’d... I’d like it to be something simple, and like yours, celebrating their ancestry. For a daughter, I was thinking... Cana. It means “Beloved” in my native language. What does Nero... Neuro... Neurio-,”

“Neurocordulia?” Chrysalis asked.

“Yes, that one. What does it mean?”

“Well, it’s a play off a few words. You see, any of my foals will be a mixture of dragon and changeling, which as you know, are somewhat insect-like. So, seeing as we are like “flies”, and Spike is a dragon, then Neurocordulia would be, you know... a “dragonfly” to everypony else, especially if any filly of ours is far more even in the distribution of their parent’s traits.”

“That... that's actually pretty clever. Does the name mean anything like mine might?”

“Maybe, I don’t know, I’m not too big on linguistics,” the queen replied with a small chuckle. “Maybe her full name is a bit too much of a mouthful for most; perhaps a nickname like “Cordulia” would be good enough?”

“Easier to remember, that’s for sure,” Asalah said with a small chuckle. Around them, two more pairs of eyes opened as well.

“Anypony know what time it is?” Trixie asked with a yawn.

“I’m guessing somewhere around late afternoon by now,” Chrysalis said.

“Where are we?” Maria asked, peering out the window as she rubbed an eye.

“Not too far from the borders of the Ottomare Empire, but far enough to not worry about somepony following us,” a voice said; Ebony Blade’s head was peeking in through a small window situated between the carriage cabin and the driver’s bench. He was upside-down; the window was positioned near his knees. “We’ll be stopping up ahead for the rest of the evening.”

“Where is that?” Asalah asked. “How do we know it’ll be safe?”

“We are in the lands of Transylmania, within the duchy of Lady Fyrefly; that is her castle up ahead.”

Four heads crammed against the windows. In the distance, looming on the side of a cliff stood a castle. Yet, it was no ordinary castle, for it seemed to float on a very low layer of clouds. Carved into the very side of a mountain, the castle looked older than most of the stone it was surrounded by. It was by no means gigantic in scope, but with granite slabs for towers, great spires high above the battlements, and no clear entrance other than what seemed to be roads carved into the mountain wall, it was indeed a very foreboding-looking place.

Almost like something out of a fairy tale... or a horror novel.

“Wow,” was all the mares said. The castle grew closer, expanding in size and complexity with every half mile. There were small waterfalls pouring down the rocky outer faces, walls and keeps upon walls built high and low, and great siege machines lining some of the towers. It gave the appearance of being nigh unassailable, as if it would take an army of tens of thousands many decades to even make it to the front gates.

Then, as they came over a hill, they saw why it seemed to float on the clouds. The castle itself was level with the hills they were on, but far off in the distance, and far below the castle, lay a large town, nestled in the hills and streams. Farmland, vineyards and orchards stretched all along the streams and rivers that coated the rolling terrain. Pastures laden with dairy cattle, sheep and goats dotted the more hilly areas, with windmills astride the hilltops to catch the wind that would grind grain into flour. If not for the fact they had come over this hill, the four mares might not have known the town existed.

“New Wingda, a bustling town lying in the protective shadow of Lady Fyrefly’s castle,” Ebony said.

“New Wingda? What happened to the old one?” a voice said. It seemed Eutropia was awake once more.

“Burned to the ground nearly a century ago,” he said simply. “Ottomare raid.”

“Who is Lady Fyrefly?” Maria asked. “Are we staying in her castle?”

“No,” the mercenary said, perhaps a little too quickly. “Castle Enstein is no place for you five, nor for your dragon. We will be staying in my home tonight, on a hill a small ways away from town.”

“Wait, you live here?” Chrysalis asked.

“No, I’m a squatter. Yes, of course I live there, from time to time, anyway,” Ebony replied.

“No need to be rude,” Chrysalis muttered as she slunk back against her carriage seat.

“Why is the Lady’s castle called Enstein?” Asalah asked.

“To be frank, Enstein Castle was the vision of our very first lord of these lands,” the mercenary replied. “Took his family nearly a century to build, but it has stood for nearly a thousand years, only growing deeper and deeper into the mountain with every passing decade.”

“How big is it?”

“Big enough,” he replied. “Come now, shut your blinds; strangers are not a common sight in this town. Eutropia, rejoin them; no arguing.”

Grumbling, the young griffin crawled back in the carriage, settling herself atop most of the passengers in a none-too-gentle manner.

“Pregnant mares on board, young lady; watch yourself,” Chrysalis growled, grateful Spike was mostly the griffin’s seat. However, he was mostly her seat; this upset the queen greatly, as Spike was her husband.

“Sorry,” the griffin mumbled as she drew the blinds shut. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Atop the carriage, Ebony Blade sighed. He’d been gone far longer than last time, and every time he came to town, ponies would ask him all sorts of questions. Where had he been? How was he doing? Did he want to swing down by the tavern and tell stories while smoking and getting drunk?

“Those last two sound pretty good,” Ebony muttered as he entered the town limits, passing several large apple trees along the road, their leaves swaying slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker, a shadow that seemed darker and thicker than any ordinary shadow. Turning his head quickly, he noticed the barest of movements behind a tree. Somepony was watching him. The only question was... would they follow him as well?

“Scylla might give them something to think about,” he muttered, tapping the blackened bastard sword at his hip. He knew how to use his sword very well, having named it after a monster of the ancient world and given it a reputation to match. It was almost like an extension of his self in that regard; he was well known amongst social classes because of it.

Still, he kept one hand on the reigns and his free one at his side, just in case.

Behind him, the shadow of the tree seemed to flicker, growing larger, before scurrying off into the evening. The lengthening shadows of the trees served as perfect series of cover for the figure as they moved towards their destination, lest some passerby see them. It didn’t matter; the sight of them alone would send any sane pony running for the hills in fright.

Entering the very outskirts of town, Ebony noticed something rather odd. There were torches all over the place, more so than usual, and the streets, which were usually so lively with ponies moving around in the evening, were nearly empty. There were a few groups of ponies, hooded and huddling close together as they walked on, giving his carriage a wide berth.

“Something’s not right,” he muttered as he passed several houses. The doors were shut, the windows barred, and there was even a large string of vegetables spread across the doorstep. Others were just as how they normally would have been, with open windows and welcoming doors, but far more looked... uninviting. “Something is definitely not right.” Passing a small group of hooded ponies, he turned to them. “What’s going on?”

“An evil has been felt in the countryside once again, Ebony Blade,” one of the figure said, holding aloft a small figurine in one of his hands as if to ward off whatever he was talking about. “Now, as it was many years ago, solitary ponies are being attacked and found alive but weak, usually becoming very sick soon afterwards. It is a sickness that only rest and much food can cure, and so far, it has claimed able-bodied stallions and mares everywhere, leaving them home-bound for days or, in some cases, weeks. We are taking precautions to guard against such a menace; we suggest you do as well.”

“Why should I? Ebony asked.

“There was an attack in town last night; the mayor’s daughter found sick and weak in their garden. We can no longer be taking chances; we must be vigilant in the face of such danger.” With that, the figures walked off in silence, their robes rustling around them.

“Superstitious folk,” the mercenary muttered as the carriage rode on, ignoring the other clusters of ponies wandering in protective packs. “Just a bug or something going around; not every little thing is caused by some otherworldly force. Every time some sickness comes through, charlatans sell random shit to try and cure it. Bathing in young colt piss doesn’t do anything for anything, nor does eating strange mushrooms laced with poppy seeds, pond scum and fish oil.”

That last one was why he was never allowed back in some of Istanbul’s seedier bars.

Still, as he went on his way through town, he did glance every now and then down alleys and above on rooftops. He saw nothing, though the instant the sun finally disappeared below the horizon, the temperature did begin to drop. Wrapping his large cloak tighter around himself, Ebony found himself drifting the same road towards the edge of town as he had so many times before, back when he was far younger and helping his father bring home stuff they bought at the market.

As they left the town and started to head uphill, the words of the hooded pony began to play over and over in his mind. As he arrived at a small iron gate, though, the mere sight of it immediately banished those thoughts from his mind.

Ebony Blade was finally home.

It looked like he had left it a day ago, not several months. The flower garden was blooming along the small stone wall that surrounded the yard, and the three apple trees had small, unripe fruits hanging from their branches. The garden was filled with green, though the bare dirt around the plants showed they were being weeded constantly. As he stepped down from the driver’s seat, Ebony took in a deep breath. A wafting smell of pine drifted from far behind, where a small cluster of the long-needled trees kept atop a small hill past his fence line. The large oak in the back yard, seen clearly over the small cottage, was just starting to bear acorns. No smoke wafted from the double chimneys, though the soot staining their rims indicated they indeed had been used frequently before.

“We’ll be staying here tonight,” he said, opening the door to the carriage. Eutropia tumbled out, nimbly landing on her feet in time to avoid a solid faceplant. “Do you need help?”

“No,” Eutropia said swiftly, dusting off her wings as she brushed past the mercenary, looking up at she did so. After a short pause, she resumed her walking. “Nice place you got here.”

The cottage was not a gigantic mansion, but it was very cozy for what it was. A shade under two stories high, with half of the lower story built into the size of the hill. Helped to keep the cellar cooler in summer, plus it anchored it more firmly than one just built on top of the ground. Tiles covered the frame of the sloped roof, with the majority being thickly thatched. Several small windows here and there, the glass mostly clear but somewhat blurred; the front door, square and inlaid with several bolts, stood astride a large covered porch. In the light breeze that swept through the area, the large swing hanging from the porch creaked slightly.

All in all, a very cozy looking home.

“Thank you,” Ebony said as the other slowly exited the carriage. “The door’s unlocked; pantry’s in the kitchen if you want something to eat. Three main bedrooms with double beds in each upstairs; I’ll be sleeping in the main bedroom downstairs.”

“Why so many beds?” Asalah asked as she helped to push Spike’s inert form along, which was magically hovering with aid from Chrysalis, Trixie and Maria. Seems they finally realized they could use magic more often for some of the more... simple things.

“I had a lot of brothers and sisters growing up. Dad left me the house in the will after he died from the pox. It’s not much, but it’ll be a good place to rest and recover. You’ve all been through a lot,” he said simply, glancing from the four mares, to the dragon, and back to Eutropia. “Some more than others. We’ll be staying here for a few days, maybe more if the weather turns sour.”

“What are you going to do now?” Maria asked as they walked along the small cobblestone path leading from the iron gate.

“I’ll be putting the carriage back by the garden shed,” the mercenary said, pointing to a building along the stone wall. From the look of things, it was just large enough to fit a carriage, and maybe a wood sled or two. “I’ll meet you inside in a bit. I... have some other things to take care of.”

Nodding, the mares pushed along their husband, and with a gentle slam, closed the door to the cottage behind them.

Climbing back aboard the carriage, Ebony Blade began to hear the words of the hooded pony once more in his head as he headed back to the shed. Something about attacks, sickness and solitary ponies after dark? Whatever; superstition, for sure. Driving the carriage inside, he hopped off and closed the doors, bolting it shut as a gust of wind ruffled his mane.

“Done for the day, time to see them,” he muttered, stripping off his travelling cloak. With a great yawn, he let his formerly-hidden bat wings stretch out behind him, feeling the breeze for the first time in what was likely too long. Normally, once home, he would have gone for a short flight, but tonight, he wouldn’t. He was aching from the trip, and right now, he had one last thing to do before he joined the others inside.

Stepping over the low stone wall, he walked along a smaller stone path, leading to the backyard. His daughter loved the backyard, as did his wife. They had always read books, did each other’s manes and played games of make-believe in the flowers. Sometimes, on calm, cool nights, he'd take them both up into the air, flying with them around their home. Little Calypso had been a strong flier for her age, just like her mother had been. Yes, the backyard, underneath the wide branches of the great oak tree, held so many precious memories for them all.

Perhaps that was why he had buried them there.

“Sorry I was away for so long,” Ebony whispered as he came upon the two small graves, simple slabs laid into the ground. “I meant to come back sooner, but a contract came up.”

It was hard to believe it had been ten years since he had last seen them; ten years since his daughter, on the eve of her own tenth birthday, took sick from some strange, unknown ailment and faded away. Ten years since his wife, overcome with despair at the passing of their only (and miracle) child, withered away and took sick from the pox, passing away mere months after her daughter. That year... it had almost broken him.

Ebony Blade had survived, but he had changed, and now, ten years later, the loss still hurt him more than he would ever admit.

“I brought you something,” he whispered, withdrawing a pair of flower bunches from his pocket. He had paid so much for these, but to him, it was worth every piece of gold. It was Edelweiss, hand-picked from the mountains to the west. They were such beautiful little flowers for two very beautiful ponies who just loved putting them in their manes. “I know how much you like these; both of you.”

As the light faded from sky high above, and the clouds slowly disappeared, he stayed there, kneeling alongside his lost love and daughter, wishing they were there with him. The breeze that ruffled his wings held with it a very slight bite, the icy chill of the mountains creeping down into the valley like icy fingers of an early winter. Still, he paid it no mind; neither cold nor fading light would make him leave this place until he decide so. So, in silence, he stayed for what he wished was an eternity, an eternity that, when over, would mean he would see them again. Had it not been for their passing, then perhaps his days as a mercenary would have ended by now. But no; they were gone from this world, and something deep inside him kept him searching, looking for answers to questions he didn’t know. That was why he wandered; that was the reason for his seemingly nomadic lifestyle.

Only when the stars began to appear on the distant horizon and the light of the moon began to glow did he rise to his hooves. For a moment, he thought he heard his daughter’s laugh on the wind, but dismissed it, the imaginings of an ever-grieving father. So, with a soft sigh, he turned and walked away, never looking back as he made his way inside.

Had he, Ebony Blade might have seen a shadow, thicker than the others, step out from behind the great oak tree and follow in his hoofsteps, taking great care to, almost reverently, avoid the two small graves covered in small, white flowers.

Author's Note

I am so sorry for taking so long with updating this. I pretty much lost my writing mindset during the beginning of summer and more often than not was just too lazy and/or busy (usually both) to set aside time to write, and thus didn't get anything done. What with work at the zoo, getting all college internship stuff in order, balancing my schedule, and stuff, I just... yeesh. What you see was written over the course of about six days, and the first 300 or so words were written almost a month ago.

Yeah, it took me so long to get this started, but then not a lot of time to write it out completely. Funny how that stuff works; this is my longest chapter yet for this story too.

Anyway, I will strive to write as much higher-quality stuff as I can within these upcoming weeks, as college is already starting up again in... 5 weeks, -ish? God, the summer has gone by so quick, it's crazy.

Also, many thanks to the talented Mr101 for giving me an OC, Ebony Blade, to use in this story. I'm still taking submissions for OCs, if anyone's interested. Like Mr101's, I'll thank their "creator" for letting me use them in the chapter I introduce them in.

See if you can find some of the few references in this chapter; I've worked a bit more than usual to hide them.

Until next time... happy travels.

A Warning of Danger

Chapter Forty Eight

A Warning of Danger

Walking up to the front door, Ebony entered the house and closed it behind him, making sure to turn several deadbolts into place. Walking down the hall and turning into the kitchen, he found the dishes magically washing, drying, and putting themselves away, like something out of a fairy tale. As the last small plate flew up into the cupboard, he turned and saw the pantry doors were still wide open. Several small jars of what had been honey mixed with dried cherries were gone, as was nearly an entire bag of salted sunflower seeds and a jar of pickles.

“They must have been very hungry, but then again, three of those mares are pregnant,” Ebony mused, rummaging around in the back of the pantry for something to eat before he too went to bed. Bingo; a jar of sugared apples and some cheese. Ebony couldn’t remember the “kind” of cheese it was, but he didn’t care, seeing as it wasn’t going to spoil anytime soon.

As he sat at the small table and began to munch on his food, the mercenary’s ears twitched; off in the distance, he heard a very faint rumble of thunder. Bat ponies had excellent hearing, as well as near-perfect night vision, which, combined with the echolocation they would occasionally use, meant they were just as comfortable during the night as they were during the day. Perhaps that was why they were so hard to sneak up on in a group; some were always awake during the night, and others, the day.

Ebony was one of those day-time ones, though if it were important, he could stay up as late as he needed to. “Storm might last some time,” he muttered as he bit into the cheese. “Been a while since the last one up here, and it’s coming down from the mountains. Should be a drencher.” The weather in Istanbul was not like this; here, farther away from large bodies of open warm water, the weather was often far more violent, and much more reliant on the changing air masses high in the mountains. That meant many more thunderstorms, which meant a lot of lightning strikes and, during some dryer points of the year, wildfires. Thankfully some of the more extreme weather phenomena, like tornadoes and hail, didn’t form often in this region of Transylmania.

Bat ponies didn’t like rainy or snowy weather all that much. They tolerated it, but most wouldn’t be caught out in a moderate rainstorm if they could help it, and none would ever go out in the snow unless they were truly bundled up. Their large, thin wing surfaces made them ideal for catching a cold, seeing as they gave off heat rather readily through the thin membranes. Sure, they could use them as thin blankets if the situation called for it, but that didn’t mean they were always useful for such out in the open.

Luckily for Ebony, his cloak served him rather well in keeping the rain off of his wings, or else he might not have been preparing to leave Istanbul when the storm hit. To think of what might have happened to all those in his charge had he not been there to be their ferryman and bodyguard, and instead had been sheltered in a tavern somewhere.

“Don’t bother to look back on “what-ifs”, Ebony,” he muttered to himself as he finished his little meal, making sure to pick up after himself. “Won’t do you any good to be thinking like that.” Leaving the table, he left the kitchen, heading down the long hallway to the master bedroom, passing several small unlit lamps and paintings. The house seemed to be growing darker with every other step he took, but it didn’t matter to him.

“Sir?” a voice called out, and looking up, the mercenary saw it was the unicorn named Maria, high above him at the top of the stairs on the second floor. She looked rather exhausted, though not yet sleepy; nerves from the trip and all that jazz likely keeping her blood pumping something fierce.

“Yes?” he asked, noticing she was still wearing the same robes they had all been given beforehand. Maybe he’d go down into town and buy them some new clothes; they had literally had only each other and the clothes on their backs when they had come into his care, plus the travelling cloaks Myrrina must have given them. He didn’t want to give them his wife’s clothes, as he doubted they’d fit.

“Do you want us to open the windows a tad?” she asked. “It’s a little stuffy up here, and these robes are all we have to wear other than what we have on underneath. Both could use some washing,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“No miss, please keep the windows shut and locked tonight. There’s a storm coming down from the mountains and it’ll get cold enough with the windows shut,” he replied, hoping that the merchants down in town would at least be open the next day. If not, then he’d have to find others ways of clothing his guests. Washing what clothes they had wouldn’t be a problem, what with how easy it would be to collect rainwater, but then again, they’d have nothing to wear while the clothes were being washed. “The wind might blow the windows open if they aren’t tightly locked. I’ll start a fire in the morning if the rain hasn’t stopped and it gets too cold. From there, I might be able to start a bath if there’s enough collected rainwater. Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, sir,” the unicorn replied, disappearing from view as she went off to bed, the soft click of a door shutting the last he heard from her.

“Nice mare,” the mercenary muttered as he turned a corner and continued towards his own room. She sort of reminded him of... “No, no, don’t think of her, don’t think of them,” Ebony muttered, balling his hands into fists as he walked down the hallway. His charges couldn’t know of his secret in the backyard, of the two little graves unless they stumbled upon it sometime in the future. There was no need to tell them otherwise.

Opening his door, he walked inside and closed it behind him. His bed was calling to him, as it had so many times before, and it just looked so comfortable this night...

Outside, as the wind began to pick up from the approaching storm whose clouds seem to boil in the sky, a shadow crept across the open ground of the backyard, the very last light of sunset disappearing completely from view as it did so. Now, in total silence and an ever-deepening gloom, it moved swiftly, silently, around the house, avoided the stone path with every step and, eventually, made its way to the front door. It raised a large, lithe hand and gently, ever so gently, tried to turn the knob, the slightly curved nails skidding softly over the metal.

Locked. Should have expected that.

No matter. With a shuddering gasp the specter seemed to shrink in on itself, the body twisting and working its way down to the ground like an ice sculpture melting into a puddle. Soon, no more solid than a thick layer of mist, the shape slithered up against the door, seeking a way inside. The door was of sound quality and had no real cracks or holes through which it could enter. The edges around the door were tightly flush with the doorframe as well. However, it was not impregnable, and soon enough, the shape found purchase within a small, looked-over spot; the keyhole itself. Pressing against it, and flowing like water through a straw, the shadow filtered into the main hall, pooling onto the floor like a fallen silk dress.

As if caught in a wind, the boiling mass of darkness rose up, reforming into an actual shape. Letting out a soft sigh, the specter slowly walked down the hall, ears twitching, nose sniffing, eyes darting this way and that to find what they were looking for.

“Surely he hasn’t gone upstairs,” it muttered as it followed the scent of the home’s owner. It grew stronger the closer they drew to the main room, and for the second time that night, once at the door, the figure tried the knob ever so gently with a firm, steady grip.

This time, they found purchase, and with the slowest of movements, gently pushed open the door. It did not creak, for which the specter was thankful, but it was not two steps into the room before something ice cold and solid was pressed against the back of their neck. Even in complete darkness, to the creature, the room was as bright as day.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” a voice hissed. “Face me, slowly; keep your hands in the air where I can see them. Any sudden movements, and I remove your head from your shoulders; clear?”

Turning ever so slightly, the figure saw Ebony Blade, effortlessly wielding his bastard sword Scylla as if it weighed barely more than air around them. Even in the darkness, the blackened sword seemed to give off an oily sheen, as if coated in the blood of previous intruders.

“Don’t you recognize me?” the figure asked, slowly turning around with the sword now pointed up at their throat. “Surely your eyes haven’t begun to go bad?”

“I know many ponies, know many faces,” Ebony said, his voice starting to lose its gruffness but not its dead seriousness. “I also know it is foolish to try and sneak up on a batpony in near-complete darkness.” He could see the intruder just fine, after all.

“I knew that, and know you can see me just fine. Surely you know my face as well as I do yours?” she replied, gently raising her hands in surrender.

“Of course; I could never forget a mane like that,” the bat pony said, his eyes glancing at the moving piece of hair. It was... unearthly, to say the least. Colored like the darkest flame, and moving as if set ablaze in a small wind; it was not the mane of a regular pony. “Just need to keep myself trained for the worst. You would know all about that... Bakhtak.”

“Ah, so you do remember me,” she replied, two of her fingers gingerly pushing the tip of the sword away from her throat. “I did not come to fight you, Ebony Blade; not now, not ever again. I give you my word on that, as I have many times before.”

“Your word? I think there is just enough trust in me left to take you up on that,” the bat pony replied as he sheathed his sword. Bakhtak was indeed good for her word, but the ways she honored them, sometimes... it was rather dubious. She’d find loopholes and exploit them to within an inch of her losing his trust, but never, ever crossing the line. She was hard to trust, but then again, the fact that he could trust her made her intentions all the more intriguing. “So, what brings a Nightmare to my humble home?”

“I have been living in this house too for many years, Ebony Blade. It was one of our previous agreements that allowed me to stay here, to stay in this land; it was by your word that I live here when you do not. Now you have company; I smelled them from a mile off. A zebra, two unicorns and a griffin, all female, with the unicorns being pregnant. A fifth female scent I detected, also pregnant, but with a smell unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before. The sixth... a dragon, decidedly male at that, and for some reason or another, smelling as if afflicted with some sort of sickness. Are you seeking to rid yourself of my presence, to try and protect your guests from the big bad Nightmare? Am I that much of an embarrassment to you?”

“Don’t give me a sob story premise like that, Bakhtak; you know as well I as I do I keep you on for your stellar cleaning skills,” he replied, his mouth an unwavering line but his tone dryer than smoke. He hadn’t seen a single cobweb inside the house since he had arrived, though the fact that she was able to not only tell who his guests were by their smell, but tell him their current states, made him feel very uneasy. She always made him feel uneasy for some reason or another, though thankfully not the kind where he was constantly looking over his shoulder to see if she was trying to sink her slightly serrated teeth into his neck.

“And not my looks?” she replied, gesturing down at herself.

In Ebony’s mind, whoever had come up with the term “Nightmare” for whatever species Bakhtak was, they weren’t kidding, and if it had indeed been a Nightmare who named them as a species, then the irony was not lost on the mercenary. A pelt as dark and somewhat shiny as oil, with a mane that flowed (and looked) as if it was made of fire. Old scars ran along the lines of her face, the swells of her arms and across her torso, the deep scarlet, golden and tawny streaks looking like minute rivers of magma coursing along her body. A pair of sunken eyes, a gaunt complexion, a pelt that seemed stretched over her bones, blood-red irises and slits for pupils: she was demonic in almost every sense of the word.

Also, she was tall; a good two feet taller than himself and even that Spike fellow, if Ebony had to compare the two of them. That, and she wore no clothes; then again, her appearance was closer to that of some demonically-possessed mummy from the depths of Tartarus, so clothes weren’t really big on a priority list for her, obviously. Plus, she didn’t have any real discernible body features, so it wasn’t embarrassing to look at her or anything.

“Maybe,” the mercenary replied as he took his sword from his belt. “What brings you into my... to home at this time of the night? Surely you aren’t lonely and looking for some company? Here I thought you liked being alone in a safe haven such as this.”

“I come with grave news, news from my liege, and from yours,” Bakhtak said, glistening fangs protruding from her lips every time she opened her mouth. “The sickness plaguing the land is a thing she cannot ignore, so she is proclaiming all take precaution. Do not travel at night, and if you do, never by yourself; do not leave your windows open or doors unlocked when you sleep, and along with that, always be sure of whom you are speaking with.”

“Anything else? Hang cloves of garlic on my windowsill? Carry a crossbow with silver-tipped bolts? Have a torch and pitchfork on standby? Stand inside a circle drawn in the dirt?”

“That was all Lady Fyrefly told me to say,” Bakhtak said with a small smirk; she’d always liked Ebony’s sarcasm, even if to others it might seem caustic. “That, and that to keep an eye on your guests; make sure they don’t cause trouble or leave the house without an escort. If word got out that they were here, some might think they were the cause behind all of this. If one was discovered and then became sick, then most would believe, and the trouble would only grow from there.”

How did the Lady know about his guests? It’s not like they ever talked anymore, not since they had gone their separate ways when they were younger. Time and society really did erase friendships, or at least, complicated them to no end. “It would seem that Lady Fyrefly knows of things she shouldn’t have,” the mercenary said. “I wonder who could have told her of my guests?”

“It was I who told her, before I came here,” the Nightmare bluntly stated. “It is one of my duties to inform her of new arrivals, especially those who have not sent her a message of their intentions.”

There was a pause. “It was none of her business,” Ebony replied softly.

“Everything that happens in her duchy is her business, as is much beyond its borders,” Bakhtak said. “It may have been you who granted me a place to live, something I am eternally grateful for, but it was your liege, Lady Fyrefly, that granted me pay, a service, and the right to be a citizen of her lands. Remember what I told you and the Lady of my earlier travels?”

“A fleeting phantom, never staying in one place for long; a shadow amongst the living, feared on sight and cursed by those with whom you fell out of favor?” Ebony asked. Neither he nor Lady Fyrefly had been keen at first to listen, but the Nightmare was nothing if not persistent. “Yes, Bakhtak, I remember just fine; you were a ghost to this world, as is the rest of your kind. You just happened along after one of my many campaigns and decided to tag along.”

“Then you know how loyal I am to you both; the Lady and you gave me a home, a place to stay, something I never had before. Do not ask me to proclaim my loyalty to either her or you, Ebony Blade. You know as well as I do that such a decision is far more difficult to make than even I am willing to attempt, and I do not wish to strain what little is left of your friendship with her.” There she was, playing her loyalty of him against her loyalty of Lady Fyrefly and the friendships they once shared. The mare sure knew how to make any argument seem futile and even childish.

“Then why would she need to tell me on how to live my life? Last I recall, I only live here from time to time, with much of my life now being employed outside of her borders,” the batpony said.

“You were born here and are a citizen of her lands, as you are a citizen of the High Lords above her. Renouncing that citizenship would bring great dishonor upon yourself and all your relatives, Ebony, no matter how distant they may be from you, in either miles or generations. She is also concerned for you, Ebony; she may not say it, but she wants to know what one of her former captains is up to from time to time.”

Damn, she had him there. Honor was one of the few things left in his life he cherished, as it was the reason he lead the life he did. If he had no honor, then he had nothing left, no reason to uphold the memory of the family that was taken from him and to make something of himself. Without his honor driving him to be the best and most reliable in his profession, he’d be... nothing. No, he’d be less than nothing.

“Why are you always so good at winning these arguments?” he asked with a sigh, his pride feeling a tad bruised as it always did when he dealt with this strange creature.

“Because I have more experience than you do,” she replied, glancing at the bed with a bored expression, as if it were nothing more to her than a simple collection of blankets.

“Ah, right, that; just how old are you now?”

“Please, you mustn’t ask a lady her age,” the Nightmare said with a rather short laugh, almost like the bark of a wolf mixed with the grumbling of a bear awaken too early from its winter sleep.

“Humor me.”

“Biologically, you might say I am about the same age as you, Ebony Blade: forty or so years. Chronologically, I am well over ten times that.”

“So... you’re over four hundred years old,” he said with a deadpan expression. “Even for a Nightmare, you look good for your age.” It wasn’t a compliment; merely a statement. He could only try not to imagine a very old Nightmare, its appearance likely being too terrible to imagine.

“Thank you, Ebony. However, it is not like you might think, for I am not immortal; I am merely somewhat ageless, though eventually I will pass away, in time, as we all do,” she said in reply. “It is late, and I grow tired. Do you mind if I stay in here for tonight?”

“I don’t know, sharing my house, let alone my room, with a carnivore seems pretty suspicious, or even dangerous,” Ebony said. Just what was she getting at? “Afraid of sleeping out in the garden shed like you always do when I’m home?”

“I moved my pillows into here last time, and... I would prefer not to tonight,” Bakhtak said. “This land... I feel something in it, some sickness I cannot describe. It has not been here since I arrived nearly ten years ago, though from what I have heard, it was before that. Whatever it is, it makes me feel uneasy, and so I wish to remove myself from its presence. Please, might I stay here, at least for a while? You won’t even know I was here.”

Ebony sighed; either she was being really cryptic, or she was afraid of catching whatever disease was going around (or at least, he still thought that was what it was), and it wouldn’t exactly hurt...

“Okay, you can stay, but on two conditions,” he said, holding up his fingers. “Number one, don’t bite anyone in here, or even think about eating them, including me. I don’t taste good.”

“Ebony, you know as well as I do I’ve never killed and eaten anypony, or anyone for that matter, in my life,” she replied. “I mean, I’ve never liked the taste of the battlefield dead anyway, so I’m a strictly non-sapient carnivore.” She was why many ponies ran such large herds of cattle, sheep and goats; there were always animals dying in winter, and larger herds survived better overall if the winter turned nasty, as much smaller herds were more easily wiped out by cold or predators. After getting sick of his “maid” smelling like blood and entrails all the time, even after she washed, Ebony had managed to arrange for the corpses of deceased livestock that were unsalvageable to be dumped far outside of town, deep in the secluded forests, so as to avoid attracting scavengers too close to local homes. Many wolves and even some younger bears dared not approach the corpses and try to dine alongside her until Bakhtak had had her fill on those cold nights, or else they too could wind up on the menu, either for her or for other scavengers. Only the largest of bears and wildest of wolf packs were wise enough to let her mostly eat her fill before they joined her. Strangely, foxes held no fear of her, and she left them alone because of it.

Luckily, she had a somewhat slower metabolism, and thus needed to eat far less often than the other carnivorous beasts of the world. She could still eat a helluva lot of food, though her figure never seemed to distort from the sheer amount of flesh she could consume in one sitting; no swollen-looking belly or anything.

“I wasn’t finished, but thank you for reminding me of your stories of feasting on battlefield corpses for centuries,” Ebony said with a fake gagging noise punctuating the end of his sentence. “Number two; don’t let any of my guests see you unless I introduce you. The last thing I need is for them to doubt me or my work if they find I’ve been letting a carnivore stay here. Like you said, three of those mares are pregnant, so no scaring them or else.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay hidden,” Bakhtak muttered, having heard this “stay hidden” rule for as long as she had been living here. Seriously, nopony outside of Ebony, Lady Fyrefly and one or two more knew she lived in these lands. She knew how to hide; how to be stealthy was ingrained into her since birth, as it was the norm for her kind.

“By the way, where’s Huma?” he asked. The phoenix that usually followed Bakhtak around like a lovesick puppy was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s up in Castle Enstein, in the company Fyrefly; she was in no mood to try and fly, not with weather like this on its way,” the Nightmare replied as a rumble of thunder added validity to her statement.

“Oh, right. Anyways, number three; make sure you don’t freak them out if and when I do introduce you to them,” the batpony said. “We’ll talk to them about your carnivorous nature when we get to it, okay?”

She blinked a few times in confusion. “Wait, you said there were two rules; that was a third one.”

“I added that one as an afterthought,” Ebony said. “I don’t need that dragon going full-blown psycho and trying to kill you if you appear to threaten his family. I’d like my house and myself to remain intact, please.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t freak anypony out. I’ll be a good little Nightmare and keep to myself in the cellar or something when they are awake,” Bakhtak said as she walked over to and curled up on her large throw pillow, situated on the floor in the corner of the room. “Goodnight, Ebony.”

He’d never understand why she preferred large pillows to beds, but he wasn’t going to argue over it by any means. She was a bit too tall to sleep in any of the beds he had, anyway. “Goodnight Bakhtak,” he replied. The sounds of her slow breathing signified she had already fallen asleep, and likely hadn’t heard him. “Figures,” he muttered as he too closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, even as the rain outside pelted the roof with a dull roar.

High above the sleeping town and cottage, in Castle Enstein, several guards followed their captain along a wide stone walkway. Their uniforms were soaked, the rain having drenched them to the bone through layers of steel and wool. One of the younger guards shivered, his body not quite used to the more unusual tasks his liege had delegated him to do. The guard next to him patted him on the back and gave him an encouraging nod as they entered a pair of great wooden doors, huge bolts locking into place as they were closed behind them.

“Sir, do you think we are done for the night? Surely the Lady would not send us out in this storm,” one of the guards said as some removed their helmets and slicked back their manes. Luckily for them, inside the castle it was decently warm, though only around the torches and large fire pits the Duchess had going on nights like this. They were all lucky they had only been caught out in the storm a short distance from the castle. Too far, and they would have needed to seek shelter elsewhere for the night.

“We are done when she says we are done,” the captain replied, an older stallion with a scar running along his lower jaw, courtesy of a long-deceased brigand. “For now, let us dry our wings.” With a nod of his head, one of the awaiting couriers scurried off to tell the duchess of their arrival.

“Ugh, I hate the rain,” the younger guard said as he stripped off the travelling cloak he wore. They all followed suit, and although the drying racks were few and far between, they hung them up where they could near any source of heat.

“We all do for some reason or another lad,” the captain said gruffly as he unfurled his own wings. “Rain is much like snow or sunshine; in moderation, it makes everything good, but too much or too little is very, very unfortunate. Just be grateful you get that cloak over your armor; in my father’s time, they were given only armor, and those leak heat like cracked buckets leak water.”

“Why do you suppose we are going out on these searches anyway? This illness that keeps popping up all over the place is just a natural thing, right?” one of the other guards asked as he squeezed water out of his long, flowing mane. How he managed to find the time to comb and shove that inside his helmet, the captain didn’t know.

“Probably, but you never know,” another said, removing his sword from his belt and trying to dry it off to prevent rust from forming. “I’ve heard those Marengolians will fling diseased corpses over defending walls to bring plague to cities and thus win faster. Who is to say the Ottomares haven’t learned a thing or two from them? It could be some young general or noble with more ambition than common sense trying to stir up trouble out here.”

“Doubtful,” another guard replied, older than most of the others and near the same age as the captain. “Ottomares haven’t invaded these lands in a long time, lads, and even if there was some young fool of a Turk out there, there’s no way he’d be able to hide any sizable force in these lands, even with the aid of magic. Besides, we should be thankful whatever this disease is, it hasn’t claimed any lives. Probably just some nasty cold going around that takes a while to make itself apparent. Just be thankful it isn’t that bubonic stuff.”

Most of the guards nodded in agreement with that, remaining silent as they stared into the flames. The worst plague in the history of their nation hadn’t passed through their part of Europe for a very long time, but it was always out there, somewhere, and it always, always spread like wildfire when it erupted.

After a few minutes, and with their wings nearly dry, several removed their gauntlets and began performing routine weapons inspections. Very soon after that, the courier returned.

“Sir, the Lady will be expecting you in the throne room,” the courier said quickly.

The captain nodded. “All of you, make sure you don’t get too comfortable. We may need to be out in that storm on a moment’s notice, and I don’t want anypony slacking off while I’m gone, understand?”

“Yes sir,” the guards said, and rather cheerlessly at that. Their spirits were normally high, even in weather like this, but the weather combined with all the patrols they and other guards had undertaken for the past few weeks... it was taking its toll on all of them.

“Until then, dry off,” the captain said, retrieving his still-soaking cloak and wrapping himself up in it, the cold wetness driving away the little warmth and dryness he had gained. “Courier, did the Lady say anything else?”

“Only that you were to come to her with at least some haste,” was the reply he received.

Ignoring the chill in his bones and the ache in his wings, the captain purposefully strode down the halls, past tapestries, statues and paintings. Many depicted the history of the castle and its inhabitants; a painting of the small town of Old Wingda, long before the castle itself was fully built and the city was razed by the Ottomares many years ago. The large oil painting of the former duke and duchess, and their two daughters: a tapestry depicting the royal line of the High Lords of the land, along with their many inter-family marriages and subsequent descendants. There was also a statue of the first lord of Enstein Castle, his name all but forgotten in the deep past. However, his legacy continued to live on and grow, as it was his descendant that still ruled in the castle, and perhaps, in time, hers would as well, should she ever marry again.

Just as the captain’s father and grandfather before him had served the noble family, he would do so, as (hopefully) would his children and their children. Such loyalty was always rewarded; several of his ancestors, including his father and great grandfather, had been given high seats of power within the ruling lord’s court.

That was why, when he turned the corner and approached the throne room’s doors, the royal guards standing watch in front of the large doors did nothing to oppose him other than a mandatory inspection for hidden weapons. So many of them were beyond loyal to the duchess, and some, like himself, were even more so. They had grown up under the rule of her father and, when he passed away, had unerringly sworn fealty to her. He himself was content with being a trusted captain of the guard, having passed on several prestigious promotions, and several of his sons were on the right track to being the next generation of the duchesses’ guards. In time, during a visit, the guards stopping him could be his own sons. The thought made him swell with pride.

Entering the room, he found the war table once again in the center of the room, the finished wood shining in the light of many torches and candles. It had been so long since he had last seen it, and for a martial pony, he preferred it to not be in use, as it meant trouble, and he did not like trouble. Only one other figure stood in the room, bent over the table instead of upon the throne she had inherited years before.

“My Lady Fyrefly,” the captain said, dropping to one knee in respect, even though the cartilage in his knee somewhat protested the sudden movement. The phonix high above him, lazily perched on an old chandelier, looked down upon him with disinterest. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Proceed, Captain Chiro,” the lady said, looking up from her map with a small frown, as if she had asked it to reveal its secrets to her and had politely refused. She was a striking bat pony, even by their own standards. She possessed a pelt as white as freshly fallen snow, a pair of green eyes sharper than a dagger’s edge, lips redder than a rose in full bloom, and a pair of wings that seemed to be woven silk stretched across steel poles. The duchess was tall, taller than the captain, who was no shrimp himself, and while she did nothing to flaunt it as others might, she possessed a body that could have driven lesser mortals to their knees. However, one might have never guessed her figure, as she wore a set of armor that looked as though it were forged by ancient gods and sealed in a desolate tomb for centuries. It was not smooth and circular as the armors of the day were for her guards, or for the lords of other realms. It was far more jagged, threatening, with layer upon layer of steel woven under thick silk robes and fur-trimmed velvet. It was the armor fit for a warrior queen, and though Lady Fyrefly did not hold the title of queen, she was nonetheless a warrior through and through. Her skills with a sword, and those of her family, were legendary even to the Ottomares to the south, and for years the Tsars to the north had sent their sons to her family in hopes to learn from them.

Perhaps that was why, even after serving by her sides for years and years, the captain could not suppress a shiver when she looked into his eyes, her gaze as fierce and determined as that of a snarling tiger. Her will, and law, was iron, and she suffered no fools for very long. She was not tyrannical nor cruel, but very practical in her rule, and for that, she was respected; feared slightly, yes, but no more than any other ruler was. “My Lady, the storm is still growing in size, though thankfully not in intensity. The worst should be over within a day, though it will rain intermittently for several more. I feel that messages should be sent out to the more rural areas, warning of the dangers of streams and rivers swollen from this rain.”

“You did not come just to give me a weather forecast, did you, Captain Chiro?” the duchess asked, arching an eyebrow as she slowly walked along the war table, the map of her territory spread out over the entire surface. It was barely a question; more of a statement, really.

“No, my lady, I did not,” he replied. “I just wanted to ask if we are indeed going to continue the search in the midst of this storm. My soldiers are tired but will not hesitate to continue the search. We will search all night if we have to.”

The duchess was silent for a few moments, her ears twitching at far-off noises. “No,” she said simply.

“No?” This answer surprised Chiro greatly, as he had been expecting for his liege to send him and other squads out into the storm within the hour. It was what he would have done, and he knew it was what Lady Fyrefly’s father would have done, given the circumstances they were currently experiencing.

“That is what I said, is it not? Tell your guards and the others that I am calling off the searches for tonight,” Fyrefly said. “They shall continue as soon as the rain lets up. For now, bid them goodnight. I shall be expecting to see you all in the morning for your new orders. There are portions of our lands that we have not searched as thoroughly, and-,”

“But... why? Why would you have us be so slothful when we should be vigilant? Is this problem not a grave threat to the entire realm?”

“Of course it is,” Fyrefly said coolly, not upset at being interrupted by one of her most loyal and competent captains, but not happy about it either. “You are not being slothful, captain; we are always vigilant, but we are also mortal, and must rest from time to time. Even I must rest, and to not do so would impede my abilities to lead govern these lands. This threat of which we have spoken of many times before is comparable to that of an Ottomare invasion, should it remain free and unimpeded for long enough. I will not, however, risk the lives of my finest officers and troops in the midst of such a tempest when the ability to track is nonexistent, even for the most experienced of soldiers. Besides, in this weather, none would dare be caught outside, even if not out of fear from the threat. I am confident there will be no attacks tonight, captain. Go, tell your troops to rest; they have earned it, as have you.”

“Thank you, my lady,” the captain said with another bow, making to leave the room. He shouldn’t have second-guessed her; it wasn’t like him to do that. Maybe he was just being a bit too forward with his ideas; he still needed to remember his place from time to time, even after all his years of service to the duchess’s family. Complacency could kill careers like his, and besides, he could almost hear his barracks bed calling his name...

Only, there was one more question he needed to ask. “My lady?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes captain?” she said, her sheathed sword tapping lightly against her hip as she took a few steps back towards the war table.

“And... and if she should... return? Return to the castle, and... surrender?” It was a false hope, the captain knew, but he had to know, if worst came to worst, or best, depending on how you looked at it...

“That need not concern you for the time being, captain. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, your highness.” With that, Captain Chiro left the duchess to her own devices, his figure disappearing as the great door closed behind him. The phoenix high above let out a soft cooing sound, as if letting the Lady know her visitor had left.

Lady Fyrefly sighed, her façade of fierceness dissipating as she glanced back at her war table. She had not needed to use it for ten years, ten peaceful, bountiful years, but now, after all this time... it- no, she was out there, wreaking havoc upon her citizens. A peace, a calm, shattered nearly a month ago, though the public had only known about it for only a few weeks. Her advisors had managed to keep a lid on the whole ordeal until it became too obvious to ignore, and ignore she never had. The duchess should have expected it, but she had hoped... hoped it could have been different this last time. Perhaps she could have found something else, something new and untested...

“No,” she muttered, pulling a small lever along the wall. With a scraping noise, a small doorway opened up in the stone, and with torches bursting into flame, she walked down the stone steps, deeper into the castle. Huma, high above still, let out a small squawk at the noise, but did not move from her perch. “No, Fyrefly, you have tried again and again. It’s been ten years; she’s not the pony you knew so long ago. She has changed for good, and if nothing can be done for her, then...”

The tall batpony didn’t want to believe it, but she had to; she just... had to accept it was all.

She choked back a small sob as she came into the room at the bottom of the stairs, steeling herself to not break down as she had when all this had begun again. Here, there was a steel door, hanging off one of its hinges, the interior of the room plain to see from the light of the torches. Normally moonlight would fill the room as well, but tonight, only water splashed against the great steel and glass window high above. Inside, there was a large cell, across from which many tables, bookshelves and glass beakers sat. Or least, that was how it had been for many years. Now, the tables were smashed, the bookshelves knocked over, the glass beakers in pieces all over the stone floor, and the steel door to the cell lying flat on the ground where it had been knocked off its hinges. The chains inside had been shattered as if made of glass, and the shackles attached to them had been ripped apart like paper. Books and scrolls lay where they had been scattered not too long ago, and in the air, there still lingered the faint smell of blood.

It was here where Lady Fyrefly had labored for years, with only a select few knowing, to find something nopony thought could have existed, absent even from myths and legends. It was here where she had devoted and given so much, and yet... it had all been for naught, it would seem.

“If... if she is as she will be forever, and... and if nothing can be done for her,” Lady Fyrefly continued, turning and leaving the room as if its presence would destroy her composure, “then something will have to be done, for the sake of all; something... permanent.”

High above, a loud crash of thunder sounded in the dark, and soon after, heavier and heavier rain began to fall over the land. What not too long ago had started as drips became a heavy mist, then a shower, and then, following another booming clap, transformed into an absolute downpour. If it were possible, the outside world was thrown into an even darker gloom, the only light cast from the lightning that punctuated the darkness every now and then.

In the upper story of the cottage, the four mares had managed to get Spike into one of the beds and, after very little debate, decided that the best option would be to have Maria and Trixie teleport two of the beds out of the other rooms and into the same room, with Chrysalis handling the fifth bed for Eutropia. Sure, it was somewhat cramped, but with all the beds now pushed together, all five were more or less comfortably laying where they wanted to be.

Spike and his wives on one side of the room, Eutropia nearby but still by herself in her own bed; just how she liked it. In a foreign house so far from home, she really didn’t feel like she wanted to be by herself at the moment, but that didn’t mean she was up for sharing a bed. She more or less got along with the four mares, so sleeping in the same room hadn’t been that big of an issue.

If only they’d stop talking and try and go to sleep.

“How long do you think it’ll be before he wakes up?” Asalah asked softly as she snuggled close to Spike, gently rubbing her fingers along his jawline. Slowly, regularly, her husband breathed in and out, never changing as he lay there in a sleep deeper than any they had known. It was almost like a coma to them, and because of that, they fretted over him constantly.

“Could be a few hours, could be a few days,” Chrysalis said softly as she and Maria cuddled with Trixie. Asalah had been the one to suggest they push the beds together, but with the room’s temperature dropping sharply as the cold rain splashed against the windows, the need to cuddle under the blankets had truly become a necessity. “We just don’t know. All we can do is hope he gets better soon.”

“Exactly,” Maria muttered as she gently stroked Trixie’s cheek. The blue mare had already fallen asleep, having consumed more than a good portion of the food they had grabbed before retreating to the room. The three of them, Maria, Chrysalis and Trixie, were all getting hungrier more often, more so than they would have liked to admit. Maria knew from talks with her mother that the “eating for two” spiel wasn’t true, but the fact remained that they were going through much more than most pregnant mares might find themselves doing. Hence why they were eating so much more than they would have thought they would; thankfully the cravings by now were few and far between, though right now Maria could have gone for some cheese-covered truffles on rye bread...

“Won’t he be hungry? He hasn’t eaten since we left him in his cell, or at least, since we were reunited with him,” Asalah said as she laid her head on Spike’s chest. Deep within him, underneath muscle and scale, she could hear, and feel, the beating of his heart; slow, methodical, deep and strong.

“I’m sure he’ll be hungry,” Maria said softly. “Ebony Blade might need to restock his pantry after we leave... or the whole house.”

The three mares giggled at that, the atmosphere lightening a little as they finished settling into their beds. Soon enough, after a few more minutes of idle chitchat, their breathing deepened, and they too were asleep.

“Finally,” Eutropia muttered as she removed the pillow from atop her head and laid down upon it. “Don’t they know others are trying to get some sleep in here? You’d think with how much they talk that their husband would wake up from it.”

Seriously, all they did was talk about their husband, fawn over him, and treat him like the greatest thing in the world. Surely that wasn’t like what life was like in a polygamous marriage, right? Eutropia would have thought that being one of four wives would mean there would be some intra-familial rivalry between them. Who was Spike’s favorite? Who was better at cooking, or cleaning, or using magic? Who was the smartest, the strongest, the prettiest, or the best at se-

“No, no, don’t think about that stuff,” the griffon muttered. She didn’t like the thought of sex as much as some might. To her, it seemed... it just seemed weird, okay? Putting his... whatever into her... whatever... it just seemed so out of place and unnatural, especially if he was married to others. That, and she was just so self-conscious about her looks that the thought of actual, honest-to-goodness sex absolutely terrified her. She’d gotten more than a good look at these mares when they stripped off some of their robes before going to bed: all were gifted somewhere or another. The griffon glanced down at her own chest under the covers. “They’re all bigger than these mosquito bites,” she muttered as she folded an arm across her breasts, almost as if shielding them from view. “Even that Trixie, and she’s the smallest of the four. Is that what males want? Large breasts, trim waists and big hips? Mother’s weren’t much larger than my own, but they still were: do they get bigger during or after a pregnancy?”

Her mother had neglected to tell her anything about sex, seeing as how she wasn’t going to be having any “on her watch”, as she had put it. Eutropia had never even had a “boyfriend”, as it was, while all the other girls had handsome young stallions or griffins pursuing them all the time. She had been the third wheel, the loner, the outsider, amongst her peers, if only in the terms of relationships. There had been that one cute griffin guy who had taken a liking to her, but as soon as her mother found out, he was off to basic training in the military within days. Sometimes having a mother with such good connections in the military really sucked. She still hadn’t seen him since; either he was off on his own thing, or he was avoiding her, if only to protect himself from Myrrina’s overly-protective “no-touch” mindset.

That being said, Eutropia was afraid; actually afraid at the prospect of sex, of mating, of finding love, settling down and raising a family. She was so young, so afraid of the new world she was being thrust into, that having sex was the furthest thing from her mind. Back in Istanbul, before all of this had happened, she had given it thought, but always come to the same conclusion; sex was something females shouldn’t, or at least, mostly, didn’t enjoy. It was hard to think of sex as enjoyable when everypony or griffin she had heard talk about it had said something about “the first time was painful” or “he was so rough last night” and so on. Sex wasn’t supposed to be a competition or some weird ritual to make you feel better, she had told herself; it was about procreation, or at least, that was what she thought.

In her head, sex was something for males to love, while for females, it was just another chore, something for their male to expect from them whenever they wanted it. Eutropia was not one to be dominated, to be intimidated into doing something she didn’t want. She had gone with them because her mother had told her to do so.

That did not make her weak. She was a Spartan, a griffon, a creature born to fight, born to win, and born to dominate. She would not be some male’s plaything; she would rule the roost.

“That was a terrible pun,” she muttered, closing her eyes as thoughts of running a household and demanding her slovenly, faceless husband do everything filled her mind. As she slipped off into dreamland, the rain continued to pour down in torrential sheets against the window, with the only light from the distant lightning casting shadows across the landscape.

Had Eutropia glanced at the window, she would have seen a pair of glowing green eyes in the darkness, their gaze drifting from one sleeping form to the other before a flash of lightning revealed their owner. A ghostly pale pelt, glistening fangs, an untamed mane and a mouth opened unnaturally wide in glee as it stared into the house, its tongue tasting the air, drooling, waiting, wanting...

As another flash of lightning sent the world of darkness away for another brief moment, the light revealed again... nothing.

It... was gone.

Author's Note

Well... this is getting interesting. Most interesting indeed. Also, many thanks to Drone of War for letting me use their character Bakhtak, whose backstory will be further expanded upon later. Remember, none outside of Equestria truly know anything about Nightmare Moon, so they would not associate the two just yet.

Like I said, all will be explained... eventually.

Ghosts of the Past

Chapter Forty Nine

Ghosts of the Past

The rain indeed did not relent in its attempts to wash away the cottage until early the next morning. Even now, at what was technically a new dawn, the darkness of night still lingered on, nurtured by the vast cover of clouds. A lightly falling mist mingled with swirling clouds of fog, and high above, lightning arced across clouds like pulsating, throbbing veins of light. Thunder boomed every now and then as well, but it was distant, a sign that most of the rain had fallen already and would likely cease within days.

Still, when Ebony Blade awoke early that morning, it was cold. If it hadn’t been for the many sheets, comforters and blankets covering his guests and him, any of them might have taken ill from the sheer dampness that seemed to hang in the air. Grumbling as he crawled out of bed, and feeling his pelt bristle in the chilly air, he pulled a large robe out of his closet and left his room. As he did so, Ebony noticed Bakhtak was still soundly sleeping on her pillows, the cold doing nothing for her. Then again, why would it? Her kind was able to withstand a great range of temperatures, whether hot or cold.

Wandering down the halls and coming into the common room, the weary stallion tossed in some logs and arranged some tinder and kindling, with a few sawdust-coated pinecones thrown in for good measure. Taking his flint and steel, he struck several times, and with a little patience had a few sparks land in the sawdust. Soon enough, after gently breathing on the tiny golden sparks, the batpony had a small flame going. As soon as the pinecones lit up, the rest of the kindling and tinder did as well, and within minutes, the fire itself was roaring. Feeling the heat seep into his bones through the enchanted grate he placed over the fireplace, Ebony then set off down the cellar steps to get some more firewood. The heat faded very quickly from him, especially in the cellar, but after grabbing and carrying up a few more loads, his body had warmed up considerably. Still, as he sat down in the great big armchair and stared out the window, he truly felt at home.

Too bad it was under a very odd set of circumstances. If not, he’d have likely sat there for hours, if not all day, rising only to stoke the fire. No; with his guests, it’d be best for him to make breakfast, or at least try to. He didn’t know what they wanted to eat though, and soon enough, he’d also have to go get them some fresh clothes from town.

“Hopefully some shops will be open,” Ebony muttered, staring at the flickering flames. “This sickness is making everyone act strange... or at least, stranger than normal. Who knows if Madam Kier is even open today?”

“Well, what do you expect?” a voice said over his shoulder, and with a small start, Ebony looked back and saw Bakhtak standing there, as calm as ever. “Ponies do as they like, be it rational or not.”

“Why must you do that?” he asked, wondering how she was so quiet. He hadn’t really heard her come in last night; only seen her.

“Do what?” she asked, which would have been an innocent question, save for the toothy grin she was sporting as she walked over by the fireplace.

“Be all sneaky like that,” the batpony replied, rubbing his temples in frustration. “You know I told you to stay in the room, or at least, the cellar. I don’t want that dragon waking up and setting fire to the countryside just because he got scared you were going to eat his family.”

“The cellar is dark, damp and cold, and right now, I wanted some warmth,” Bakhtak replied simply, both of them knowing fully that cold didn't bother her at all. “So... what are you doing?”

Seriously reconsidering my offer of hospitality... “I was going to go into town today and purchase my guests some clothes,” Ebony replied. “They came to me with the clothes on their backs and goodness knows they’ll need something to wear soon enough. I know what it’s like to go unwashed for days, and I can only imagine just how long they’ve gone without washing themselves.”

“Seems reasonable, though I sense you feel conflicted about such a gesture of goodwill,” the Nightmare said softly. “Why is that?”

“Because I don’t want to just leave them here, all by themselves, with suddenly only you for company. I’d at least like, if not prefer, to inform them of this decision before striking out for town, and make sure you’re out of sight for the time being. Who knows what trouble they could get themselves into if I don’t tell them personally?”

“Why not just leave them a note?”

“That’s useless; easily lost, can’t convey everything I’d want them to be aware of/not do, and it can’t answer any questions they might have,” the batpony said, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Besides, I should at least tell them where the wash basin is, and how to start the fire that heats it, and-,”

“Why can’t I tell them?” she asked simply.

Ebony just stared at her for a few moments. “Bakhtak... you know what I said last night? About not wanting to lose my house to some out-of-control dragon?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it still stands, and will stand for as long as they stay here,” he said. “Even if he doesn’t wake, I can’t put it on my conscience to know those mares could stumble upon you and potentially injure themselves, or worse, the foals they carry.”

“Ebony, do you really think so little of me that I would intentionally cause them such a fright? That I would intentionally cause them pain and suffering?” Bakhtak asked, a rather chilly tone entering her voice that had nothing to do with the chill outside. “Though I may look it, Ebony Blade, I am not a monster, any more than you are. Why must I be judged as so every time, without being able to defend myself at all?”

“Bakhtak, I-,”

“No, Ebony, there's something I've been holding in too long, and it's about damn time I said it. I am what I am, but that does not mean I am what everypony thinks we Nightmares are. Nightmares are an ancient, nigh-ageless race, batpony, almost on par with alicorns and dragons. We once freely walked this planet, alongside many other creatures like us. Over time, our ways were destroyed by your ancestors and the ancestors of other ponies, be they pegasus, earth pony or unicorn. My race has lost so much of its history that few, if any, of us remember our accomplishments of the deep past. All because we look like “monsters”, monsters your kind have always feared.”

The batpony remained silent as she continued on.

“Our kind developed medicines to treat bubonic plague when your ancestors still subsisted on fruit and insects and dwelt upside-down in caves. We had long used the wheel before you domesticated wolves into dogs. Nightmares were among the most cultured creatures to exist, and yet... because of our appearance, because of what we look like, we’ve been rejected, pursued, hunted to the ends of the earth. We are but a shadow of our former glory, all because ponies like you saw only what your eyes see, and not what the heart sees.”
What the heart sees? What did she mean like that?

“Only a few species of today know of our once proud heritage. The oldest of dragons, some of the alicorns, and most especially, the draconequui. Many of their most revered scholars know of our past, but what they know is all we know, and little by little, every remnant of it is washed away. Now tell me, Ebony Blade, do you think I hate pony kind for what is has driven my species to become? Scavengers, flesh-eating ghosts that inhabit the darkest corners of all civilizations; relics of a bygone era that even my own kind knows little about?”

The stallion was silent for what might have been an hour, or just a few minutes. The venom in her words... it was there, to be true, but it wasn’t the whole story. The flames that danced in the fireplace mirrored the flames that danced in his eyes when he spoke.

“No, Bakhtak, I do not think you hate pony kind. You feel cheated, shunned, hated, yes, and rightfully so, but what my ancestors did or did not do to your ancestors has no influence on how I treat you. I honestly could care less what they did, for I am not them, nor will I ever be them. Do I still share some of their fears? Of course. Do I let that control my actions whenever I am with you? Never.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked, her voice returning to its earlier, much softer tone, her temper obviously be wrestled back under control.

“Because even though you may think you look like a monster, I have gazed into your heart and seen the truth. Nightmares are not so different from ponies; we are all different in some way or another, and yet the same. You are no exception. You are compassionate, almost to a fault, and even though you make mistakes, as well all do at some point or another, I know you mean well by them. You genuinely care about duty, honor, oaths and friendships; you are steadfastly loyal and highly dependable.”

“I’m sensing a “yet” in there somewhere.”

“Yet for all your good qualities, there is something you lack, even with all your years of life on this world.”

“And what might that be?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“The ability to see what others see, be it inside and out,” the batpony said. “When you look at me, you see a creature so different from you, a creature whose ancestors at one point drove yours to near extinction. You see me as your kind has likely seen my kind for countless generations, and while you have never truly said it out loud, I feel you have felt that same prejudice against everypony you’ve ever met.”

Bakhtak remained silent.

“When I look at you, Bakhtak, I see a pony very much like myself, but different, yes. Not worse, not better; simply different. In fact, I think that Nightmares split off from the main branch of pony kind so very long ago, and although you may not think it, I think, in a way, you are still one of us. It is not within my power to apologize for the crimes done to your kind, but know this; I do not judge you on your appearance. I may be slightly scared of you from time to time, and worry that others may be, and worry about other such things, but that is because I know that ponies don’t like to sit down and talk with others before they decide to judge them. I myself have been a perpetrator of that many times, far too many times to count, but I assure you, with you... it’s different.”

“How so?”

“I... I honestly don’t know,” Ebony said softly, gazing into the fire as if it might hold the answers he sought. When the curling flames refused to reveal their secrets to him, he sighed; it seemed he wouldn’t be making his guests breakfast after all. “I’d best be going.”

“What?” the Nightmare replied. “Weren’t you going to wait to tell them everything they needed to know?”

“I’m entrusting you with that, if you wish,” the batpony said as he rose and fetched a traveling cloak from the coat rack.

“But, what about that whole “your appearance could hurt them” spiel?”

“I realize that you feel strongly about them and the situation that they have been placed in, as it likely mirrors the same on you've faced countless times. Even though you have yet to meet them, I am hoping you would be the one to decide whether or not they would meet you, regardless of whether I was present. It still rests upon you for that, Bakhtak. I should be back sometime around noon.”

With that, Ebony left her by the fireplace, his figure disappearing out the front door, which locked with a sharp click behind him.

Bakhtak, all alone by the fireplace, stared at the door where he had gone for several minutes. She felt... well, “odd” wasn’t the right kind of word to describe what was in her heart. Pride? Relief? Guilt? It was hard to say. Ebony had shown her a side of him that she hadn’t known existed. She had known him to be trustworthy and kind, but... sympathetic without being placating? Just without being pretentious? It was... incredible to her. Here she had thought she had him pegged for what he was, and yet it was like she hadn’t known him all.

She’d have to keep that in mind from now on. As she went over and lay in the same seat from which Ebony had departed, happily soaking in the latent heat he had left behind, she heard soft hoofsteps coming down the stairs. Inhaling deeply, the Nightmare sat silently in the seat, the scent of her visitor telling her exactly who they were.

“The zebra,” she whispered softly to herself as she politely crossed her legs.

“Hello?” a voice called out, and as if on cue, said zebra walked into the room, her travelling robe clenched tightly around her body.

“Come in, come in! Please, make yourself warm by the fire, my dear,” Bakhtak called out softly.

Asalah slowly approached the chair from behind, cautious of this newcomer. “Um... who are you? Where’s Mr. Blade?”

“He should return by around noon, he said,” was the reply. “He is out in town, fetching you some new clothing. He instructed me to tell you of the goings-on of this house, and to help you with anything you require.”

“But... who are you?” Asalah said as came around the side and saw... well, a demon wasn’t the first thing that came to mind. Fourth or fifth, maybe, but spirit-walker, skin-changer, and several others competed for first place, along with something else, something that tugged at the farthest recesses of her memory...

“I? I am the maid, Bakhtak,” the tall figure replied simply, with a light chuckle. “You must be cold, dear. Come, sit, warm yourself; no sense in you catching a cold.”

The zebra slowly walked over and sat down by the fire, her eyes never leaving the creature before her. “I didn’t know Mr. Blade had a maid.”

“He doesn't talk about me much,” Bakhtak replied with a shrug. “I’m not exactly a good conversation piece; "Oh, by the way, my maid is a Nightmare, so don’t be surprised if you see her around here," doesn't exactly come up all that often.”

“A Nightmare?” the zebra repeated, the pieces starting to fall into place for her. “You’re a Nightmare?”

“Well, yes, if my appearance wasn’t a dead giveaway. I am indeed what you ponies call a Nightmare.” Truth be told, as far as Bakhtak knew, her species had given themselves a name so long ago that none remembered it.

Asalah was silent for a moment. “Have... have you ever been to... been to Agrabah? Or at least, near that part of northern Africa?”

The towering figure touched her chin in thought. “Hmm... it has been some time since I was last near that part of Africa... do you have a time as to when?”

“Several years ago, perhaps close to fifteen?” the zebra asked. She had to know... had to know if this was... her.

“Hmm... yes, now that I think about it, I do remember being in Agrabah years ago. Why do you ask?”

“You... you don’t remember, do you?” Asalah said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “The sultan... the sultan there had a daughter, a daughter you befriended on a long caravan trip to visit one of her relatives.”

“Hmm...” Bakhtak said softly. “Yes, yes, now I remember. The cutest little filly, trying to be all dressed up like a grown-up, yet still scared of the desert’s noises at the time. Poor little filly, hardly able to sleep for fear of jackals and hyenas coming to snatch her away. I... I remember showing her the stars in the sky, and singing softly to her to help her sleep... How do you know these things?”

“Because... because that little filly was me, Bakhtak,” Asalah said with a small sniffle. “I... I knew I recognized you from somewhere, but... but I couldn’t be sure it was you, couldn’t be sure it really was... you.”

“Asalah?” the Nightmare asked, recognition filling her face as she stared at the mare across from her. “Little Asalah? Is... is that really you?”

“Yes, yes it’s me,” the zebra said, rushing forward and throwing her arms around the much taller mare. “I... I can’t believe I’ve found you, after... after all these years!”

Slowly, Bakhtak returned the hug. Of course... how could she have missed it before? She had a very long memory, and an excellent sense of smell. How could she have forgotten little Asalah, who smelled of incense and honey and lily? How could she forget of the little filly who had been her only friend in a very long time? The friend she had had to leave behind, promising one day to see her again?

It was breaking her gladdened heart to see her again. “Come now dear, now is not a sad time,” she whispered as she patted Asalah gently on the head. “Now be a dear and tell me all about what’s happened since we last saw each other.”

“Well... there’s a lot to tell,” the zebra said slowly, extricating herself from the Nightmare’s embrace to find a seat on the adjacent chair. She was so giddy at seeing her old friend once more, a friend many had told her had merely been a figment of her young imagination at the time. But she had known; she had known that “Bakky”, as she had called her, had been very real indeed. “So much... so much has happened in these past few months, never mind these last few years. I... I’m not sure where to start, to be honest.”

“Start wherever you like, Asalah. I have all the time in the world to hear of your adventures.”

Meanwhile...

With clouded skies above and the chilling wind biting at his travelling cloak, Ebony Blade sat atop his carriage alone. Down the long winding road to New Wingda he went, the only sound over the wind was the occasional creak of the carriage’s wheels. Within days, not only would everything have dried, but it would be sunny, warm, and everything would go back to normal.

Or at least, that is what the lone batpony hoped. Here he had thought his time with his guests was going to be an easy one. Already, somehow, he knew that was going to be so far from the truth. His... discussion with Bakhtak had awakened something in him. It was something he had refused to acknowledge, like a stubborn fool who refused medicine because he thought his hacking cough was nothing more than a result of the humidity. It was something buried deep, so deep that when it came to the surface, it almost blindsided him, nearly driving him to a screaming agony.

He was lonely. He, a mercenary, often surrounded by blood and death and all manner of ponies, was lonely. He knew many other mercenaries who had families; it was what drove them to be mercenaries in the first place. He... he was different. The loss of his family, rather than a need to feed and clothe them, had fully driven him into his line of work. Sure, he had been in the employ of others when his... when his family still lived, but it had just been a job to help make ends meet. Now... it was his life; it was what he thought about when he awoke, what was on his mind during the day, and on his lips when he fell asleep. He lived, breathed, and was the job.

He hated that. He despised that.

He didn’t want it to be his life, to be what he stood for, what he was. He wanted more, he wanted to be more than just some sellsword, some stallion for hire. He wanted what was taken from him, wanted the world and family he had lost.

Ebony wanted his life back.

But the world would not grant him this. It would not give him what he wanted, no matter how much he asked, or begged, or prayed for-,

“Mama, wait up!” a voice called out, soft and twinkling in the stiff breeze. His ears nearly ripping themselves off of his head in their mad dash to swivel towards the noise, Ebony turned to see a small figure run along the side of the road, her little wings flapping happily behind her. Her mane, long and dark, trailed behind her as she ran up to... up to...

“No,” Ebony whispered as he watched a mare bend down and scoop up the small figure into her arms. Her mane... her eyes... her smile... it couldn’t be her, and yet... yet it was her.

His wife, Lobelia.

Ebony shook his head, trying to dispel the image from his head. “No, no, get it together Ebony, she’s not there, she’s... they’re not real.” It would not be the first time he had thought he had seen his family, alive, when they were so clearly gone from this world. In the first year, he would still hear his wife’s singing, his daughter’s laugh, smell the biscuits they would bake together; it almost drove him to suicide. He had thought he was going mad, and as it turned out, leaving the house for extended periods of time, often months at a time, was the only thing that cured him of it.

When he looked again, the small figure had vanished, gone like a wisp of fog driven away by bright sunlight, and yet... his wife was still there, smiling as she watched him move along on his... their carriage. It had been a wedding gift from her parents, for travelling and for work, and Ebony had thanked them profusely for such a wonderful gift. Now... he kept it in as good of condition as he could, just to honor their memory, as they too had been taken by plague ten years before. That was why he’d always put it away in the shed, no matter the weather; as long as it was in tip-top shape, then their memories still resonated within his heart.

“Hello, my love,” not-yet-was-Lobelia said, and in that moment, Ebony thought his heart would give out from pain and shock. It... it had to be her. Her voice, it... it held within it the same vibrance and life it had when their daughter had been alive; before... before Calypso had passed away.

“You... you... you’re not...” Ebony stuttered as this... vision of his wife walked alongside him.

“I’m not what?” she asked, giggling slightly at the stupefied look on his face.

He felt as though he were dying from the inside, as if his soul had risen up in rebellion and was waging war on the vessel that carried it. This... this had to be a hallucination brought on by the stress of his newfound feelings of loneliness and confusion. Yes, that was it; there could be no other reason as to why... why his wife was... amazing, how she was still so beautiful, still so...

“Shush dear, let’s not talk about unpleasant things,” she said, her twinkling laugh all but erasing the doubt from his mind. Instead, a light fog filtered through, soothing his pain and worries like a blanket that brought warmth to a cold foal. “Tell me, how have you been? It has been a very long time since we spoke, my love.”

The batpony gulped, not sure how to tell his wife what was going on. “Where... where’s Calypso?” he asked. “She... she was just with you.”

“Oh, she’s off, playing in the sunflowers and chasing butterflies,” she said, casually moving some of her mane out of her face. “You know how she just loves the way they follow the sun’s passage through the sky.”

To Tartarus with logic; Ebony was going to ride out this hallucination for as long as he could. “Oh, okay,” he muttered, watching as his wife’s clothes barely moved in the brisk wind. “Are... are you okay?”

“Of course,” Lobelia replied. “Other than the storm last night giving Calypso and me a fright, we have never been better. Besides, how could we not be, with such a loving father and husband to care for us? Now, love, when were you going to tell me we had guests?”

“Guests?” he replied, nonplussed. "What... what guests?"

“Yes, Ebony, guests,” she replied. “Who are they? I would have had a hot meal ready for them last night if you had just sent a letter ahead to let me know. I do hope they have eaten well; our pantry is well stocked for such occasions.”

“I... I guess I forgot to tell you,” he said. “They... they’re some travelers put in my charge. I’m to take them far away from the reaches of Istanbul and... and the Ottomare Empire.”

“Ah, yes, our troublesome neighbors to the south. If they are indeed moving away from that dreadful empire, then all the better for them.” Lobelia tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Is that it?”

“Well, um, there’s the one called Eutropia. She’s a griffin, only a little older than Calypso would be-, I mean, is; quite a bit older, actually.”

“A griffin? I haven’t seen a griffin in ages,” she replied softly. “The others?”

“Two... two unicorn mares, named Trixie and... and Maria. The fourth, she... I’m not sure what she is, but they call her... call her a Changeling. The other one... she’s a zebra: Asalah is her name.”

Why was it so hard for him to talk? It was like the fog in his head was growing ever thicker...

“Is that it? Surely there are... more?” Lobelia asked, a distant look in her eyes. Her voice, even as she spoke, seemed to become quieter, lost in the wind.

“A... a dragon. The... the mares are his wives, his... his family. They call him... Spike. Spike Dragul, I think.”

“Spike Dragul, the dragon,” Lobelia asked, the world seemingly becoming darker with every step she took. “Most excellent.”

“W-What?” Ebony asked his world seemed to swirl around in his eyes, and soon enough, he felt very, very sleepy. “L-Lobelia? Please, don't... don't leave me! Not again, not...”

“Hush now, forget this happened. A dragon... most excellent,” was all he heard before his eyes closed and he slumped over in his carriage seat.

As the carriage continued onwards towards town, it’s sleeping driver still holding the reigns, Lobelia remained behind, her wings behind her back rustling with the buffeting wind. It would not be long before he awoke, remembering the incident as if it were nothing more than a dream. At the thought of what she knew, of the truth, she smiled, though her smile grew wider, and wider, and wider, far wider than any pony’s mouth had a right to grow.

“Most excellent,” she hissed, her pelt and mane changing as her voice took on a more feral tone. “Most excellent indeed, you lovesick fool.”

In a flurry of wings, she was gone, flying low over the fields like a great predatory bird. Her target was set: a distant cluster of trees, near a large house, a house she had gazed into late last night...

Meanwhile...

A pair of green eyes slowly opened as a particularly strong gust of wind lashed at the cottage. The rumbling around the building was nothing compared to the rumbling inside the dragon’s skull.

“Ugh, my aching head,” Spike mumbled, reaching up to wipe his eyes... only to find that it took him nearly three times the effort to do so as it normally might. He just felt... exhausted, as if he had been subject to hard labor for days on end. At least the bed was comfortable...

Wait a minute... a bed? How in the world had he gotten into such a comfy bed? The last thing he remember, he had been... he had been... just where was he now?

“This doesn’t look like the prison cell,” the dragon muttered as he slowly sat up, much to the protest of his body. He was rested, for sure, but he just ached. It was as if millions of tiny fists had pummeled his insides, from his bones to his muscles and even his organs. It even hurt to occasionally blink, never mind move his jaw to talk.

Groaning softly as he shifted himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed, he glanced around some more. There were several beds, all in various states of dishevelment. In one bed, there lay a covered-up figure, their head feathers just barely poking out from under the covers.

“I wonder who that it,” Spike muttered as he glanced at the other beds. There, two forms lay snuggled up against a third, and the horns on all three were unmistakable. “Trixie? Maria? Chrysalis?” he mumbled, his eyes glazing over for a few seconds as he stared at their slumbering forms.

They didn’t move; all were soundly asleep, and though he had no idea where he was or who was in that separate bed, Spike didn’t wish to wake them to ask. So, gently letting himself off of the bed and onto an unsteady pair of legs, he slowly began to walks towards the open door. He could feel the floor was cold beneath him, but the instant he was in the doorway, he could feel a light, rising heat coming from somewhere else in... wherever he was.

“Wait... where’s Asalah?” the dragon asked himself as he wandered down the hallway, taking in his surroundings as best he could. This looked nothing like any of the homes he had seen in Istanbul. For once, it wasn’t a dungeon, and two, it seemed so... rural. This house was obviously older than he was, to be sure, but it seemed very well-kept. It almost reminded him of any of the homes he had seen in Ponyville; rural yet sturdy and built to be a home, a sanctuary for family and friends.

He only hoped he’d have a home like this when he got back to Equestria. Living in a castle was nice and all, but if it wasn’t built right, then it wouldn’t feel like a home. It’d feel more like...

“Like a prison,” Spike muttered, shivering slightly at the memory. Spying a set of stairs, the dragon slowly clambered down the steps, feeling like he might stumble and tumble down them at any moment. His ears twitching unexpectedly, he listened intently; he could hear voices coming from another room in the house.

“Asalah?” he called out, his voice an octave above a whisper as he walked around. “Asalah?”

Creeping into the doorway to a room, he could see a roaring fireplace on a hearth, a tall figure in a chair facing away from him, and-

“Spike!” a voice shouted, and Spike had just enough time to blink before the black and white streak that was his wife collided with him, covering his face with kisses as they, thankfully, fell backwards onto a couch.

“Asalah, what... no... gerroffme, I just got-,” was all Spike managed to mumble out before Asalah’s kisses found his lips and silenced his words, their warmth and softness causing his words to die in his throat.

“Oh, Spike, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re all awake!” his wife squealed in-between kisses, her arms squeezing him with an unusual strength. Who knew she was so strong? “I was so worried about you! We all were! Wait... are the others awake?”

“No,” Spike said, breathing in deeply at the freeing of his face from her kisses. “They’re still asleep.”

“Ahem,” a voice said, causing Spike to look towards the figure in the chair. It... was that...

“Spike, stay calm,” Asalah said suddenly, her encompassing grip somehow tightening even more (Spike swore he heard his bones creak) as she followed his gaze towards the tall... creature. Seriously, like freakishly tall, taller than him by... a lot. “This is Bakhtak, an old friend of mine. Bakhtak, this is Spike... my husband.”

“Charmed,” the tall pony-like creature replied. What was with her body? Were... were those scars?

“Um,” Spike began as Asalah resumed nuzzling against him in joy at his awaking. “I think I’m going to need an update on everything that’s happened, and I mean everything.”

Meanwhile...

Ebony awoke with a snort, his sleep being disturbed by a jolt in his side. Looking down through groggy eyes, he saw a pair of mares, their faces peering up at him from underneath heavy robes. One was holding a walking stick like a fire poker. He was right outside of New Wingda, his magical carriage having stopped alongside the road on its own.

“Sir?” the one with the stick asked. “Are you all right?”

“I guess so,” the stallion replied, rubbing his eyes before looking at the mares. “Why’d you poke me?”

“We thought you were... deceased,” the other said simply. “Wouldn’t be the first time ponies had strolled into some town dead at the wheel of a carriage. Often a sign of ill omens to come, I’ll warrant.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m clearly not dead,” Ebony said, a bit of his usual dry humor filtering back into his voice. “Since we’ve already established that, mind telling me if any of the stores are open? I need to pick up some things.”

“Old Vlad’s apothecary is closed; roof partially collapsed last night from the rain and wind,” the mare with the stick said. “Thank goodness nopony was hurt, but there is some water damage inside, and it’ll be a while before he reopens.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Well, I was actually looking for a tailor. Do you know if Madam Kier is open?”

“She just opened up an hour ago,” the second mare said, pulling her cloak tighter against her. “She shouldn’t be too busy. Not many ponies outside these days, what with that sickness going around.”

“I bet it’s just some bug going around, nothing more than that,” Ebony said as he clambered down off the carriage. “Good day, ladies,” he added, giving a small bow before walking away, the hilt of his bastard sword glinting in the dim light of the day.

As he walked off, Ebony quietly surveyed the town. Much of the trash and refuse that accumulated along the city’s streets was piled high near some of the storm gutters, with several unhappy-looking ponies scraping it apart with pitchforks to let it flow freely into the drainage system beneath the city. Several buildings were indeed in need of some repair from the storm’s fury the night before, just like Old Vlad’s apothecary. As Ebony passed said building, he had the distinct impression that a giant had simply smashed his fist against the roof. Then again, many of the buildings within the city were more sheltered from the wind than his own, but also much older. Perhaps the fact that his home was more built into the side of a hill that just as a freestanding structure helped things out a bit. The ponies that were out and about traveled in pairs, though most seemed to be in groups of three or more. Some had started fires in some of the local bonfire pits, gathering around the mostly sheltered buildings to warm themselves between their daily routines; amazing that the wood they were using was even dry, after last night’s drencher.

The cloaked batpony passed several farmers with their carts, loads of rain-soaked wheat headed to some of the city’s inner barns where, thanks to a few unicorns and a very large furnace, the grain could be dried before being sent off to the mill. Wet grain spoiled terribly, often quickly as well, and without it, winters would often cause starvation amongst the poorer citizens of the city. Finally arriving at his destination, Ebony strolled in through the door. A small chime ringing as he entered, he spotted the earth pony Madam Kier almost immediately. Wizened, nearly toothless and wrinkled like a prune, she was still as quick as a whip and about as blunt as a rock when the situation called for it. She suffered no troublemakers in her store, hence why any young hooligans dared not enter it for fear of a swift caning, or worse, some of her tea. The batpony still didn’t know how she could brew the stuff so strong that the vapors alone could burn your eyelashes away.

“Ah, Ebony Blade, what a surprise,” the old mare said with a smile as she hobbled over to her large desk. “What can I do for you this fine day?”

Fine day? Had she even been outside? “I’m here to pick up some clothes,” he said. “A few... distant relatives showed up last night before the storm, and nothing I have fits them.”

Then again, when you managed to healthily live to her age without keeling over, every day was a fine day. “Then why not simply resize some of your older clothes? Surely your guests aren’t much larger than you are,” she said slowly.

“No, no, they’re my... most of them are relatives of a female persuasion,” Ebony whispered. “I don’t... I just don’t have anything that would suit them, okay? They lost some of their luggage on the way over and are in need of some new outfits.”

“Hmm, quite,” the old pony said, bustling off to fetch some robes. “Any idea as to their measurements?”

“They’re about the same height as me, if not a little shorter,” he replied, wondering just how much this was going to cost him. “In fact, can I buy several sets from several size ranges, and return the ones that don’t fit.”

“Sure thing dearie, but only if you stop by for some coffee,” Madam Kier said from the back. “You don’t visit like you used to, and I want to know what you’ve been up to since I last saw you.” She was one of the oldest mares in the countryside, and as such had helped to raise several generations of townsfolk, Ebony included. Everyone called her “Ma”, even though she and her long-deceased husband had never had any foals of their own.

“Sounds... good to me,” the batpony said, suppressing a groan.

Yes: this was definitely going to cost him.

Author's Note

Well now, Spike's finally awake! Huzzah!

Too bad three of his wives are pregnant, or there'd be copious amounts of group sex. Glorious, gratuitous sex.

Sadly, he can't have fun with Asalah either, since everyone is basically sleeping in the same room together. Man, for Eutropia, that'd be awkward as hell: Spike and Asalah getting it on in a bed not a few feet away.

Hey, anyone interested in being a potential proofreader for A Dragon's Journey? Now, I currently rely on Raiden Sparkle for my proofreading/editing of my chapters, but I was wondering: anyone else out there willing to give me feedback on chapters before I publish them? Not terribly in-depth stuff (unless you want to): just grammatical tidbits, ideas on how to improve/lengthen the chapter, development, etc. I just feel like it's unfair for me to put so much on Raiden when it comes to asking for them to proofread for me, as they already do so much, and I was hoping to help lighten their workload.

Just drop me a comment or PM if you wish to do so. I do warn you though: I can be a bit... unreasonable when it comes it comes to how rapid of a response I expect (less than a week, if not several days). Or at least, I'd like to think that's being somewhat reasonable, given how some of my previous proofreaders/editors have been for other stories of mine.

Bonding

Chapter Fifty

Bonding

“So... Myrrina let us go free?”

“Yes. She helped us with everything.”

“And we’re not being chased?”

“No, or at least it seems that way.”

“But... but aren’t we still considered wanted fugitives of the Ottomare Empire?”

“Yes, Spike. But with what Bakhtak told me, that won’t be much of an issue.” Asalah said softly as she lay with her husband on the couch, his heartbeat slow and strong under her resting palm. “Seems that during our escape, there was some sort of rebellion; neither of us know the details, but I think it’s safe to say that the empire will have enough on its hands to worry about a small prison escape.”

“And, I must add, there is the ever-present threat of the Marengols encroaching on their borders,” Bakhtak added from her seat. “So, yes, Spike. I do believe you are ‘out of the woods’, as they say these days.”

“So... we’re safe,” Spike said slowly, releasing a tensed breath as a soothing feeling entered his mind. They’re safe; in a warm house with a loved one by his side; when his world-wind adventure was done, he’d never want it to be any other way again. There was just so much out there in this massive world, and now, after such a near-death experience (or, at least to him, it had felt like one) , he just felt that he’d need to be a bit more wary. He would need to look out more for himself than before, and even more so for his family. If anything ever happened to them…

He’d never forgive himself.

“Yes, we’re safe, but we’re also not allowed to leave the house,” Asalah said. “Our host, a Mr. Ebony Blade, has gone off to the local town to buy us some supplies, who from what I’m told aren’t exactly welcoming of visitors right now. He should return in about an hour or two, but in the meantime...”

“We stay put?” the dragon asked.

“Yes,” Asalah replied. “Bakhtak said that there’s a sickness going around, and a very strange one at that. Our best chance of avoiding it is to stay inside until we’re ready to leave.”

That last part gave Spike pause. “Um, Asalah. About that...”

“Yes?”

“You know, I was just thinking. With everything that happened in Istanbul, and with the... trouble we were in. What do you think about... staying somewhere safe?”

“What do you mean, Spike?”

“Well, I mean, Maria has a castle that you all can stay in, where you’ll be safe, and I... I was just wondering if, you know-,”

“You could just drop us there and be on your merry way?” she interrupted with as neutral face and tone as she could muster.

It sounded bad when you put it like that. “Well, yeah, I guess,” he replied. “I mean, Maria, Trixie, and Chryssie are pregnant, and I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to any of you, let alone our foals-to-be, and was just wondering if it’d be better if you all stayed someplace safe while I finished my journey. I’m sure Maria’s parents would be thrilled to have you stay with them, to have all of you, but I-,”

“Spike, hush,” the zebra said softly. “It’s not your journey any more; it’s ours as well. When you married us, that’s what we accepted and wanted to join you in, and help you with, because it’s our commitment to our unity, and even though you are the stallion, the “leader”, all of us have an equal say in what goes on... right?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” Spike said. “Of course you all have a say, I was just-,”

“You were being chivalrous, which in some cases is more troublesome than honorable,” Asalah said, taking a deep breath. “Spike, you don’t have to hide behind your words. You’re not just worried about the safety of us and the babies. You’re worried about what happened to you and what that did to you. I know you’re scared, Spike; scared of what you might be unable to do, or worse, what you might inadvertently do. You fear that you won’t always be there to protect us on this journey, and that if anything happened to us, that you’d never forgive yourself.”

The dragon sighed. “Yes,” he said softly. “I’m scared what would happen if anything happened to any of you. I... I love you all so much, and I just don’t... I just don’t know if I could handle losing any of you.”

“You’re scared what you might do if that happens?” The zebra mare asked softly, laying a gentle kiss upon his chin.

“Yes,” he replied. “We saw what happened with those pirates... those desert bandits... that Prench noble... I was mostly in control then, so I could save you, so I could keep you safe. But if I lost you, I’d... I’d... I’d become a monster. I don’t want to be a monster, Asalah. I don’t want to be some beast that kills for nothing more than to fill some hole in his life.”

Asalah lightly drew circles on her husband’s chest scales for a few moments before speaking again. “Spike, nopony ever said that being a husband, a dragon, and a father all at once would be easy in any way. But it’s only through our struggles that we learn who we really are. If not for you and the love you and the others shared, I’d have never opened up to you all. I’d still be in my little shell; there but not really ‘there’. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Yeah, I... I guess so,” Spike said.

“Besides, there’s nothing wrong with being a beast every now and then,” she added with a smirk. “Especially not when the bedroom is concerned.”

In spite of himself, Spike let out a chuckle. “You’re impossible, sometimes. You know that?”

“That’s why you love me.”

“One of the reasons, anyway,” he responded, giving her a soft kiss upon her forehead.

The two of them laid there in silence for a few minutes, watching the flames dance in the fireplace before a formerly-silent Bakhtak spoke up.

“If I might suggest, you may want to wake the others up. Ebony should be back soon, and I think everyone would like to be “in the know” before he gets here. Besides, I need to get some more firewood from the cellar.”

After silently nod in agreement, Spike and Asalah left the couch behind them and made their way upstairs, the sound of their steps disappearing before the sound of the bedroom door.

The Nightmare rose to her hind hooves and opened a door across from the living room entrance, carefully making her way down the steps, musing to herself what she had seen. “They really are in love,” she thought as she began to gather the chopped and dried logs from the neat rows along the cellar wall. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything like that.”

Bakhtak had never been married, though it had almost happened several times. As their civilization fell and their kind was scattered across the globe, Nightmares had a rather hard time courting one another, and of the few suitors she had come across, they had all proven that they were unfit for companionship and unwilling to settle down or raise a family. Nightmares typically had large families, often in litters, and though family life was much safer than being a nomad, the males that she had known just didn’t want to be tied to anything other than their own selves.

“Selfish bastards,” she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs, arms laden with firewood. “Our species isn’t exactly thriving, and all they can think about is what they want. No wonder we’re in such trouble. I’ll likely live for another thousand years, if not much more, and yet it’ll be extremely lucky if I even find one who would be willing to settle down with me.”

Once at the top of the stairs, she tried shutting the door, but her arms were too full, so, with a huff, she bumped it with her rump and heard it click shut behind her. “That reminds me, I’ll have to ask Ebony about who the house is going to pass on to when he passes away. Sounds a bit morbid, sure, but it does pay to plan ahead for such things. He won’t be around forever, after all.”

Back upstairs, Spike was being smothered by three very surprised, and very joyous mares, happy that he was finally awake. Now, it was a given that they’d be loud when they’d found out he woke up, but he didn’t know just how loud.

“OhmygoodnessSpike-,”

“You’refinallyawake-,”

“WhendidyouwakeupAreyouokayWeweresoworried-,”

“For crying out loud! Can’t you all be quiet for like, a minute! He just got up, and you’re fawning over him like you haven’t seen him for years!” shouted Eutropia, throwing back her covers, flailing her arms about in the air.

“Um, hello?” was Spike’s only response.

“That’s all you have to say? ‘Hello?’ You barge in here after making such a racket a while ago, you wake up these three and cause the room to become louder than a damn parade, and you can only say ‘hello’? Blasted scoundrel, never letting some griffin get a good night’s rest or wake up when she wants to,” Eutropia muttered, clutching her travelling robes tightly as she stomped out the door and slammed it behind her.

The shock had nearly silenced the room, allowing Spike to get some answers about the newest guest, allowing the four of them to shuffle between who would explain.

“So... that’s Myrrina’s daughter, and she’s with us because... why, exactly?” He asked, still a bit taken back for being called a scoundrel for the first time in his life.

Frankly, it was amazing that he could even speak at all, what with Chrysalis’s mouth currently trying to suck his face off and all.

“The trouble in the city meant that it’d be much safer for her to travel with us than to stay, and besides, she can’t go back,” Maria said as she left trails of kisses all over his face. Trixie had just taken up residence next to him and was apparently trying to bend him in half with her hug. “Myrrina wanted her safe, and she’s safer with us and Ebony Blade. All her mother wanted was for her to leave the city and be safe. We don’t know if that has an expiration date, but for the time being, she’s with us.”

“You sure that’s a good idea? She seems… volatile,” he mumbled through busy lips.

“Eutropia’s just adjusting,” Trixie said. “Besides, we made a promise to her mother, and whether or not she decides to stay here with Ebony or continue on with us until some point is up to her. Personally, I think she’d rather stay with us, seeing that we aren’t total strangers anymore, but it won’t be easy going.”

“I could’ve guessed that,” he replied Hmm, Eutropia; not a name he’d ever heard before, but it did sound like something a griffin like Myrrina would call her daughter.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll warm up to you just fine,” Asalah said from her corner of the bed.

Out in the hall, Eutropia let out a huff as she blew a few feathers out of her face. “Like Tartarus I will,” she muttered out of earshot, stomping off from the bedroom. She didn’t feel like being anywhere near that dragon now, especially now that he was awake. Next thing she knew he’d probably be hitting on her or something. A disdain of dragons had been imparted into her head since she was very young, as it had been with basically all Istanbul residents, all with varying sources and claims.

Some naga claimed that dragons abandoned their young if they were born with substandard features. Minotaurs said that dragons were brutes who took no joy from anything but conquest. Griffins, like herself, had told their youngsters that dragons were insatiable creatures, tempting many younglings to their beds with soothing words and salacious promises. The ponies in the city, regardless of race, had always said that dragons preferred destroying things, be it landscapes, possessions or races. A visiting Fallow deer, from the far ranges of the semi-frozen taiga to the north, had said dragons will eat their young if they do not hatch immediately from their eggs or breathe fire within their first hour of life.

As such, she didn’t hate him, as hate was a very strong word. For now, she’d tolerate his presence, but would easily make do without being around him. That was why she had left. That, and in the hope she might find somewhere quiet to sit and think about her situation. She liked the one called Trixie, even though she had yet to tell her, but the blue unicorn had brought up a fair point. What would she do when Ebony Blade would no longer accompany them?

“I can’t go back, and I don’t want to stay here, but where am I to go?” she wondered aloud. Her mother had told her to be strong, and she had known somehow that it’d be hard, but… not this hard! She wanted to kick open the window, fly out and off towards the city, never stopping until she was back at home in Istanbul, back with her mother and grandmother, where she belonged.

But she couldn’t; it went against everything she had been brought up to believe to do something like that. No matter how much she wished it, there was no way she’d make it back. And even if she did, everything would fall apart even more than it already had. Her mother had told her, commanded her in her own way, to not return, for her own safety. Myrrina had raised her daughter well: obedient yet still strong-willed and able to think on her own. Ambitious, but not overly so; imaginative but down to earth.

She did not wish to stay with Ebony Blade. He seemed too cold, too aloof, too… what was the word? Lonely? Well, yes, that worked too, but there was something else.

“Rootless,” she muttered as she walked down the stairs. “He doesn’t have a true place to call his home. I mean, this is his home, but… it’s not where he lives. He said that he hadn’t been here in a long time, so is this place a burden to him? This is a very nice home; what could have happened that would make him forsake it and leave it abandoned for so long?”

“That is his business,” a voice said.

Eutropia took one look at the owner of the voice and squealed, her wings propelling her up and onto the very top of the hallway’s chandelier. Hanging from the chain, she looked down at the… demon before her.

“What in Tartarus are you?” she asked.

“I’m Bakhtak, Ebony Blade’s maid,” the tall creature replied simply.

Eutropia stared for a few moments at the creature beneath her, stunned by her rather cheeky reply. “I didn’t ask for your name, I asked what you were,” she spat back, the glowing scars giving her a sense of unease.

“I’m a Nightmare. Not more to it than that, I suppose,” Bakhtak replied, giving a small laugh.

Eutropia may have been an omnivore with a proclivity towards more grains than fish, but those glinting teeth seemed almost unnaturally sharp to her. “Why are you here? Where is Ebony Blade?”

The Nightmare crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side as she looked up at the curious young griffin. She wasn’t sure what to make of her. “As I said, I am his maid; I take care of the household when he is away. Right now, he is in town, collecting clothing and other supplies for you and everypony else.” She said, allowing a moment of silence between them. “I take it your encounter with Mr. Spike was not a pleasant one?”

“How did you-,”

“My dear, I am a predator by nature, and as such have a very good sense of hearing. Yes, I heard every word spoken between you. Now please, come down, I’m not sure the chandelier can handle your weight, and I’d hate to clean it up if it falls.”

Slowly, carefully, Eutropia spread her wings and fluttered down, landing near the front door of the house, several paces from Bakhtak. “You heard… everything?” she asked.

“Yes, dearie, but don’t fret; I won’t tell them if you don’t,” the Nightmare said with a smile. She liked this griffin; young and headstrong, yet unsure of herself and where she fit in. That was understandable, as she was in a situation where nothing made sense and everything was so foreign to what she knew. All she really needed was a friend, someone to confide in.

In spite of herself, Eutropia let her beak form into a small grin. “Then Ebony won’t know about my… thoughts?”

“It’ll be our little secret,” Bakhtak said. “Come, my dear, sit with me by the fireplace. Doubtlessly you have much to talk about.”

“What would I have to talk about?” The young griffin asked as she followed the much taller creature into the living room. Sighing in relief at the sight of the roaring fire, she sat down on the ground near it, letting the heat soak into her wings and the rest of her body. Griffins tolerated cold just fine, but they always preferred a dry warmth, and as such, loved gathering around fires. Eutropia was no exception.

“Eutropia, you don’t need to hide anything from me,” the Nightmare said, her eyes scanning the relaxing form of the young griffon. Even under all those robes, she could tell the youngster was fit, and carried herself with an air of confidence. But right now, in this environment, she was subdued, scared, and in need of some sagely wisdom to help her on her path.

“What’s there to hide?”

“My dear, you’re not where you wish to be. You wish to be home, with your family, far away from these lands. Yet you cannot, and that’s tearing you apart on the inside. You may wish to try and ignore it, to push it deep down in your soul, but sooner or later, it will come out. It always does.”

The griffon sighed. “Am I that easy to read?”

“No, I simply have much experience in that department,” Bakhtak replied, a note of sadness entering her voice. “You feel lost, thrusted into a situation which you have never been prepared for. You feel alone, where all those you have grown to know are nowhere to be found, and that you’re surrounded by strangers that you’re only beginning to understand. The land is nothing like the one you’ve lived in before, from the buildings to the weather to the faces that have passed you by. You’re angry at the world, unsure of what to do, and all you feel that you can do is lash out and try and make sense of it all.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, only the sound of the crackling fire as it kept the room warm. “You’ve been in my predicament before, I take it,” Eutropia said softly.

“Several times. But yes, long ago, I was in the very same position,” the Nightmare replied. “For my kind, I was young, foolhardy, confident, headstrong, and full of bravado. But as soon as I was out of my element, I lost all of that. I was scared, angry, hurting, and so very lonely. My species has always had some obstacle to overcome at any given point in our history, and for me, that meant that most of the time, my highest priority was just staying alive. Countless days I spent starving for company, when I wasn’t starving for food and warmth. Eutropia, I was pitiful, bitter and angry at the world. But, in time, I began to change.”

“Change? How?”

“I adapted to my situation; I learned to take the good with the bad and not let my situation define who I was, who I was to become. That, perhaps, is where you and I differ in our stories, young one. I was alone, and I had to grow and change all on my own. You, young Eutropia, you are not alone. You have companions who are there for you, though you will need to seek them out yourself.”

“But I don’t know anything about them,” Eutropia replied, rubbing her neck in a worried manner. “I don’t even know anything about them other than their names.”

“Then it’s up to you to mend the bridges you have so recently taken up burning.” Bakhtak didn’t want to say it, but calling a dragon a “scoundrel” in front of his family wasn’t the surest way to make friends. “You will discover much about yourself and who the griffin you are, but most importantly, if you open yourself up to others, you will discover the griffin you will become. Eutropia, I have lived a long life, filled with regrets. I do not wish for one as young as you to carry those same regrets.”

The griffin sat in silence for a long while before speaking once more. “So… I should apologize, then?”

“Yes, that would make a good start,” the Nightmare said, her lips forming a small smile at this first sign of progress. “Apologize, and see where it goes from there. You can only find help in this world if you seek it out, my dear.”

Eutropia glanced towards the corner, where a great grandfather clock sat in silence. It would be noon very soon, so that meant, according to Bakhtak, Ebony Blade should be back from town very shortly. For the time being, however, she was content with just sitting by the fire.

Out in New Wingdah, Ebony Blade had finally finished loading up all the supplies into his carriage. The talk with Madam Kier had taken forever, and his throat still burned from her coffee’s strength, but thankfully it was over and he’d be heading back to the homestead any minute now.

At least, that’s what he thought, until a gust of wind passed over his head. Looking up, he spotted a plethora of shapes descending down upon the town, all from Enstein’s Castle.

Landing in the middle of the square, a small contingent of bodyguards stood, covered head to hoof in knightly armor, their eyes scanning everywhere for some possible threat. One last figure settled down in the midst of them, and with several purposeful strides, broke free from the confines of their ranks and looked around.

Ebony sighed. “Why now?” he muttered as the figure looked in his direction. “Why today of all days?”

The figure strode over and reached up, removing the helmet that covered their face from the harsh elements. “Ebony Blade,” she said, her voice carrying with it a tone few had ever heard her speak; recognition interlaced with authority and surprise.

“Lady Fyrefly,” the batpony replied, tightening one last rope before tying it off. “Please forgive me if I don’t drop to my knees.”

“Ebony, you and I both know you’ve never been one for formalities like that,” the duchess said with a small wave, dismissing her approaching guards. “So, what brings you back home?”

“Business,” he replied, knowing full well she wouldn’t let him leave until she was satisfied; whatever that meant.

“Your guests?” The way she said “your” made it sound like he was harboring fugitives. Well, technically, he was...

Dammit Bakhtak, why are you so good at spying? “Yes, in part,” he said. “I have also been away for far too long, and I was long overdue for new supplies.”

“Clothes are considered supplies these days? Here I’d have thought you’d be apt to buy everything you’d need wherever you were at the time. It’s not like you visit the castle much, anymore.”

Of course, she just had to bring that up. “My Lady, my guests are innocent of anything you might think them capable of.”

“Including the dragon?”

Dammit again, Bakhtak. “Yes, including him. Last I checked, he was still out cold from some strange ailment I have never seen. But before you ask, no, it is not the same ailment that has all of your citizens acting like superstitious fools half the time, and paranoid whistleblowers the other half. Last thing we need is for the townsfolk to find out about my guests and try and lynch them or something.”

Lady Fyrefly was silent for a moment. “You are their caretaker, correct?”

“As well as I can be,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then when will they be leaving? If you do indeed wish to keep them safe from your fellow citizens, then I advise you to encourage their departure before they are discovered.”

Ebony sighed. “My Lady, we will depart when we are good and ready. I think I shall take them as far north as the Grand Duchy of Marescow, whereupon I will let them “free” under the care of the Tsar and Tsarina. I know them from several previous services, and I’m sure they would be delighted to have foreigners visit them. What with the isolation their country is known for, they don’t have many distant visitors.”

The duchess thoughtfully stroked her chin. “Then will you be returning?”

“I… I don’t know,” he replied. “Things with Bakhtak are just… I don’t know where they are headed.”

“Is she becoming troublesome?” The duchess seemed genuinely concerned, though exactly why was not very clear to Ebony.

“She’s always troublesome, but no, this time… it’s different,” he said. “My Lady, I know her loyalty to you and me is beyond measure, but I’m afraid her loyalty to one of us could cause the other to feel… betrayed.”

“Bakhtak is not the kind of creature to betray one’s trust; I do not feel it is in her nature. Believe me, Ebony Blade, I know all about betrayal.” Her stressing on the word “know” carried with it a frosty feeling.

“I wish I knew what you were talking about,” the batpony stallion said, suddenly finding this conversation very unwelcome. Of course, she had to bring up the past now of all times…

“Do not try and fool yourself, Ebony Blade. You know very well about what I am speaking.”

“Then why whisper of it? Why not let everyone know that in our teenage years, you and I were-,”

“Don’t say it!”

“-lovers,” he finished. “I’ve told you time and time again, Fyrefly, that what we had as teenagers was nothing more than childish lust; playing around with things we did not yet understand. I grew out of it, and here I was wishing you had as well.”

“We may have been young, but I understood well enough to know when you were having a great time,” the duchess said. “You never could hide your discomfort when I was around, when we’d share glances in the hallways.”

“And I remember you could barely speak when I’d kiss you,” he replied. “You and I both know why we broke it off. We feared discovery by not only your parents, but by your sister. You knew as well as I did that she had also had a thing for me, but being the older sister, she tried to set an example for you about being prim and proper, and knowing your place in the pecking order.”

“Older by mere minutes, but her “examples” did nothing to stop us for how long we were together. Do you still remember, or has our time apart dulled your memories?”

Ebony sighed. “Two years, three months, one week and five days,” he replied, having repeated that to himself so many times after their departure that it was ingrained into his brain. He tried to forget, and while his life had been good with his wife and daughter, he had indeed forgotten. But somewhere, deep down, he hadn’t; how could he?

Her eyes lit up at his words. “So, in spite of you forsaking living amongst your kind and within your nation, you still cling to something like that? Something that only we know of?”

“I cling to it because it is a part of me, Fyrefly,” Ebony blade stated, his lips curling into a slight snarl. Was she really so callous that she needed to hear this from him now, in a time of upheaval in his life? “I don’t throw things out that don’t suit me. I don’t turn my back on others because it’s easier than confronting-,”

He blinked, her hand was only an inch from his face, her self-restraint having barely kicked in to prevent the slap. “Don’t you ever speak to me of abandonment,” she hissed, anger and hurt filling her expression. “Ebony Blade, I have given up so much, so very much, so that these lands are a safe haven for our kind. I have sacrificed so much of my life, so many good years of my youth, so that we may be safe. And now look at me. Nearing the end of my youth, with nothing to show for it other than misery. Prestige, titles, honor, that’s all well and good for the history books and foals’ stories, but for me, they are hollow victories. I lost my husband, a stallion I cared for very much, within a few years of my marriage, and have never gazed upon another stallion since. Unlike you, Ebony Blade, I never got to have a family; all because I dedicated myself to keeping these lands safe from harm.”

Ebony brushed her hand away, his lips forming a true snarl. “I had a family, yes, but I lost them, Fyre,” he said, his long-ago nickname of her rising to the surface in the midst of his anger. “You may have never had a family, but I had, and I lost them, and that’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone!”

Several of the guards were staring at them, out of earshot but unmistakably noticing the tense atmosphere between the two, who ignored them, their argument was the only important thing happening to them at the moment.

“I didn’t come for a fight, Ebony,” Lady Fyrefly said, sagging her shoulders as the fire seemed to flicker and die within her. She was martial by nature, and perhaps that was why she had confronted him. She always needed a challenge, a battle to be fought, even if it resulted in a stalemate of words, rather than weapons.

“Then why did you come?” He asked, his own temper cooling as the breeze picked up slightly, causing his robes and mane to flap around him.

“I came with my guards to see if everything was in order in New Wingdah,” she said slowly, avoiding his gaze. “I should return to the inspection. Safe travels to you, Ebony Blade; you are most surely pressed for a previous engagement with your guests.”

There it was; her shields were back up, her true self hiding behind the facade that was the duchess title she held. Few ponies knew her like Ebony Blade did, or had. Now… he wasn’t sure if he had even known her at all. “Then I shall take my leave,” he said softly, clambering aboard his carriage as the duchess moved out of the way.

“Goodbye, Mr. Blade,” she said, loud and clear to her guards, who followed her actions and gave the carriage a wide berth through which to pass.

“Goodbye… your highness,” Ebony dutifully replied, whipping the reigns once and lurching forward as the carriage began it’s methodical pace down the road. As the carriage grew distant from Madam Kier’s shop, one of the guards approached Lady Fyrefly, who watched it leave with an inscrutable expression.

“My Lady, is something the matter?”

The duchess blinked once, twice, three times, and then looked to her guard. “No,” she said with her voice distant but firm. “No, nothing’s the matter. Have the others question any passerby if they’ve seen anything strange while we make our way towards the mayor’s home as planned. He’ll surely wish to debrief us on any new developments in our search.”

As Bakhtak stood at the counter, helping slice up the bread, vegetables, and cheeses for lunch, she began to notice something peculiar about the six seated around the table. The dragon (Spike, she had to remember to call him by his name), was usually placed near the middle of the table by his wives, though he had repeatedly said he could have sat anywhere. His wives sat either across from or right next to him, though it was apparent there was no real structure as to their seating arrangement. Here, Bakhtak had thought there would be some sort of social hierarchy, but that was not the case.

Still, the fact that Eutropia sat as far away from everypony as she could, while still being close enough to hear the conversations, said a lot about her discomfort. The young griffin had told the Nightmare that she liked Trixie, which was why the nearest pony was indeed her, but that didn’t mean she was willing to open up to them all of a sudden.

“Soup should be ready in a few minutes,” she said, tossing a few more herbs into the almost-boiling pot, suspended above the fireplace in the stone-built kitchen corner. She was very glad that Asalah, Eutropia, and Spike had vouched for her when everypony else had come downstairs. At first, the three mares looked upon the Nightmare with distrust in their eyes, but after a bit of talking, and laughing, and enjoying the warmth of the fire, they had opened up to her.

“Smells delicious,” Spike said as he looked around the room. To him, it seemed so cozy, almost like…

Home.

He missed his home. He knew he would. He knew he always would on this journey. But right here and now, he felt like… he felt like he left a part of his life behind. It brought him solace that he would return one day, or at least, he hoped he would. But with his seemingly ever-growing family surrounding him, he’d be content to live in a place like this. He recalled Celestia saying something about additions to the castle in Canterlot, to support him and his family, most likely. Perhaps he could send a request for certain additions?

That’s right, he was going to send things from Istanbul, like he had from all those other places. “That’s not going to happen,” he thought as he watched Maria and Asalah chat about what the cooks in their castles would make for them when they were growing up. “Probably not going to tell them what happened there, either. I don’t need Twilight, or Luna, or worst yet, Celestia herself declaring war on the Ottomare Empire.”

He would likely take a very long time to forgive what they’ve done to him, what could’ve been done to him, and what had almost happened to his family. He could forgive, yes, in time, but forget any of it?

Never.

“Spike?”

The dragon turned, having been lost in his own thoughts. “Yes, Trixie?” he said.

“Spike, Eutropia has something she wishes to say to you,” the blue mare said softly, glancing back towards the young griffin and giving a gentle nod. “Go ahead, dear.”

“Um, I… I’m sorry,” Eutropia said softly, refusing to meet his gaze and instead, staring into her cup of tea. “I’m sorry for, you know, about before. Up… up in the bedroom, what I said. I hadn’t slept well last night, and-,”

“Eutropia, it’s okay, I understand,” the dragon said. “I know you’re scared, and that wasn’t the real you. Believe me, I know all too well about being somewhere you don’t understand, in situations you find strange or even frightening.”

“Really?” she asked, looking up from her cup with a small smile. “Th-thank you. That really means alot.”

Behind them all, Bakhtak let a knowing smile spread across her features as she finished slicing the last of the bread, whispering to herself, “small steps, dearie, small steps.”

There was a knock at the door. “Eutropia, I’m a bit busy with the soup. Could you please see who’s at the door?” the Nightmare called.

Rising quickly from her seat, the young griffin dashed over to the door and peered through the keyhole for a few moments before uttering in slight confusion, “I don’t see anyone.”

“Huh, that’s odd,” Bakhtak replied, continuing to chop up the last few vegetables.

As Eutropia walked away from the door, back towards the kitchen, there was another knock at the door. This time, everyone looked towards the door as Eutropia peeked through the keyhole a second time.

“There’s nobody there,” she said, sounding even more perplexed while still searching for the who knocked before gasping. “Oh, there! I see a carriage coming up the road; that must be Ebony!”

“Well, he did say not to open the door until he got back, so it’d be best if you sit yourself right back down at the table and help yourself to some lunch,” Bakhtak replied, just beginning to portion out the food onto separate plates. “I’ll serve the soup when he walks in. Best let it cool until then,” she added.

It took a few minutes before they heard the door’s lock click and Ebony to walk in with his arms laden with clothes, food, and other essentials, placing everything down on the large bench in the hallway and immediately closing the door behind him, making sure it was locked once more.

“I’m back,” he said, stripping off his travelling cloak and hanging it up on the singular coat rack near the bench.

“We heard; come, we’re in the kitchen,” Bakhtak called, her voice carried by the wafting scent of a warm meal. “You’re just in time for lunch.”

“Excellent; I’m starved,” he replied, shuffling his way in as he removed his gloves, tossing them onto the bench. Glancing around the table, he mentally checked off everyone present. “Good to see you’re finally awake, Spike the dragon,” he said as he pulled up a chair for himself.

“It’s good to be… awake,” Spike said. “Thanks, by the way; for everything.”

“Do not mention it. It was part of a job, one it seems I won’t be finishing anytime soon,” the batpony replied. “Ladies,” he said, nodding his head in their direction.

“Ebony,” they replied.

“What do you mean?” Spike asked as Bakhtak served them all their bowls of soup. “Finishing the job and all that?”

“I’ve decided that you won’t set out from these lands on your own,” Ebony said simply. “It occurs to me that strangers moving through here without any sort of guide would look suspicious, and I have some friends in Marescow that would be delighted to have your company. You’d be much safer leaving those lands under their protection than setting out from here on your own.”

“You’ll accompany us that far?” Asalah asked as she stirred her soup. “That’s quite a distance from New Wingdah; judging from the terrain Bakhtak told us lies between.”

“I don’t see why not. Besides, the duchess more or less told me that you were my responsibility, and that it’d be best if you left soon.”

“You spoke with the duchess? When? Where?” Spike asked as sipped his soup, taking care not to slurp.

“She came into town today with a contingent of her personal guards,” Ebony said slowly, taking a bite of his food. “I told her what I was up to, why I was there, and that she needn’t worry about any of you.”

“Yet, she did know about us,” Chrysalis said, dipping a piece of bread into her soup bowl. “You make it sound like she knew before you told her.”

“She knew ahead of time because of me,” Bakhtak said, earning surprised stares from everyone at the table but Ebony. “I may be Ebony’s maid, but I serve the duchess as a sentry for her lands. When anyone approaches New Wingdah, I send a letter immediately with her personal messenger a phoenix.”

“But how did you know about us?” Maria asked.

“I could smell you,” the Nightmare replied. “Remember, dear, I am a predator by nature, and as such, I have a very good sense of smell. I could identify each of you on your scents alone, and could immediately tell which of you were pregnant.”

Trixie gaped. “You… you could really do that?”

“Yes,” she replied softly. “I could also smell something was wrong with your husband, but other than the fact that he was unwell, I could not sense anything specific. I may be able to smell very well, but I not that well.”

“... Thanks, I guess?” Spike said, feeling slightly unnerved by the maid’s ultra-heightened senses.

“You are welcome,” she said with a smile.

Ebony sighed; even with her unusual personality and traits, Bakhtak was actually doing well with the guests. Seems luck wasn’t completely against him this day.

“So… did the duchess ask you about anything else?” Maria quipped as she stirred her soup around.

Then again, it could go either way. “A few things, yes, but nothing really important,” he said. “Private matters, state secrets, you know, that kind of stuff.”

“She’d share state secrets with you?” Spike asked, eyebrow raised.

“Well, at one point, she would, seeing as I was like an… let’s just say I was an advisor to her,” the batpony replied, perhaps a little too quickly at that.

“What did you advise her on?” Eutropia asked.

Sex, mostly. “Mostly on combat, swordplay and stuff along those lines,” he said. “She’s really talented with a sword; a natural if I do say so myself. It wasn’t long before she was as skilled as I, and many years later, she remains so, if not a touch more.”

“Ebony Blade, former duelist turned advisor turned mercenary,” Bakhtak said, clicking her tongue in amusement. “Quite the list of accomplishments. You never told me those things.”

“I… I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he mumbled as he began to sip his soup.

“Say, Eutropia, have you ever received any training?” the Nightmare asked.

“Oh, um, yes. Yes I have,” the griffin replied. “Mother was the captain of the guard, so it was only natural that she taught me some form of combat.”

“Like what?” Trixie asked.

“Oh, you know, simple stuff for my age; martial arts, swordplay, proper uses of a shield, javelin throwing… stuff like that.”

“Sounds positively Olympic,” Maria said. “How good would you say you are?”

“Better than most my age, though I’m not that good, I think,” Eutropia said with a shrug. “I mean, mother has been training me in one thing or another since I could walk, so a lot of it’s ingrained by now, I suppose.” Talking about her mother, surprisingly, did not bring up the same feelings it would have the day before. Now, instead of loneliness, Eutropia felt a good deal of pride. Her mother may have been harsh sometimes, but she had been always fair, and knew when work and fun could be one in the same. Could it be she was training her to take her place as captain? It wouldn’t have been the first time guards trained their offspring to rise through the ranks and succeed them.

“Would you say you’re a natural, then?” Chrysalis asked.

“I suppose, yeah, I mean, I haven’t really fought against anyone before,” she replied.

“Well, I think it would be a splendid idea for you to teach Spike here some pointers,” the changeling queen said, earning a stare from both Eutropia and Spike. “What? It couldn’t hurt.”

“But why would I need to learn how to defend myself with a sword, or a shield?”

“Because it wouldn’t necessarily be about defending yourself, but your family, and trust me Spike, after what happened in Istanbul, we now know that dragons aren’t totally invulnerable,” Maria said simply. “Plus, we could make do without you having to resort to going full-on berserker every time something bad does or could happen.”

“I keep it in check,” the dragon mumbled. “You didn’t mind me going crazy in Prance.”

“That was different, and besides, we really don’t need rumors about you destroying whole towns whenever someone tries to rob us or hit on us,” Maria replied with a roll of her eyes. “Spike, we all know you’re very powerful with your heritage, but in your tutelage under Princess Luna, did you ever even learn how to use a sword?”

“Well, no,” he admitted. “Most royal guards learn to in basic training, but I didn’t go through that part. I was mostly involved in academic things and physical training. I never learned any martial arts or swordplay or anything like that.”

“Then it’s settled,” Bakhtak said, all eyes but Ebony’s snapping to her. “Eutropia will teach Spike how to defend himself so that he may know how to, without just resorting to setting everything on fire.”

After an awkward pause, Eutropia spoke up. “I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to go easy on you, Spike. Learning what I know is hard, and while there’s likely countless others out there who could teach you much more and far better than I, it seems that I’m all you’ve got.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint you, ‘Master’ Eutropia,” Spike said, with a small grin. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Hey, Ebony. Did you, by chance, happen to see anypony at the door before you arrived?” Chrysalis asked.

“No. Why?”

“There was a knocking at the door, and both times Eutropia looked, she saw nobody through the keyhole. Though the second time she peered through, she saw you coming up the road.”

Ebony’s brow furrowed; that was indeed an odd occurrence. “No, no I can’t say I remember seeing anypony. Could it be that you were all imagining it?”

“Maybe, but I guess we’ll never know,” Bakhtak replied. “Now come on, chop chop, eat all you can, especially you Spike. You all need to regain your strength, and after I’m done with the dishes, you’ll all be in need of a shower. In your case, Spike, perhaps a long one.”

“I don’t smell that bad,” he mumbled.

“Even if you don’t smell it, I do, and besides that, we’ll be needing to wash those robes of yours; all of them,” the Nightmare added. “So, who wants to shower first?”

“Before any of you shower, Bakhtak will need to help you in selecting your new clothes,” Ebony said, not feeling like playing dress-up. “Just tell me what fits and what doesn’t, and I’ll bring back the stuff that doesn’t to the market. I didn’t know any of your sizes, so I just bought several ranges.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Ebony. Now come, chop chop! I’ve got dishes to do and don’t want to waste my time waiting for them,” Bakhtak said.

Outside of the house, high in the branches of a tree, a camouflaged figure watched them through the window, her gleaming eyes narrowing as she found her prize. “So he is awake,” she muttered, letting her tongue slither menacingly over her fangs as her eyes held within them a hungry gleam. “Though I cannot reach him tonight, my spell will work its way into his mind, and he’ll be at my beck and call soon enough. For now, I am content to watch and wait. I will not need to feed for a few more days, but oh, when I am hungry, and when he is under my control, I will indeed be… ravenous.”

The figure let out a laugh, so cold and so malevolent, that the birds in the tree next to hers took flight as fast as they could. At the end of her laugh, she began to softly sing a tuneless melody, but with words that carried a power far beyond that of any normal song.

We are one body

Yet so far apart

It is your love

That I need most

Come to me dear

You are safe here

Come to me dear

You are my love

And only with me

You will always be

Mine

Author's Note

Well, this originally was going to be one chapter, but it's been turned into two yet again...

Dammit brain! Why must you make everything more... more?

Also, yes, Ebony and Fyrefly, long ago... huehuehue.

A Thief in the Night

Chapter Fifty One

A Thief in the Night

You will always be

Spike looked around as he scrubbed his scales, the warm water soothing his body as he showered. He was, of course, the last one to do so, primarily because he wanted the ladies to go first. Plus, this way, if the hot water did run out, then he wouldn’t be leaving a cold shower for anyone else, and he didn’t mind a bit of cold water.

“What was that?” he muttered.

Mine

He glanced towards the door, wondering if someone was hiding behind it and saying that. Only thing was, it didn’t sound like Bakhtak, or Ebony, or even Eutropia. It sounded more like…

“Asalah,” Spike said, though he knew that to be false. While Ebony was chopping some wood in the cellar, Asalah had gone off with Trixie and Bakhtak to try on some of the clothes Ebony had bought, and Chrysalis and Maria were chatting with Eutropia in the living room about her training. Seemed like the pair of them really wanted Spike to learn how to defend himself with something other than his claws and flames.

Still, that didn’t explain why he was hearing a voice that sounded suspiciously like his fourth wife’s. Maybe that powder in Istanbul had some odd side effects after it wore off? He still didn’t feel like himself; light-headed, occasionally disoriented, and if this was anything to go by, hearing things that weren’t really there.

Maybe he was just dehydrated. He just needed to drink plenty of water over the next few days and make sure he ate enough food to help regain his strength. There was no telling if there’d be any more trouble ahead of them on this journey. “With what we’ve already been through, I bet our luck may be running out,” he muttered, thinking back to all of his previous problems. Chrysalis and he had been more or less fine out at sea aboard the Crowhop, though the fact he had saved her life twice showed that not everything was sunshine and rainbows when it came to travelling. Other than the terrible rainstorm in Equineland, there had been that one bandit in the lands of Spreign. After that, the only problems for the longest time had been that robber baron in southern Prance, those bandits in the Samarea Desert, and the troubles with that warlord’s son and himself, both in and near Eastern Africa.

This new problem in Istanbul, however, had eclipsed all of those other ones for one simple reason: he had not been the one who saved the day, mostly because those guards had taken precautions necessary to subdue him. In fact, he had been more of a hindrance than anything else during the escape, and to be honest, if what Chrysalis had told him were even half true, things could have been very bad for them if her Censcorpions hadn’t arrived.

Frankly, the fact that he hadn’t been there, even couldn’t be there to protect his family, tore at his heart. Everypony said that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t have done anything, but he should’ve thought ahead. He should’ve done this differently, or that differently; made plans, sought allies, something, anything. He was out of his element; the lands east of Europe were vastly different from the lands he had already travelled through, it seemed. The maps of many of these lands weren’t even up to date by way of what Luna had shown him, and now, after all this…

He felt vulnerable. Truly for the first time, he felt uneasy about the whole trip. He had accepted that things might happen, bad things, but so far he had gotten out more or less scot-free. Now, with coming so close to losing everything in Istanbul… he was afraid for his family’s safety more than ever before.

Turning off the shower, Spike began to dry himself off as his thoughts continuing to consume him.

Sending them back to Maria’s family would be tantamount to abandonment, yet they would be safe. Only, he knew they would never accept this, and though sending them to Equestria would be even safer, he knew the problems with that would be even more dire. Chrysalis was approaching the point where any sort of camouflage, even for a few moments, was becoming unbearably painful and could soon put their foal at risk of harm, or even worse, spontaneous abortion. So, with her being unable to change her appearance, if he did send her back to Maria’s family or even Equestria, there would be a lot of unanswered questions.

Maria’s family only knew her as Meia, and wouldn’t likely take it very well to find out that there had been an imposter in their midst. Equestria, on the other hand, would not react well at all; Twilight and Celestia might try to attack her on sight, or imprison her or something if he were not there to try and defuse the situation. The other Elements of Harmony might try the same, or at the very least make her feel unwelcome and miserable. Then, if Cadance and Shining Armor visited, things could get even worse.

This was all excluding the fact that a huge portion of Equestria now harbored a deep-seated mistrust of changelings in general and an overall feeling that changelings mistrusted ponies for the same reasons. It was a two-fold issue that would take time to mend.

He needed to introduce her slowly, make them see her for the changed mare she was, and protect her from his own if he must. He could already hear Twilight screaming something about him being “under her thrall” and that he’d need to be thoroughly examined by her to prove that Chrysalis was still evil and trying to take over the kingdom, again.

“They’d never forgive me if I did that anyway,” he muttered, dressing in the clothes Ebony had picked out for him. Simple coveralls, a longsleeved wool shirt and some light robes for travelling. He looked more like a farmer than a “royal” dragon, but this wasn’t exactly a massive, wealthy area, and he was glad Ebony had at least found something in his size. Of course, he had needed to make holes in the back of his shirt for his wings, but other than that, it suited him just fine.

Then there was the question of continuing the journey with them. He had three pregnant wives, and Spike had no idea just how rugged the terrain they would face in the future would be. Any slip, any fall, even just a sharp bump or jolt could cause them to damage or even lose their unborn foal. Nor would his overprotectiveness allow them to have any good times on the trip, either, and he had no way of knowing the exact birth date of the babies. He had a general idea of when, but every mare was different, and his varied family was no exception. All he knew was that he wanted the foals born in Equestria, safe and surrounded by friends and family. Plus, being born in Equestria would automatically make them citizens, which would, in turn, result in much less paperwork and potential problems in the future.

So, he couldn’t just abandon them somewhere safe, as they would undoubtedly think he was just leaving them behind, but he simply didn’t know where the journey would take them in the future. Who knew what sort of races, nations, beings and customs he might encounter on his journey through the rest of the world?

He did know one thing: in Japan, he was scheduled to stay there for an extended period of time, as he knew Luna was due to visit there in a few months. She had told him herself, at any rate, that she should be there around the same time as he would be. That meant that he could entrust Luna with caring for his family whilst he set off towards India and returned, with them meeting up with him near the Philippines. Though that would still mean that he’d have to introduce Chrysalis to Luna and smooth over any problems therein, but he felt like he could handle it. Plus, if Luna does befriend Chrysalis, then she too could help smooth things over with the others back in Equestria.

Of course, then there’s the whole issue with him potentially finding himself in a tempting situation when his family isn’t practically hanging onto his arm. It seems that most creatures find trying to “get with” another’s husband is rather distasteful, something for which Spike was glad, seeing that there are always those… persistent ones who would stop at nothing. That alone scared him nearly as much as being imprisoned; pursued by those who would seek to usurp or replace his family with themselves, all for power or the thrill.

He knew he could keep himself in check and stay loyal, but that was if he were able to keep control of himself. A potion, or a spell perhaps, could undo everything he had gained so far. He would have to watch his back if he did travel alone, or with those who were not his family.

This was all becoming far more complex than he had originally thought. He had taken much of the earlier trip in stride; the Prench robber baron, Trixie showing up in Roam, and pregnant at that, the unexpected marriage to Asalah, and even the revelation that Meia was Chrysalis. Now, he was starting to see just how lucky he had been, and was now afraid his luck had, or would soon, run out completely.

Coincidentally, so had their funds, their travelling papers, and all manner of whatever they would have magically sent back to Equestria. By now, Spike was seriously beginning to wonder just how much stuff he needed to send back, and even why. Luna and Celestia had told him explicitly that it was all for research purposes, and to expand Equestria’s worldview and knowledge of what lay beyond their borders. He knew it would all help, for sure, but to him, most of that could have been accomplished by some expeditionary forces, perhaps scholars or professors of science and culture. There were many historians out there willing to travel to make their fame and fortunes through recovering artifacts and discovering other cultures. There were countless college students and unemployed adults willing to do field work for their chance at discovering something amazing or participating in such a discovery.

So… why him? Why not just send him to marry all over the world, or better yet, bring them to Equestria for his choosing?

Granted, any of his wives would be knowledgeable to the point of experts on their lands, their cultures and everything else, but they would be royals. They wouldn’t know about the underclass all that much and common folk unless they were the kinds of nobles that travelled, surveying more than just cities, castles, and political borders. His wives knew about their lands because they were invested in them. Trixie wasn’t even royalty, so he would never have met her on the train, never had sex, never gotten her pregnant and married to her, never fallen in love; he’d have just met whichever princess or similarly-titled heiress that would’ve been sent to Equestria by their fathers, perhaps seeking political favor or alliances. He would never have gotten to know his wives on such personal levels as he had if they had just come to Equestria to be “picked from a line” like produce or livestock.

For that, Spike was glad he had travelled so far and seen so much. However, that still didn’t relieve his worries of just what to send back. Would he even be able to properly use his magic fire after his time unconscious?

“Best ask Ebony for some advice,” the dragon muttered as he left the room. In the farthest recesses of his mind, he could still faintly detect a sound, something so minute that he could just barely make it out.

We are one body

Yet so far apart

Ebony Blade glanced up from the pile of drying wood he was currently stacking; the cellar steps were creaking under someone’s weight. “Hello?” he called, wondering if it was Bakhtak coming to talk to him. Ever since their talk earlier that morning, she had been on his mind more than before. Then again, that had increased even more after his talk with Fyrefly in back in New Wingdah. This land was trying to reclaim him yet and make him stay put for good this time.

“Mr. Blade? Can I talk with you for a few minutes?” Came the answer, and the batpony eased a sigh of relief. It was only the dragon.

“Yes, Mr. Dragul, we can speak,” he replied, stacking a few more split logs against the wall.

“Please, just call me Spike,” The dragon replied.

“Spike,” Ebony repeated, as if memorizing the preferred name. “What is it you wish to talk about? Does something trouble you?”

“You might say that. Do you know why I’m on this journey?”

“Journey, you say? No, can’t say I do. I’m guessing it’s important?”

“Yeah, kinda. Hard to say how important, but to some, very.”

“Then what troubles you?” It seemed this dragon was carrying far more baggage than he was letting on, as from his pauses, Ebony could tell Spike was consumed with thought. He knew the signs of stress as well as anypony, so he could tell that yes, Spike was not having a fun time talking about all of this. He needed advice, and Ebony would help him as best he could, as befitting a good host.

“My family and I… we’re set for returning to Equestria by the time the foals are born, if not before. That’s more than several months from now, but I don’t know exactly when. I don’t want to abandon them, but I’m afraid that taking them with me any further will put them in harm’s way.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“Should… should I send them to Equestria ahead of time and set out on my own? Or do I take them with me and risk having one lose a foal, or if we’re gone long enough, give birth outside of my home country? I don’t… I just… I’m scared for them; for all of them.”

Ebony stacked the last piece of wood and sized up the dragon. Several decades younger than him, yet seemingly just as travelled; unsure of himself, yet having made it this far, at such a young age, and with such ties to life… it was amazing. “Tell me, Spike. Your family… do you love them?”

“What? Yes, of course!” the dragon replied.

“I thought as much. If your worry is anything to indicate, you care for your family very much, but have you ever taken the time to think about how much they care for you?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, usually, I think,” Spike said. “What do you mean?”

“Spike, if they love you anywhere near as much as you seem to, then they couldn’t bear to part from you on this journey,” Ebony said simply. “Trust me, the connection ones feels within a family is more important than most realize. Plus, as you said, three of them are pregnant. Do you really think that just leaving them behind would keep your bond strong?”

“But, wouldn’t they be safer? Both them and the foals?”

“Sure, maybe, they would, but three hormonal mares would be more than enough trouble for any one pony to handle,” the batpony said with a smirk. “That’s not including if you and Asalah conceive as well. Then you’ll have four mares carrying your foals journeying around with you. I’m afraid they’d be safer with you, not for their safety, but for others.”

Spike, in spite of himself, cracked a small grin. “Well, I know they can be a handful when they feel like it. Only, would leaving them somewhere be akin to abandonment?”

“In essence, yes. You could dress it up as trying to protect them, but without you there, they couldn’t be the safest they could. Plus, you never know who might be out there with a grudge against you, and if they can’t get to you, then they could try and get to your family.”

Spike’s expression darkened at that. There was a face, scarred with terrible burns and twisted with rage, that tugged at the back of his mind, hidden by shadows. “The African warlord,” he muttered. “Undi.”

“Who?”

“Nothing. So, they’ll overall be safer with me, so long as we avoid more places like Istanbul?”

“Yes, they should be. Most countries are not like the Ottomare Empire. They have no deep-seated fear of dragons, though many are not exactly opening their doors and laying down the welcome mat. To them, you and your family would be mere curiosities, just passing through, no different than most others. However, there are… exceptions.”

“Such as?”

“Years ago, I met with a mercenary who hailed from the distant realm of China. This was before I heard of them becoming a republic, but they have a very high opinion of dragons. You might even say many… worship them.”

“Oh, great,” Spike said, resisting the urge to slap his forehead. “Just what I need; an entire country with a dragon fixation. That could be as bad as Istanbul’s dragon hatred.”

“Unlikely, though you will undoubtedly run into trouble,” Ebony said. “Take precautions, though, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“But what about the things I can’t prepare against, like freak storms or some random bandits? I can’t prepare for everything under the sun.”

“Nor should you try, lest you collapse from exhaustion or drive yourself mad. Spike, your family is everything to you, I can see that. But you need to remember, you are everything to them. Think of where they’d be if you hadn’t come into their lives.”

Spike was silent. Ebony was right: if he hadn’t been where he was, when he was, then… literally everything would be different. Trixie, Chrysalis, Maria, Asalah… they’d all be elsewhere, potentially not even with him. Eutropia too; if not for what transpired in Istanbul, she might still be there, with her mother. Everypony else too; the Prench king’s nephew and heir-apparent, the prince in Saddle Arabia, those ponies travelling to and from Sicily…

He had changed so many lives, and in so short a time. It was, to be frank, rather inspiring. “You're right,” he said after several moments of silence. “They should come with me. I won’t be able to protect them from everything that comes our way, but I will do my best.”

“That is all we can ever ask of ourselves, Spike: to do our best.” The batpony stallion paused, a curious expression passing over his face. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Meanwhile…

“So, Eutropia. Do you really think you can help Spike learn to fight?” Chrysalis asked as she sat by the fireplace, Maria sitting beside her, and the young griffin directly across from them.

“With a sword? Yeah, I think I can help him a bit,” she replied. “I’m no expert, and it takes years for anyone to become one, but I think I could at least teach him the basics, if not some of the more intermediate stuff.”

“That’s all we can ask, seeing as we’ll be leaving soon, or so Mr. Blade explained,” Maria said. “I still think he should learn more about hand to hand combat over shields and swordplay.”

“I concur,” Chrysalis said. “He has little need of a shield or sword, and I’d prefer he knows how to fight with his mind and body, and not just his brute, draconic strength. Sometimes you need subtlety, and… well, back in Prance, he had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.”

“So you’ve told me. Now, how do I know he won’t somehow go into this “sledgehammer” state and just try and crush me?” Eutropia asked.

“He’s got it under control, far better than before, I might add,” Maria said. “Besides, we can be there on the sidelines, encouraging him and, if need be, calm him down. He would never hurt us.”

“But how can I be sure?” The griffin asked. “How do I know he won’t “turn” to protect his hoard? I imagine he thinks you’re part of it or something.”

The two mares glanced at one another. “Well, he may, deep down, think of us as part of his hoard, but there’s more to it than that,” Maria said. “We’re his wives, carrying his foals; we’re family on the deepest level attainable by ourselves. He’s only gone into those modes when we were in some sort of danger, so unless you fight us or something, I doubt he’d go feral.”

“Plus, one of the times he did, he felt so ashamed that he didn’t even want us to see him like that,” Chrysalis said, remembering back to the Samarea Desert. “I think he feels guilty about us witnessing how savage he can be, and it ate away at him for a long while. He’s nothing like the monstrous brute he can become, and we all know it. Maybe it’s his way of compensating for the beast inside; remain civilized and calm on the outside.”

“So, as long as none of you get hurt by trying to step in, and I don’t threaten you or anything, he won’t go berserk?”

“Correct.”

“Well, that helps things quite a bit.”

“How so?”

“I have to tell you now, he’s going to be in for a world of hurt,” the griffin said simply. “He may or may not need you to console him every time I’m done with him.”

“Oh,” Maria said. “What can we expect?”

“Oh, the usual; name calling, derogatory comments, repeatedly being punched in the face or stomach. You know, stuff like that. And I’ll be sure to avoid anything involving his reproductive organs, except for insults of course, just so he, or any of you, don’t totally hate my guts afterwards.”

“I think we can deal with a little brutal emotional encouragement,” Chrysalis said.

“Just as long as it doesn’t become too personal, let alone highly caustic,” Maria added. “We’d prefer it if Spike didn’t go over in a corner and cry at the end of each training session.”

“So what’d you say is too far, then?” The griffin asked.

“Well, from what he’s told us, he never knew his birth parents; he was hatched as an egg as part of an entrance exam for his unicorn friend, who then raised him like a sister,” Chrysalis said. “I don’t think he even knows his mother’s name.”

“Okay then, parents are out of the picture, so I’ll avoid that.”

“Everything else seems fine, so long as it’s purely to motivate and not break him down,” the changeling queen added.

“Okay then! When do you think we should start?”

“Well, I was thinking a little every day, starting as soon as we set out from here,” Maria said with a shrug. “We wouldn’t be wasting time, seeing as we’d only need to have him train when we’ve stopped for a night or two, depending on the weather.”

“Oh, that reminds me; he’ll have to exercise regularly as well,” Eutropia said. “Running, sit ups, push ups, maybe even some flying; you know, stuff like that.”

“Well, he could run along whatever carriages or carts we happen to be travelling in,” Chrysalis said. “Of course, that means he’ll be needing more food than normal.”

“I think we’ll manage.”

Meanwhile…

As the wind clawed at their clothes, the batpony and the dragon closed the cellar doors behind them, taking care to make sure the tumblers on the locks fell back into place properly. Ebony knew that Spike had no idea of what lay in his backyard; nobody else knew. Only Bakhtak, his distant relatives and the duchess knew of what lay back under the old oak tree.

It was time for Spike to know as well. “Spike, follow me,” he said simply, taking care to follow the stone steps leading out behind the house.

The dragon trailed behind him, watching as the mercenary seemed to trace the outline of each stone before stepping on it, as if it were a memory he’d just rediscovered. “Ebony, before anything else, I have to say, thank you… for everything.”

“Such as?” the batpony asked, sounding as if he were lost in thought.

“For taking us into your home, for feeding and clothing us as if we strangers were just long-lost cousins, for making sure we were comfortable and safe. I know it’s a cliche thing to say, but… you have a heart of gold, Mr. Blade.”

“Indeed, though being a mercenary also tends to lead to such a state of mind,” Ebony replied.

“But you’re not any mercenary. You’ve treated us as guests, not as those you’ve been hired to protect. With all that’s gone on these past few days, I can’t imagine where we’d be now if not for you and all that you’ve done for us. I just… I just have to thank you, Mr. Blade. From one stallion to another.”

“But you’re a dragon, not a pony.”

“Its the thought that counts,” Spike said as they came upon the grassy knoll underneath the large oak tree.

Ebony stopped, his gaze pointed towards the ground in front of them. The flowers… they were still there, untouched by the rain and wind of last night; truly miraculous. “Spike, you love your family,” he stated.

“Of course. More than anything else,” the dragon replied.

“What would you do for them?”

Spike was slightly taken aback by this. “Well, anything, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Well, yeah-, no, I know I would do anything for them.” His answer this time was resolute and filled with a confident tone.

“If you had to do something that went against your better judgement, would you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean…”

“Spike, would you be willing to do something that you normally wouldn’t do, in order to protect your family? To keep them safe? Would you be willing to take part in a career like mine, if need be?”

The dragon had no idea where this was coming from, but Ebony was very serious, so he nodded. “Yes, yes I would. If it meant a better life for them, better than what it could be, if everything was different, then yes, yes I would.”

“My job has a very low life expectancy, Spike,” the batpony replied. “Mercenaries often die out in the field, missed only by their families, if they even have any. Most mercenaries are the youngest sons of a large family, with nothing to inherit; it is a life where all you will ever have is what you earn yourself. Many are not paid well, and many more follow little if any code of honor, as it can be costly if you’re generous or kind. Some do not take prisoners, instead opting to kill for more pay; some will readily turn on their employers if their foes offer more. I was different, you see.”

“In what way?”

“I am not the oldest child of my parents, but I was plenty older than many of my fellow mercenaries when I became one. I held myself to a code of honor, and after years of thinking about it, I believe I have started to realize why. Spike, my family… they were what kept me going, to improve their lives through my career. It was they who kept me grounded, who kept me steadfast against many of the harsh realities of the world; hatred, avarice, deceit, betrayal. They were my everything, Spike. In a way, they still are.”

Spike walked up to Ebony’s side and looked down, his eyes widening in realization as he followed the stallion’s gaze towards the ground. Two small stone slabs, adorned with what looked to be freshly picked, if not slightly wet, little white flowers. He remembered seeing those in the hills of Germaney, in a time that felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Spike, I was willing to do anything for my family,” Ebony continued. “I threw myself into the life of a mercenary, and for a long time, it seemed as though I may die on the battlefield before my daughter would learn to walk, let alone fly. Within a few years, though, my reputation began to precede me, and I was offered better paying, less risky jobs. I was able to employ myself to those who paid better and asked far less of me, all because they knew I was held by a strict code of honor.”

“But what of… after?” Spike asked softly.

“After their passing… I was lost. Maybe I still am; I don’t know, and I doubt I ever will. I’ve kept up with my code, with what I know to be the best for myself as a pony, but not because it’s easy or I’m so used to being that way. I do it because it keeps the memory of my family alive, for though they are gone from this world, they will never be gone from my heart. It would be so easy, you know, to just turn my back on this, on them, on everything, but I can’t, and I never will.”

The dragon was silent, looking down at the graves with a strange stirring in his heart. He could see himself in Ebony’s place, perhaps in a different life. He, alone, though not because his family had died of some earthly ailment, but because of the slow decay of time. He would linger on, alone, while they withered before him and eventually passed on.

It was what he had to look forward to, many years from now. His wives, he hoped, would pass peacefully in their twilight years, for the loss of a child was something no parent should have to suffer. His children, being halflings, would linger for a very long time, but eventually their mother’s genes would work against them, and they too would pass. He would watch countless descendants pass away in front of him, some sooner than others, and yet he would still be there, up until the ends of his days. Who knew when that would be?

“You must cherish them always, but doubly so when they are still with you,” the batpony said, snapping Spike out of his gloomy vision of the future. “Spike, I know that as a dragon you’ll live a very long life, but please promise me one thing. No matter where the road in your life takes you, no matter what trials you face and what triumphs you celebrate, always remember that family is more important than all the jewels in the world. They may last for ages, but family does not, and that makes it all the more precious.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” Spike asked, trying to casually wipe away the small tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” Ebony said with a sigh, placing his hand on Spike’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture. “You’re still young, Spike the dragon, so take it from somepony like me, who has lived for quite a bit. Never take anything for granted, even the most sure things, for you could lose them at any time.”

Spike silently nodded, his eyes gracing the names lovingly etched into the stone below him.

Calypso Blade

Lobelia Blade

“How… how did they die?”

Ebony looked over at Spike for a few moments before gazing back upon the gravestones. “My little daughter, a miracle birth, Calypso ,became very sick many years ago. It was from an ailment I had never seen before, had never even heard of. Not even the local doctor heard about it before… he didn’t know what to do, and in the middle of the night, within days of turning ill, while holding my hand-,” he said, choking back a sob. “She was so quiet, so pale, but so calm… her last words were… ‘I love you, daddy’, and then she… she breathed her last.”

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Lobelia was stricken with grief more than even I was. She... she withered away, refusing to eat, hearing her daughter’s voice between the twilight of waking and sleeping. She couldn’t… she couldn’t cope as well as I, and when the pox came through as it did every few years, she… she died in our bed, in my arms. She was gone in less than a year after Calypso.”

Spike was silent for what felt like minutes, supporting the stallion’s hand on his shoulder like one would do a wounded comrade. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Ebony sniffled a little before removing his hand from Spike’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said softly. “The pain… it gets to me, even now, after ten long years. I know it’ll never go away, but… sometimes, when I’m with others, it’s not… not so bad, you know?”

“Like Bakhtak?” the dragon asked.

“Yeah,” the batpony replied. “Yeah, like Bakhtak.”

Spike stood there in silence with Ebony Blade for what may have been mere minutes, or possibly hours. As the sky began to darken once more, what little sunlight that passed through the clouds gradually diminishing, the stallion turned to the drake.

“Come, let’s go inside before we catch a chill. Bakhtak’s probably getting supper ready, and your wives surely want your opinion on their dresses or something.”

Spike silently nodded, following the batpony away from the graves and towards the front of the house.

High above them, hidden in the branches of the great oak tree, the stark white vampire lay in secret, her eyes following the two as they disappeared into the house once more. “So, it would seem both past and present have a way of intertwining in the most interesting of ways,” she mused, softly landing at the base of the tree once she was sure the coast was clear. Licking her lips and exposing her fangs, she softly walked around, her eyes trailing the names over the graves.

“Little Calypso,” she said, savoring each syllable like a delicate wine. “Oh, yes, sweet as honey, and filled with life. I should have left more in her, more for a later visit. But I could not stop, did not wish to stop, and as with all things, overindulgence can lead to… consequences.”

The former Lady Bathory knew very well that this grave marked the only victim of hers that had passed as a direct consequence to her feeding. Every other victim, back then and now, continued on their lives, shaken but none the worse for wear. This one, though, was the one who had not, her life cut tragically short.

The vampiress didn’t care. She felt no remorse for what she did, any more than for what she had turned herself into. This was about survival, about defeating the enemy that was time, and she had finally done it. She had finally become the beauty she knew she had always been, but now would always continue to be.

All that was left was to obtain the blood of someone strong; someone powerful; someone blessed with a gift of longevity that even she had yet to fully comprehend. Luckily for her, he was right in this very house, just waiting for her, slowly falling under her spell…

“Very soon,” she said softly, her wings lifting her into the air as if she weighed no more than a leaf. “I will have what I want, and nothing will stop me from obtaining it. No army, no storm, no law, mercenary, castle or sword will keep me from my goal. Not even Lady Fyrefly will keep me from this, twin sister or not.”

With a tinkling laugh that could freeze water, she flew high into the sky, her wing beats propelling her towards the forest in the distance. She would know when she was needed, and from what her heightened senses could tell her, it was fast approaching.

Mine

“Hey, does anyone else hear that?”

Everyone at the table turned towards the dragon, some of them in mid-chew as they ate their pasta with mushrooms and garlic, along with a side of Bahtak’s freshly baked cheesy bread.

“Hear what, Spike?”

“Asalah, by chance, are you whispering “mine” over and over again?”

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just… I just keep hearing it, over and over.”

“Maybe you’re still a little sick from before?” Bakhtak asked. “I don’t know dragon biology, but if what you’ve said about that powder was all you knew, then there may have been more side effects.”

“Maybe,” the dragon said with a shrug. “I mean, it even sounds like you, Asalah.”

“Then Bakhtak is probably right and you’re just imagining things,” the zebra said simply. “Come now, eat up, you need to get better sooner than later.”

Nodding in agreement, Spike continued eating, choosing to remain silent as he listened in on everyone else’s conversations. A good thing too, seeing as his name came up rather frequently.

“So, Spike, what do you think of Eutropia’s training schedule?” Chrysalis asked.

“I think it’s a good idea,” he said. “Though I do see a problem: if I’ll be needing more food to keep up my metabolism and whatnot, how are we going to pay for it? All the gold we had is still somewhere in Istanbul, probably on backlog in some evidence locker or stolen by some guard for all we know.”

“Mother would never allow for such thievery,” Eutropia said. “But yes, you do have a valid point; the growing season is shorter where we’ll be going, so many of the foods you and I are used to will not be as readily available.”

“I’m sure my friends up in Marescow would be more than happy to give you whatever you’d need,” Ebony said. “They’ve always wanted to meet a dragon like you, Spike. Usually they just encounter the giant ice dragons of the far north, and those are rarer than you’d think.”

“Ice dragons?” Trixie asked.

“Yes, they are a species of sea dragons endemic to extremely cold places, and often live along the coast,” Ebony said. “They are even paid in fine jewels to keep their ports open during the colder parts of the year, so as to help with trade… or so I’ve been told. I’ve never seen one, actually, but I heard they are very large and rather wise.”

“I don’t think we’ll get the chance to meet one in our travels,” Maria said. “What with our conditions and all. Plus, it’d be quite the detour in the off chance of trying to meet one.”

“So, your friends,” Bakhtak began, glancing over at Ebony. “Is there anything you might want to tell us about them?”

“Well, they’re friendly, but have a lot of responsibilities, so any time we spend with them would be rather brief, even if we stayed there for some time. Other than that, nothing really seems all that important.”

“So… when do we leave?” Asalah asked.

“Within a few days, seeing as the weather should be fully cleared up by then,” the batpony replied. “It’s generally a bad idea to try and travel far in weather like this. I’m hoping the break in the clouds will warm things up considerably.”

As everyone else continued talking, Spike chewed his food, his thoughts consumed by the voice he was hearing and the conversations he was listening in on. On one hand, Bakhtak would glance at Ebony Blade every now and then, as if scrutinizing him for something, some sign that he was feeling better. She really seemed to care for his well-being, far more than most maids might.

On the other hand, he could hear Trixie and Asalah asking Eutropia all about the training he would receive, as from what he could gather, only Maria and Chrysalis had spoken on the matter before. Trixie seemed very thrilled by the idea, though Asalah had a few reservations, namely how he would be motivated without being traumatized. She seemed very interested in the welfare of him below the belt…

“She wants foals too,” he thought, internally smiling but outwardly remaining casually neutral. It was clear to him that his zebra wife was feeling a tad jealous of the others, as she was the only one not pregnant. Well, if the time permitted it, upon the arrival of her estrus, he would spend as much time with her until she got what she wanted. Until then, he wasn’t sure if he was well enough to even consider heavy petting, never mind actual sex. Plus, there was the whole situation with Eutropia being in the same room, and them being on the road for who knew how much longer…

Which brought up another fair point; just how far would Eutropia travel with them? From what he had been told, captain Myrrina had explicitly told her daughter to leave Istanbul and the borders of the Ottomare Empire behind and not return. That meant she was more or less stuck with them until she decided to depart, but when and where would that happen? Would she stay with them all the way to Equestria?

“Not the worst place to leave us and set off on her own,” he thought as he sipped some water. Of course, she’d probably prefer to be with her own kind, and the Griffon Kingdom was not terribly far away from Equestria’s borders, so it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume she’d depart from them (assuming she stayed until then) once they began to pass through the land of the griffins. Now, was that before or after the land of the dragons? Or was it the land of the minotaurs? Everything was starting to blur together…

“Figures,” he muttered out of earshot of everyone else. He’d travelled so far, and yet still had so much more to go, that he couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this journey than what Luna and Celestia had originally alluded to. He was changing things wherever he went, yet none of it was connected back to Canterlot or even Equestria, save for the Saddle Arabian prince and the whole issue there. Of course things would start becoming less and less defined the more he travelled.

Maybe he should start writing it all down again, just to keep everything nice and orderly; didn’t want to take a wrong turn and accidentally go to China by way India; over the Himarelayas.

Meanwhile…

“Your highness, we’ve found no signs of her,” the captain said, his beating wings keeping him in place in spite of the strong wind.

“We’ll keep searching,” Lady Fyrefly replied, her eyes scanning the lands below. “We will search all night if we have to.”

“But why now? Why this night, unlike all the others?” one of the younger guards asked. “Has something changed?”

The dragon has awoken. “Yes, though exactly what, I cannot say,” Fyrefly replied, thankful her phoenix could teleport in near silence. Otherwise, when everyone else was busy, Bakhtak would never have been able to send her that progress report. “Just keep looking, troops.”

One of the more experienced captains flew closer, having just returned from a small scouting mission of his own. “Your highness, I believe I may have the news you wish to hear.”

The duchess spun around in mid-air, her eyes wide with anticipation. “You have found her?” she asked.

“I do not know, but a local swears he saw you, sans your armor, flying towards Ebony Blade’s cottage several hours ago. I told him it was merely a trick of the light, of an eagle passing through a small ray of sunshine. He believed me, thankfully, but I knew you would wish to know this.”

“Is there anywhere near there she could lay low while still being able to survey the land around her?”

“Yes; an old windmill, up on a hill. It hasn’t been used since Old Wingdah was burned to the ground, so it’s surrounded by thorn bushes and trees. It’s half caved in, last time I checked, but I am sure that she could stay there and escape detection. Any assault would have to be done on hoof, though; she’d easily spot us in the air.”

Lady Fyrefly nodded and let out a shrill call, halfway between a whistle and an echolocating ping. “Troops, follow me! We may have found what we have been searching for!”

In a great formation, her guards gathered around her, their armor looking formidable in the gloom, and with steady beats of their wings, drowned out by a suddenly increasing wind, the duchess turned to the captain, her expression grim but resolute.

“Take us there, captain.”

Like a swarm of the bats they were so reminiscent of, the whole of them took off, headed away from the base of mountain upon which Castle Enstein was etched into, and off towards a distant cottage as what little light that remained soon faded. The world was becoming darker and darker with each passing minute, and off in the distance, a faint rumble of thunder boomed.

Meanwhile…

“Spike, please come to bed,” Chrysalis said as she laid down. Asalah had agreed that she would swap places with Chrysalis for the night, with Trixie swapping out the next night and Maria for what they assumed would be the last night in Ebony’s home. They thought it was only fair that way.

“I’ll… be there in a minute,” Spike said, walking out past an already-asleep Eutropia. “I just… I just have to take care of something first.”

“Okay, but don’t stay up too late, you’ll be needing your strength.”

Leaving the bedroom behind him, Spike strode out into the hallway and made his way downstairs… only to be stopped by Bakhtak, who had one hoof on the bottom stair.

“Spike, can I ask you something?”

He was going to ask her if he could talk to her, but hey, this worked too. “Sure,” he said.

“You know my species may seem odd to you, Spike, and that my customs may be a bit… different,” the Nightmare began. “But, tell me, you heard it too?”

Spike blinked. “The voice? You heard it as well?”

“Yes,” the Nightmare said with a nod. “At first, I couldn’t, but after you spoke about it, I began to focus, and in time, I too could hear it.”

“Why didn't you say anything before?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to worry anyone. I’ve never encountered anything like that before, and frankly, I’m not sure what it means. We could have just been hearing some random passerby singing to herself over and over again while she was out in the fields.”

That reminded him… “Hey, so, do you know anything about Ebony and the duchess? He didn’t sound too happy that she talked with him out in town earlier today.”

“I think they may have a history, though neither has told me of anything between them,” she said.

Spike smiled. “Do you and Ebony have a history?”

To his surprise, the Nightmare… was she blushing? No, no, of course not; she wasn’t blushing. She did look a little surprised, though. “Other than him allowing me to stay here? No,” she said swiftly. “Just… okay, this will sound odd, dearie, but… be careful. I don’t know why I’m saying this, but you need to be careful.”

“I think I’ll manage,” the dragon said with a shrug. “Thanks anyway. Good night.”

“Good night, dearie,” the Nightmare said, turning towards the living room. “Don’t… don’t tell Ebony we talked, all right? I don’t need him worrying about us hearing voices nobody else can.”

“My lips are sealed,” Spike said as he turned and began to trek back up the stairs. “See you in the morning.”

Hearing the chair in the living room creak under the Nightmare’s weight, Spike returned to the bedroom and shut the door gently behind him. Trixie and Maria were already asleep, and Asalah was just beginning to nod off. Chrysalis smiled softly when she saw him enter.

“Everything alright?” she asked softly as he crawled into bed next to her.

Other than the voice… “Yeah,” he said, gently kissing her. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

With a smile, the two lay side by side, the wind outside seeming subdued as the windows held fast.

Mine

Spike slowly opened his eyes, having almost been asleep. “Damn voice,” he muttered.

Come to me dear

“Okay, this is getting out of hand. Is there someone outside right now, doing this just to mess with me?”

You are safe here

“But if they are, then how come nobody else but me and Bakhtak can hear them?” Even as he said this, a fog began to enter his mind, something he had not been expecting. It was subtle, soothing even, caressing at his thoughts and making all of his earlier worries of no consequence. In fact, he felt like getting a breath of fresh air…

And only with me

Slowly rising from the bed, and without waking Chrysalis, the dragon slowly made his way over to the window, his vision going hazy as he looked out into the night.

You will always be

A flash of lightning in the distance cast a faint glow on the landscape around the cottage, and directly outside the window, Spike saw…

“Asalah?” he muttered, the fog suddenly lifting slightly. No, it couldn’t be, Asalah was in bed, asleep behind him. She couldn’t be outside, and yet, she was…

“Spike, please let me in, the wind is cold and I need you,” she said, her voice sounding distant but oh so real. The pleading look in her blue eyes, the way her lip trembled as she shivered in mid-air… yes, it was her. Fumbling with the latches to the windows as the fog returned to his mind, Spike stepped back slightly as the windows shot open with a bang. He smiled, even as the wind rushed past him and a distant boom of thunder made the house tremble slightly.

“Spike!” a voice called out, and turning slightly, the dragon saw his wives looking at him, fear in their faces as another bolt of lightning cast light upon the scene. Asalah was there too, her eyes wide in fright at what she saw.

“Mine,” a voice called, and turning back towards the window, everyone else saw a pair of stark white hands, tipped with razor sharp claws, reach out and latch onto Spike’s shoulders. A pair of great green eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and terribly large wings fluttered as the figure smiled, fangs bared as it did so.

In horror, the four mares and the suddenly-awake griffin watched as the dragon was effortlessly yanked off his feet and out through window, disappearing into the darkness in another flash of light.

He was gone.

Author's Note

Everything's starting to come together, so much so that I wrote this within four days!

Oh... so devious, much evil!

For the Greater Good

Chapter Fifty Two

For the Greater Good

The first thing Ebony Blade woke to was a loud bang upstairs, like something heavy was dropped or smacked against the wall. Then he heard screaming; gut-wrenching, animalistic screams of fear and outrage, of anger… of loss.

By the time he made it to the top of the stairs, sword in hand, Bakhtak had already leaped from the first floor to the second floor in one great pounce, and made it to his guests’ room, arriving to find something he wasn’t expecting.

Maria and Asalah were trying to console a sobbing Trixie, though they themselves were crying. Eutropia was trying to hold back a profusely-swearing Chrysalis and prevent her from flying out the open window, with Bakhtak moving to assist. Spike... was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” The batpony shouted amidst the cries and curses.

“Spike, h-h-he was taken, by a m-m-monster!” Trixie said amidst her wails, choking on her sobs.

“Something just grabbed him right after he opened the window! It carried him off like he was nothing!” Asalah and Maria cried in unison.

“That motherfucker’s gonna fucking die when I get my hands on her!” Chrysalis screeched, the whole room cast in a light green glow as her jagged horn glowed menacingly. Her eyes were wide with fury and froth spilled from a corner of her mouth as she ranted and raved.

“Sit down!” Eutropia shouted as she tried to hold her back, only to be knocked away from the struggling changeling queen by a surprisingly powerful kick. “Ow! That hurt! Bakhtak, some help would be appreciated!”

Before Chrysalis could fly out the window, Bakhtak quickly stepped up behind her and wrapped her arms around her in a great big full-body hug. Well, more of a holding maneuver than a hug, since Chrysalis struggled profusely in her grasp, which didn’t free her from the impressive grip, and after another minute of cursing and struggling, she began to calm down. Soon enough, though she continued to mutter curses, she also started to cry, turning into Bakhtak’s immensely strong arms for a hug of her own.

“What do you mean he’s been taken? Who is she? What is going on?” Ebony shouted, wishing for nothing more than answers. How had this happened? Just what had happened?

In another flash of distant lightning, three figures appeared in front of the window, their furiously beating wings comparable to a small thunderstorm. Two held back, their armor glinting in the dim green light of the changeling queen’s horn as another flew forward slightly.

“Ebony Blade,” said one as it spotted him, stepping in through the window. “I—,”

“YOU!” Chrysalis shouted, her mane standing on end as she tried to fire off a spell. It missed only due to a last-second spin by Bakhtak, but the bed that Spike was sleeping in wasn’t so lucky, bursting into flames as a result.

“Fuck!” Ebony shouted, grabbing a spare blanket and beating the fire out. “What the FUCK is going on?”

“What did you do with him?! What did you do with my husband?!” Chrysalis shrieked, forgoing spells and now trying to claw the figure’s eyes out.

“Madam, I assure you, I have done nothing with your dragon,” Lady Fyrefly said as her two flanking guards entered through the window, their weapons cautiously pointed at the struggling queen. “That’s not to say that he is not in great danger.”

“Lady Fyrefly? Just what is going on?” Ebony Blade asked again, somewhat satisfied that the bed was no longer on fire. Smoldering, perhaps, but no longer ablaze.

“Your highness, do you know what is happening?” Bakhtak asked, sounding rather calm, considering the very stressful situation.

“Yes, Bakhtak. I know what has happened,” the duchess replied, eyeing the changeling queen before her with suspicion. “The dragon has been taken.”

“No shit,” Ebony muttered as he stripped the covers off the bed so that they didn’t smolder.

“By who?” Asalah asked through her tears.

“A vampire.”

Every head in the room turned to look at the batpony duchess, save for her two guards. The cries, the screaming, the cursing, the struggling; it all just stopped.

“A... a what?” Trixie asked, too stunned to cry anymore.

“A vampire.”

“But... but... I didn’t think those existed,” Maria said softly, her eyes wide with terror. “I thought they were a myth.”

“They are real, but very rare, and very elusive to find,” Fyrefly said. “That is why it took so long for my sister to find them, to become one of them.”

“That... that was your sister?” It was not Ebony who asked this, but Eutropia.

“Yes, the former Lady Bathory,” Fyrefly said with a grimace. “My twin sister.”

“Your twin sister is a vampire?” Ebony Blade asked, feeling as though the world was falling out from under him. “How? Since when?”

“Many years ago,” she said. “Come now, we must go before it is too late.”

“Go where?” Bakhtak asked. “She could be miles away by now with him, hiding anywhere in the hills or the mountains.”

“My sister has remained hidden close by for many weeks, biding her time as she fed every night on the blood of others,” the duchess said, her hand going to sword. “She has brought what’s been known as the mysterious illness upon this land, the one leaving many ponies weak and unable to work. She is a veritable plague, and whilst I thought before I could stop her, I now know that will no longer be our main objective.”

“What do you mean?” Ebony asked.

“She intends to feed on the blood of the dragon,” Fyrefly said, watching as Bakhtak slowly set down Chrysalis, her hand still resting on her sword in case the mare decided to rush her.

“But why?” The queen asked, her voice so cold it might have frosted the windows behind the guards. She sounded positively murderous.

“To gain power beyond that of any normal vampire,” the duchess replied. “Vampires need to feed frequently in order to survive, more so when they are within the first twenty years of their undead life. Now, if she does feed on Spike, she will have no need to feed as much for many centuries, if not millennia.”

“Then isn’t that a good thing?” Ebony asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the former Lady Bathory was a vampire and was causing this sickness. Wait a minute, sickness…

She didn’t have time for this bullshit. “No, it is not. She intends to drink him dry, killing him in the process,” the batpony noble replied, earning horrified gasps from the dragon’s wives. “With his blood fuelling her, she will remain young for thousands of years. However, in doing so, she will gain strength, speed, stamina, cunning, all beyond measure. Vampires are by definition already very formidable adversaries; if she drains the dragon dry, she will be unstoppable to us mere mortals, and maybe even to other vampires.”

“But won’t that turn Spike into a vampire too?” Maria asked, her eyes widening further in horror. Her husband, undead and enslaved by a vampiress… it was a terrifying thought.

“No, vampires are made through arcane blood rituals, not by simple biting, and you can only become a true vampire whilst still alive, as my sister was. Otherwise, how else would all these ponies who have become sick not been turned?”

“Do you know where she is?” Bakhtak asked.

“We believe so,” the duchess replied, her guards readying behind her. “There is an old windmill not far from here; old, dilapidated, but a perfect hiding spot for a creature such as herself. I was just heading there now to see if my guards have sprung the trap.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ebony Blade and Bakhtak said at the same time. The batpony turned to the Nightmare, a look of surprise covering his face.

“Bakhtak, I need you to stay here and protect Spike’s family,” he said, omitting the “until we get him back” that he wanted to say.

“But who’s going to watch your back?” She replied, crossing her arms.

“I’ll trust the duchess to do that just fine,” he said. “Just stay here, and make sure they stay safe... and out of trouble,” he added.

“That’s my husband out there!” Chrysalis said, her tone was level but clearly laced with the desire to shout it to the world. “I should be out there looking for him! That bitch who took him—,”

“—is none of your responsibility,” the duchess said with a glare. “Fine; Bakhtak, you stay here and guard everyone else. Ebony, you’re with me.” With a great flapping of her wings, she flew out into the night, her two guards close behind her.

“Ebony, you’ll need more help, I can fight,” the Nightmare said.

“I know that, but you’ll do more help here,” he said, sheathing his sword and spreading his wings.

“I’ll help Bakhtak keep them safe,” Eutropia said, stepping up besides the windows.
Ebony nodded, lifting off the ground as he began to beat his wings.

“Please,” Trixie said, folding her hands and pleadingly gazing into Ebony’s eyes. “Please bring him back to us.”

“I will,” he replied, and with a great gust of air, was out the window and into the night sky. In a hurried movement, Eutropia slammed the windows shut behind him, locking them in place as she did so, and in the silence, she rejoined the others, all of them staring at the blackened sky, hoping for any sign that everything’ll be alright.

Hoping.

Meanwhile…

Spike grumbled as he felt the wind rush past his face. Asalah was taking him somewhere, but how? She couldn’t fly…

“Asalah?” he asked, somehow finding his voice over the flapping of wings.

“Hush, dear, everything will be okay,” her visage softly replied, effortlessly flying the two of them through the forest.

“Oh, okay,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“To a very special place,” she said, just as they entered a small clearing. Ahead of them, surrounded by sharp brambles and fallen, moss-covered bricks, stood an old windmill. The sheets that had originally hung across the blades were mostly gone, having rotted away long ago. Most of the windows were just frames in the stone sides, and along the southern side, part of the wall had collapsed outwards and onto the ground below. It was a very decrepit-looking place, almost like it was due for collapse at any moment.

It was through the gaping hole on the uppermost floor that they entered the windmill. Setting Spike down upon a makeshift bed comprised of tattered fragments of the old sails, Bathory glanced around. There was something off here, something not quite right…

She inhaled, letting the air fill her nostrils, and almost instantly she knew. “We are not alone,” she muttered, hissing slightly as her eyes seemed to glow extra-brightly in the darkness. “There are others here. Guards. They cannot interfere, not when I’m so close!”

“What?” The dragon asked softly, not rising from the makeshift bed.

He was falling further into her trance; most excellent, though this new wrinkle would hinder her considerably-prepared plans if she didn’t take care of it immediately. Leaving him now, without draining him, was risky, but he wasn’t going anywhere of his own free will any time soon. She could leave him here, but only if she quickly took care of whomever was outside, waiting for her.

“My sister sent them,” she hissed, her eyes sweeping the forest floor from her high vantage point. “They have undoubtedly laid traps, attempting to capture me and bring me in alive.” She smiled. “Let them try.”

Silently, she leaped from the opening and vanished into the darkness, her wings trailing behind her as she fell to the ground. Landing as softly as a fallen leaf in autumn, she smiled, her enhanced senses pinpointing each location of the hidden guards. She could see the electrical impulses of their muscles as they lay in wait, feel their steady heartbeats as they tried to hide from sight.

No sense in gorging herself on hors d'oeuvres before the main course, and of course, when she came back into the public light to reclaim the throne her sister had stolen from her, she would need good guards, strong and skilled to help her maintain her rule. These were the best of the best, but would be of no use to her dead, and tempting them to join her would doubly motivate them to bring her down. No, she’d need to be “merciful” if she wanted to use them later.

“Come on out, little soldiers,” she whispered as she silently moved through the brambles, seemingly without touching a single barb. “Come out and play….”

Meanwhile, off in the distance...

A flash of lightning in the sky above the mountains shone briefly over the four flying shapes, their wings beating furiously as they flew towards the distant forest. Weapons and armor glinting in the occasional light, Ebony flew astride of Lady Fyrefly, her guards flanking them.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your sister was a vampire?”

“It was none of your business to know.”

“I think it would, seeing as her reappearance has a great deal to do with one of my guests,” he retorted. “That, and the fact that her appearance might have something to do with this sickness that’s been going around.”

“Well, it does,” the duchess replied. “Those are all symptoms of a vampire’s feeding.”

“And of ten years ago? The disease that was going around then?”

“The very same.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was none of your concern then, either. Bathory’s attacks on ponies were more of a concern than letting anyone know the truth behind them. Can you imagine the panic had the populous known-,”

“It was my concern when she killed my daughter!”

“... I am sorry. My sister said she was the only victim that died...”

“Like Tartarus she was! My wife died because of our daughter’s passing. I have suffered for ten years, ten long years, not knowing until now that the very one responsible for my suffering and my loss was somepony I had already known!”

“Do you think you’re the only one that’s suffered?” the duchess replied, her tone becoming dangerous. “Do you think I have not lost that which I cared about so deeply? I’ve kept these lands safe for a decade at the expense of my soul! My husband died before we could have foals, because I was so worried with trying to save my sister, that I did not see the signs of his demise until it was too late! My sister was captured ten years ago, yes, mere days after she preyed upon your daughter. I’ve kept her locked away from the outside world for ten long years, trying to find a way to cure her of her affliction. Do you have any idea how many things I have tried? Do you have any idea how long I have suffered, seeing my sister slip further and further away from the pony I once knew?”

“Yet she still lives, while my family does not.” The venom in his words was heartfelt, and painfully so.

“I wish she were dead! Then she would be at peace, we all would, but no, she continues in this world, causing nothing but suffering and misery for any in her wake. She is beyond help, beyond redemption. I… I cannot allow her to continue on like this. I must destroy her; for the greater good of all, I must.”

“Then why have you waited so long to do this?”

“She broke free from her holding cell a few weeks ago. Originally, when I captured her, she was a wreck, freshly turned and very confused. She came with me freely, hoping that I too could find a way to reverse her curse. Over the years, and through countless experiments, often of her own design, her heart grew cold and bitter, and before my very eyes she changed; she took back all of what she had said before, of forgiveness and regret. She no longer cared for others; she sought only to maintain her youth, her beauty, and live forever, the consequences of others be damned. When she broke free, free from the imprisonment she had as much of a say in as I, she swore that I would live just long enough to regret trying to save her.”

“Why didn’t she just kill you when she broke free?”

“Maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe she really did want me to suffer, to see these lands become filled with fear and superstition at the expense of prosperity. We are not rich lands, and any significant disaster could be potentially debilitating. You of all ponies should know this very well, Ebony Blade. Do you not remember the famine twenty years ago, and how many starved?”

“I know all too well,” he replied. The fact that he hadn’t lost any brothers or sisters had been a miracle in itself. He knew several of his cousins died in the famine, along with a few aunts and uncles.

“Now imagine a famine that was brought on because ponies were unable to work the fields, unable to harvest the crops, and milk the cows. Imagine there being nopony fit enough to gather firewood for the winter, nopony around to care for the sick, nopony to watch the horizons for dangers. In time, if left unchecked, Bathory would have done this. She would have done all of that, destroying these lands in the process, just to cause me grief.”

“And then?”

“Then she would take over, and expand her hunting grounds to every corner she could reach. Nopony would be safe from her fangs, from her hunger; not even other nobles of our kingdom.”

“Then she has to die.” Ebony was very accepting of this fact, for if what Fyrefly said was even half correct, her sister would be a threat to the stability and livelihood of this entire region of Europe.

“Yes, she does,” the duchess said, tears curling up in the corners of her eyes as she tried to hold a stern face, the group made their way over a small cluster of pines and slowed to a stop, her guards and Ebony Blade halting behind her.

“This is the place,” she said. Ahead of them, in a large clearing surrounded by brambles and old debris, stood the windmill.

“Once we locate your sister, I’ll try and find Spike,” Ebony said. “He’s my responsibility, and if she drinks him dry, she’ll be pretty much unstoppable. Keeping them apart will be our best chance.”

“I’ll check on my guards and see if they’ve captured her or even seen her yet,” Fyrefly replied. “Stay close, though; if we split up, it’ll be easy for her to pick us off one by one.”

With her two guards in tow, the pair set off on hoof, slowly working their way through the underbrush. Ebony Blade resisted the urge to question her more, as the vampiress could be listening in on them and would know exactly where they were.

The four of them came upon a small cluster of short trees and pushed their way through, right into the midst of…

Lady Fyrefly, in the lead of them, stopped in her tracks, not moving as she looked at the sight before her. Her guards, the ones she had sent ahead to lie in wait and set up traps… they were all here. All of them were laying on the ground, unmoving except for an occasional twitch here or there. Most were covered in welts and bruises, as much of their armor had been torn off their bodies like it was tissue paper. Several of them laid up against the trees or entangled in the bushes. Fyrefly did not know if it’s where they’ve been thrown, or if they’ve been lucky enough to be able to crawl there instead; for all her martial skill, for all her knowledge of warfare, seeing her best guards all laying around, savagely beaten like disobedient slaves of old, brought a chill to her heart.

Walking past her, Ebony found what had the duchess so stunned. “Are they alive?” She asked as the mercenary rushed to the several that were propped up against a nearby tree. The two guards following them did the same, checking their barely moving comrades for any signs of life.

“They’re all alive, but not in the best shape,” Ebony muttered, opening eyelids to watch the retinas react to his shape. “I’m betting they are somewhat concussed.”

“These are the same,” one of the other guards said, sitting one of his comrades up against a large boulder.

“No broken bones, from what I can tell,” the other said. “Plenty of sprains and possibly some cracked, but nothing broken.”

“What about internal bleeding?” The duchess asked as she crept to Ebony’s side.

“None that I can see,” he replied. “I don’t see any holes in them either, so I don’t think she drank their blood.”

“Of course not; that would dilute the meal of the dragon’s blood,” a voice said, and whirling around, swords suddenly drawn, all four figures found themselves face to face with the vampire, calmly resting up in the branches above them.

“Bathory,” the duchess hissed.

“Fyrefly,” was her reply.

“What did you do to my soldiers?”

“Oh, I merely showed them who was superior,” the vampire said, laughing slightly as she did so. Her fangs glistened in the dim light of a distant bolt of lightning, and her saliva dribbled slightly from the sharp points. “Don’t worry, none of them are fatally injured, they’re merely… incapacitated; I will have need of them in the future, after all.”

“Why?” Ebony asked, his grip tightening considerably on his blackened bastard sword’s handle.

“Why? For when I assume my rightful title, of course,” Bathory replied.

“As what? Bane of these lands and of all living creatures that dwell within them?” Fyrefly hissed.

“As rightful duchess of these lands! Lands that you, dear sister, stole from me!”

“I stole nothing!” The duchess took a step forward, her whole body bracing for battle. “You know that father granted me the title because I showed aptitude for rule, not you.”

“Lies! He chose you because you were the “prettier” one, the “smarter” one, when it should have been I, the eldest, who inherited the title of duchess!” Bathory roared, hissing with every other syllable like a poisonous snake about to strike. “The law of the land dictates the oldest inherits all titles; primogeniture! The breaking of tradition alone would be enough for a civil war in other nations.”

“Father chose me because I was more experienced, more fit to take his place! I sat at his knee, learning all about ruling, whilst you dabbled in courtly politics and the latest Ottomare fashions. He chose me because he knew that these lands needed a strong and competent ruler to preside over our people, and you were neither of those!” She turned to her three companions. “Ebony, find Spike, get him out of her; I will deal with my sister.”

Ebony took several steps backwards, his eyes trained on the vampire in the trees above them. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“It was your idea to look for him. So, yes; go!”

A quick turn and he was off, keeping his sword clenched tightly in his hands, glancing back every now and then as he disappeared through the underbrush.

“He won’t reach him in time,” the vampire said, softly descending from the tree like a discarded feather. “The dragon is mine!”

“If you want to get to them, you’ll have to get through us,” one of the two guards said, both stepping up next to their duchess and brandishing their swords.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Bathory said with a malicious smile. In but a flash of white pelt, she rushed them, her taloned fingers extended, just as the three figures charged as well.

Clambering over mossy stones as the sounds of battle erupted behind him, Ebony Blade struggled through the thick brambles that seemed to claw at him with every step he took. Normally he would have flown, but the thick and gnarled branches overhead made that all but impossible. That, and if he did try, there was no telling if Bathory would abandon her current battle and strike him down in moments.

“Dammit Spike, you just had to be the target of a vampire,” he muttered, using his sword to cut free of the brambles that frequently ensnared his cloak. “And of course it’d be the sister of the duchess, long thought deceased by the rest of us. That’s still technically true, but come on, undead and thirsting for blood? How could anyone have predicted that?”

Climbing over several more large stones, their moss still slick from the rain the day before, Ebony found himself at the foot of the great windmill. On instinct, he checked over his shoulder and saw nothing approaching him. This could be either very good or very bad, but he didn’t have time to ponder that now, he had to find the dragon and get him as far away from Bathory as he could.

Rushing up to the old, decaying door, he gave it one swift kick, and like a glass bowl dropped from a mountain, the door imploded under his hoof, shooting the rotting debris everywhere. Stepping inside, the mercenary brandished his sword defensively as he looked around, seeing nothing more than old floorboards and what was left of the internal structure. Along the wall he spotted a staircase that looked far sturdier than the ceiling above him; must have been better shielded from the elements.

Steeling himself, he began to climb the stairs. “Don’t worry, Spike. I’ll bring you back to your family,” he said. “I promise.”

Dodging the sword strikes between one of the guards and Lady Fyrefly, Bathory turned and swept the legs out from underneath the second guard mid-strike, raking her talons across his armored chest as she did so. Deep furrows burrowed through the steel-coated leather, just narrowly avoiding the skin as it did so. Dodging the fallen soldier’s feeble attempt at slicing her legs off, the vampire did a backflip over the other two, her hooves landing on the shoulders of the first guard. Collapsing underneath her, she gave him a kick to the side of the head, just enough to knock him senseless. Pirouetting to avoid being skewered by her sister’s sword, the vampire backhanded Fyrefly, sending her stumbling back.

“Did you really think you could beat me that easily?” Bathory asked as her sister tightened her grip on the bastard sword. Jumping up, she dodged a kick from the stunned soldier and landed behind the second one, who had just risen to his hooves and was trying to raise his sword. The vampire did several quick strikes, landing her palms and knuckles on the weak spots in his armor. Grunting in pain, the guard stumbled forward, one of his arms too numb to move.

“This is not about beating you, sister,” Fyrefly said as she rubbed her jaw. “This is about ridding the land of your foul stench!”

“Tough talk from a pony that can’t even train her guards to take on one measly little vampire,” Bathory replied, dodging another one of her sister’s strikes before punching her in the ribs. “Then again, how could you? None of you have ever faced something like me.”

Wheezing and winded, the duchess took several steps back, just in time for the second guard to rise and throw a gauntlet-encrusted punch at the taunting creature.

Swiftly moving her head to the side, the vampire dodged the blow and instead delivered two of her own in quick succession, tearing the armor off the stallion’s chest and delivering a solid open-palm strike to his stomach. The soldier let out a strangled scream as he felt his ribs crack under the strike, and with another blow to his solar plexus, he went down, hard.

The slightly concussed soldier raised his good arm and tried to cut down the two vampires his eyes told him were right in front of him. He missed both just in time to see an open palm smack upside his head, sending the helmet he wore spinning on the ground. Blinking heavily through his blurred vision, he was still conscious long enough to see the vampire smack him again while sweeping his legs out from under him.

Lady Fyrefly watched in horror as this transpired, unable to move and struggling to breathe. Her sister had done that, done all of this, in a matter of seconds. It was... unreal; terrifying.

“You know, this all could have all been avoided if you had just killed me all those years ago,” Bathory said, breathing as calmly as if she had just awoken from a light nap.

“I… I tried to help you; you asked me to.”

“I was weak then, unsure of what I was capable of,” the vampire said, turning to face her sister with a fang-laden smile. “Now... Now I know differently. The strong must take what they want, and before, I was weak. Now, now I am strong! Stronger than you, stronger than your guards, stronger than father could have ever dreamed!”

“He always knew you would turn your backs on us,” the duchess hissed, causing her sister’s eyes to narrow slightly. “He always knew you cared more of the titles than the responsibilities they carried.”

“What does it matter if he knew or not, whether he was right or wrong about me?” Bathory asked, stepping over the two guards as she slowly approached her sister. “All that matters now is that I will have what I seek, and nothing will stand in my way. Not for long, anyway,” she added with a soft, slithery laugh.

Her breath once more regular and consistent, Fyrefly struck at her sister once again, only to find her blade pierce nothing but air. In a flash, her sister was behind her, and with a strong kick to her back, sent her sprawling forward, her sword knocked from her hands. She had trained all her life to fighting in hand to hand combat, but her sister... she was toying with her. She wasn’t even trying to kill her.

“You’ve undoubtedly thought back to what I said a few minutes ago,” the vampire said as she grabbed her sister by the back of the neck and lifted her effortlessly in the air, her hooves dangling underneath her. “About me killing you only after I’ve made you suffer?”

“—yes,” the duchess said, the fingers around her neck ever-so-slightly clenching around her throat. It would be so simple... one little display of her sister’s unholy vampiric strength, and she would be dead, her neck broken like that of a bird that flew into a window.

“Well, I’ve decided to postpone that for a while, if only to enjoy your suffering a bit longer” Bathory said, forcing her sister to look her in the eyes, green to green, her smile positively malevolent. “Instead, I’m going to make you experience a worse kind of pain than I can inflict on your body. I am going to break your mind, make you suffer that which isn’t there, and then, and only then, after I have drained that dragon of his blood, I will kill you. Slowly, painfully, in ways that will leave you screaming for me to end it, and, in time, I shall.”

Lady Fyrefly wheezed as her sister’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and, with a shuttering cough, let loose a fine mist from her mouth. In spite of herself, the duchess inhaled it, and with a choking sound, felt her eyes start watering and her throat burning.

“There we go,” the vampire replied as soon as her eyes returned to normal, effortlessly tossing her twin against a small tree. “Enjoy what time you have left to swim in your own nightmare.” With that, she turned and began to walk away, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. “Oh, and don’t worry about Ebony Blade. I will… take care of him.”

“Wait!” Fyrefly cried out, trying to rise to her feet but descending into a teary-eyed fit of coughing. All around her, the world seemed to shimmer slightly, the guards seeming to take on different shapes as they laid there, either unconscious or moaning in pain. Her sister’s figure disappeared into the thick underbrush, paying her call no heed. “D-Don’t you touch him! Don’t you touch—!”

The duchess fell onto her knees, her vision swimming and her head throbbing. She craned her head to one side, hoping to see a guard or two rising to try and help her, but she didn’t see that. No, instead, she saw…

“Ebony?” she weakly gasped. Lying by her side, where one of her guards had been before, was Ebony Blade, his eyes staring above them at nothing. He… he was barely breathing, and there was blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

“Ebony, Ebony, no,” she croaked, trying to reach out to him. “Ebony, no, she couldn’t have gotten to you, not so fast…”

A moan on her other side made her look away, and there… lay Ebony. He was dressed in the armor of a guard, but his sword was missing, and his… his… his eyes, they just stared blankly into the sky as well. Next to him was… another Ebony. Beside him… another.

The duchess tried to throw herself upright, but in the process lost her footing, and found herself leaning against the same small tree she had been thrown against. All around the area, all she could see was Ebony Blade’s face, multiplied across many bodies. They were all just laying there, unconscious or wheezing, or… or worse…

“No, no, no,” the duchess whimpered as the still-open eyes all seemed to stare at her, blank, accusing, cold. How could Ebony be in so many places, and yet… and yet… yet he was there, beside her, across from her, tangled in branches and brambles and lying across stones. “No, Ebony, she, couldn’t… she hasn’t… no…”

Throwing her head back, she let out a choked scream, an echoing wail of agony, of loss, and of help. Her parents had long passed and her husband was gone; her sister had sworn to kill her, to destroy the only pony she still cared about. She was alone, alone with the accusatory glares of the one she had let go of years ago, but had not let go of in her heart. And now… now she couldn't… she just couldn’t…

She was so alone.

As Ebony opened the door to the top of the windmill, he could hear something off in the distance. A voice, crying, filled with despair and loss. It clenched at his heart when he realized who that voice belong to.

“Fyrefly,” he said, entering the room. If she was crying out, then she wasn’t dead, but that meant that either Bathory was dead, or the duchess was injured and her guards were as well. Which meant… the vampire was likely on her way. Glancing over in a corner, the batpony saw a figure laying on a large, makeshift bed.

The spines along its back was the most evident identifier. “Spike, come, we need to get out of here,” he said, crossing the room and setting his sword against the bed. With his free hands, he rolled the dragon over, but upon doing so, he discovered something odd.

Spike’s eyes were glazed over, like one might see in death, but the steady breathing and occasional blink meant he was still alive. Only… it must have been a trance of some kind. “Spike?”

His failure to reply confirmed the mercenary’s suspicion. He’d need to carry him out.

“Spike? Come on Spike, snap out of it, we need to get you home.”

“But he is home,” a voice said. Spinning around whilst grabbing his sword, Ebony found himself face to face with—

“—Bathory,” he hissed, noticing she looked none the worse for wear. “I assume Lady Fyrefly is still…”

“Alive? Yes, my sister lives… for now,” the vampire hissed, taking a small step towards him. His brandished sword seemed to have little effect on her, but then again, if she had defeated her sister without so much as taking a scratch, then he, being slightly less experienced, was in a lot of trouble. “Tell me, Ebony Blade, do you still care for her?”

“Define; still, creature,” he spat.

“Do you still wish that no harm come to her?”

“Always, though what does that have to do—,”

“Everything,” she said, taking another small step as they began to circle one another, like lions preparing for a fight. “My sister remains fond of you, something I would have thought she’d outgrow in her time as duchess. Tell me, why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, my charming good looks and bachelor life?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Ebony Blade; you and I both know you were with my sister only to get to me.”

“Keep dreaming. How could I have ever loved a creature like you?”

“The same way you love the creature that is my sister,” Bathory replied with a smiling hiss. “Why else do you think that she wished to keep such a tight rein on these lands? Why else would she have spies everywhere, always watching, ready to report any instance of trouble? She fears losing her grip, losing what she has, more so than ruling with a just hand. She lost you years ago, and now she never wants to lose anything like you again.”

“She is far from a tyrant,” he replied, watching her every step like his life depended on it. In a way, several actually, it did. “She does not spend what she does not have, she forgives debts, she has no draft or mandatory tax except in times of great need, and only when they are indeed needed. She is blunt and brusque, yes, but fair.”

“Ah, but is she as fair in body as she is in rule?” The vampire asked, one of her hands motioning over herself. “Take a good look, Mr. Blade; this is what my sister has, yet unlike me, she will lose it, in time. I, on the other hand, shall possess such fairness forever, once I drain the dragon of his life. Tell me, does that not seem like a fair trade? The life of one creature for another?”

“Spike is no creature, not like you. He has a family he would gladly die for, as I did. He loves them with all his heart, as I still do mine, and just like me, he would never, ever turn his back on them. Yes, you and Fyrefly may share many things, like blood and heritage and noble birth, but that is the one thing she has always had that you didn’t.”

“Not the only thing,” she replied with a hiss. “I wished to have you, all those years ago, but no, I never could. So, if I could not have you then, then I found a way to have you elsewhere.”

“My daughter.”

“Precisely. It was by no accident, I should think, that your daughter was my only casualty; other than your pathetic wife, of course,” the vampire added with a laugh. “Sure, little Calypso’s blood was sweeter than any other I’ve had, but I should think that was of your doing. You raised her like a father should; loving, caring, supportive, things my father never did for me. How else should I have reacted, knowing that your daughter was not the one we could have had, but one you had with some mere peasant?”

“Your father gave you all the time in the world, and yet that was never enough for you, was never what you craved,” Ebony said, his hands starting to turn white as he clenched his sword. “You and I could never have had children, as politics would not allow such a thing, and even then, you would have been a terrible mother. My wife, Lobelia, she… she was an amazing pony. Caring, down-to-earth, simple yet tied to the land, unlike you. You were always off looking for something you could never find, always, but Lobelia knew where her loyalties and ties were. She knew family was more important than any silly quest for beauty. She had beauty, inside and out.”

“What could you know of beauty, of loyalty and family? You abandoned my sister, and I, to become a mercenary!”

“I did that because it was my calling; I did not need to be at your beck and call to make my way in this world. I became a mercenary to provide for the family I had. My loyalty will always be to my family, for they are those I love. You, Bathory, you may think yourself beautiful, but inside, you are rotten.”

“Enough!” the vampire screeched, and in a quick lunge, smashed her fist against the stallion’s chest, sending him soaring through the air and into a large pillar in the center of the room. His sword flew from his hand and into the wall, embedding itself near the door from where he had entered. “I tire of your incessant comments and asinine comparisons! I will not be insulted by a lowlife mercenary!”

“You have lost everything that mattered,” Ebony said with a wheeze. “A noble, fit for ruling nothing but the misery that fills her soul. You are pathetic, Bathory. You have nothing left of value.”

She stood over him, her fists turning white from being so tightly clenched. “We’ll see who has nothing left,” she hissed as she grabbed him by the shoulders and hoisted him to his hooves, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “After I’m done with you, none will question me ever again!”

As Duchess Fyrefly continued to sob, her ears swiveled on her head. Someone, something, was approaching her, and fast. Yet... she no longer cared, nor even bothered to look. It seemed every face she looked into was the same; to her, they were. All Ebony, all disappointed, all so… cold and lifeless, even as they lay there, trying to catch their breath.

“Lady Fyrefly?” a voice said, and from her tear-stained hands, the duchess looked up as a flash of lightning arced across the sky. A ghost, a demon, a monster stood before her, tall and dark and covered with glowing scars.

“B-B-Bakhtak?” she choked as the taller creature kneeled next to her, concern etching her features.

“My lady, are you injured?” The Nightmare asked, checking her for any signs of a mortal wound.

“N-No, but Bathory, she... she did something to me, something I can’t explain. The guards, their faces… all I can see is Ebony’s face…”

“I should have known,” the Nightmare said softly. “Vampires often use blood magic and simple spells, usually fear or love, to make their victims easier to deal with. I believe Spike is under a simple love spell, as his wives told me where they saw the vampire, he saw Asalah. We must get all of you to safety.”

“How do you know so much about vampires?” The duchess asked as she slowly rose, her legs trembling beneath her.

“I’m several hundred years old, and have come across many fantastical and supernatural creatures in my time,” Bakhtak replied. “A vampire here or there wasn’t much out of the ordinary, though I have never seen one do anything like this,” she added, gesturing at the stunned and unconscious guards. “Usually they are far more subtle; there is blatant hatred in the rotten heart of your sister.”

“I know,” the duchess said as she stumbled over and retrieved her sword. “She was going into the windmill, Ebony’s in there; we have to stop her. She said she was going to kill him!”

Bakhtak’s gaze narrowed, her teeth poking through her lips as she let loose a guttural growl. “What?” she asked, her body suddenly tense like a bowstring.

“She… she said she was going to kill him,” Fyrefly replied.

In a flash, Bakhtak was gone, her form vanishing into the brambles like a wind-driven shadow. Fyrefly gawked at her speed, tripping over herself as she tried to run after her through the thick undergrowth.

Far ahead of her, the Nightmare had already cleared the thick undergrowth and was standing at the base of the windmill. High above, she heard the sounds of wood splintering, followed by a loud grunt of pain.

“Ebony, I’m coming,” she said, gathering her strength in a crouch and leaping as hard as she could. Her body sailed up into the sky, almost as if she were flying, and in a sharp arc, landed with a roll on the uppermost floor of the windmill. Instantly rolling onto her hooves, she saw the entire room had been devastated; splintered floorboards, missing portions of the stone walls, even bits of the building’s wooden supports were cracked.

Another loud smash caught her attention and she shifted to the side, where she saw Ebony laying against a large, rotting pile of sheets. His face was swollen terribly, and judging from the angle one his arms was laying, it was either dislocated or broken. His sword was embedded in the far wall, and his clothes were torn to shreds, the cloak remains scattered all over the place.

“We are not yet done, you and I,” a voice said, and from behind a pillar, stepped out the vampire, her eyes trained on her hapless prey.

“Yes you are,” Bakhtak said with a growl.

The vampire sharply turned to the newcomer and briefly flinched. “What sort of trickery is this?” she hissed, eyeing the demonic figure before her with wary and disgust. “What are you?”

“What I am does not matter,” the Nightmare said. “I have come for Ebony Blade, and the dragon called Spike. Surrender, or be destroyed.”

“I should think not, creature,” the vampire replied, assuming an aggressive stance. “When I am done with Ebony Blade and have disposed of his corpse, I will drain that dragon of every last drop of blood.”

“No you won’t!” the Nightmare screeched, her voice like that of a rumble of thunder. Her body shivering slightly as her short coat seemed to mold around her, spreading along the rest of her body like an oil slick. Her fingers warped into sharp talons, black as coal and ending in two-pronged points. Her lower jaw expanded slightly, becoming wider as it dropped, her gape becoming much more pronounced and her teeth far more evident. The legs that supported her became more robust, her arms swelled with muscle, and her neck grew thicker in line with her torso. Her gaze became predatory, her snarl feral, her pelt raising along her back like that of a rabid wolf.

With a roar, she leaped at the vampire, who rushed her as well. In that instant, they were upon each other, the force of their meeting driving both of them back and away from Ebony Blade. Bakhtak’s greater size was the reason for this, and as they clung to one another, punching and kicking and attempting to maul the other to bits, they tumbled down the stairs, out of sight, the stuck bastard sword knocked free by their vicious mauling.

Ebony Blade could barely raise his head; he hurt everywhere. So much so that when he heard a pair of wings flutter near the gaping hole, he wasn’t even able to glance in that direction.

That was, until the figured stumbled over to him. “Ebony?” she asked, still her eyes unsure of what they were seeing. “Where are you? Is this you?”

Through his swollen eyelids, Ebony could see the worried, if not slightly pained look that covered Fyrefly’s features. “Over there,” he muttered, gesturing towards Spike, who had up to this point been calmly watching everything transpire. The spell’s hold over him must have been quite strong for him to still remain so out of focus. “Need… to get him… to safety.” All that mattered now was getting that dragon as far from the vampire as they could.

“Thank you, Spike,” the duchess said, clearly believing the figure in front of her to be the dragon. Hobbling over to the bedside figure as the real Ebony struggled to his hooves, she leaned down and touched Spike’s face. “Ebony? Are you... did she hurt you?”

“Is that you, Asalah?” The dragon asked quietly, his eyes slightly opaque as they seemed to gaze right through the duchess. “What’s going on? Why is Ebony here?”

“Wha-,” Fyrefly began, not knowing why this Ebony was calling her a different name, but before she continued, the whole windmill shook, sending them all tumbling to the floor; even Spike toppled off the bed with them. The whole building seemed to groan and shake underneath them, as if it were some great beast struggling to wake up.

Downstairs, Bakhtak had just thrown Bathory through a support beam, wooden splinters flying everywhere as she crashed into the wall. The vampire would lunge at the Nightmare, only to be grabbed in mid-air, and flung again, and again, smashing into the stone walls with enough force to crack and chip away at the remaining mortar holding it all together. After one particularly violent crunch, Bathory snarled and propelled herself into the air. Using her wings to give her a burst of speed, she launched herself down towards her opponent, and in a blur, the vampire broke through her opponent’s defenses and delivered a ferocious slash against the Nightmare’s chest and stomach, her talons raking long, deep furrows in her flesh.

Bakhtak screeched in agony and grabbed the vampire’s head with both hands. With a great swinging motion, she headbutted the smaller creature, the force drove Bathory from her grip and into a pile of wooden planks. Lurching as she felt the blood dripping from her wounds, the Nightmare watched as her adversary rose up once more, fangs bared as she approached. The smell of blood hung in the air, mixing with the decay that seemed to pervade the entire building.

“You are a decent fight, but you are no match for the supernatural!” Bathory screeched, rushing the Nightmare once more and tackling her to the ground after dodging a swipe.

“More than a match for a monster like you!” Bakhtak retorted as she struggled with her attacker.

Raising her talons after knocking the Nightmare’s hands aside, Bathory struck; clawing at every available inch of exposed skin she could reach, flecks of blood flew everywhere in the tussle. Bakhtak blindly reacted, swiping back, her talons connecting with the vampire’s face in a downward motion. Howling in agony, Bathory leaned back on instinct, enough for Bakhtak to get a good, solid punch in. The vampire sailed up into the ceiling, striking another support beam with enough force to cause it to haphazardly splinter. She fell back to the ground with a loud thud, several large splinters sticking out of her back.

Rolling over, Bakhtak spied Ebony’s sword, not several paces away. Scrambling for it, she felt a hand wrap around her ankle and yank her backwards. Turning, she found herself face-to-bloodied-face with the vampiress, whose gaze had gone beyond insane.

“You will not get away from me so easily!” The creature screeched, blood running out of her eyes and down her face as her mouth opened unnaturally wide. Her lower jaw seemed to distend, becoming wider, like that of a snake. With a lunge, she planted her face right into Bakhtak’s rib cage, biting down as hard she could, her fangs piercing her flesh with ease.

The Nightmare let loose a howl of fury and pain, trying to claw the monster’s head from her side. No matter how many times she raked her talons over the soft skin, no matter how many blows she visited upon the vampire’s cranium, the beast kept biting her, seemingly intent on burrowing face-first into her insides., like a bestial crocodile of the night.

Her vision was beginning to go hazy, Bakhtak turned and saw a loose stone nearby, fallen from the wall countless years ago. Grabbing it with a blood-soaked hand, she heaved it with all her might and connected it with the vampire’s cranium. Blood spurt everywhere as bits of bone and possibly brain matter splattered all across the room, and finally, the biting stopped. Shoving the creature away from her, the Nightmare slowly crawled towards Ebony’s sword, her blood trailing behind her as she went.

Upon reaching it, she shakily took it in one hand and, using it like a cane, rose to her feet in time to hear a terrible screeching noise. Turning, she saw the vampire fly towards her, bloody mouth agape, eyes covered in blood, a dented skull clearly visible where the skin and muscle had been torn away. As quick as she could, the Nightmare raised the sword.

Sklerch

It only happened in an instant, but the vampire, perhaps unable to see the glinting object of war through her bloodied eyes, skewered herself upon the blade, driving it through her all the way to the hilt. Gasping in pain and horror as blood spurted everywhere, the vampire soon tried to pull herself free from it, but found a taloned hand digging into her shoulder.

“No more shall you plague us,” the Nightmare said, taking several steps before breaking into a slight run. “No more shall you threaten the ones I love!” With an almighty heave and a screaming, thrashing vampire in tow, Bakhtak drove the sword through the building’s main support beam, emerging from the other side in a shower of debris. The splinters in her back shot forth through her flesh, erupting from her chest and neck into view. Bathory thrashed and screeched, blood flying everywhere as she still tried to pry the sword from her.

But it would not budge.

Stumbling away from the thrashing monster, Bakhtak could feel her body’s naturally regenerative processes beginning to heal her. Already, the flow of blood had been reduced from excessive to a mere trickle, but the healing trance that was to come would render her unconscious. She needed to end this now.

“Monster,” she hissed, approaching the vampire. “Any last words?”

“You have not won! You will never win! I have the power, I am eternal, I am—,” screeched the vampire, blood pooling in her mouth and gushing from her exposed throat, before Bakhtak raised her fists and delivered a solid strike to the top of her head.

“Dead.” Like a band saw slicing through a tree trunk, the sword remained stuck in place, but the shrieking vampiress did not. The blade sliced cleanly through her, from her stomach to the top of her skull, where it erupted in a shower of blood, bone and bits of brain. The two twitching halves falling sideways and the bloodied eyes of the vampire staring blankly out into space, Bakhtak threw back her head, letting out a victorious, guttural roar at the defeat of her nemesis.

The whole building shook as the shock from the blow reverberated through the supports. Already weakened by age and the ensuing struggle visited upon them, the whole building began to slowly fall apart. Several large bricks fell in front of the Nightmare, their great size crushing what remained of the vampire in a bloody mist. Gasping, Bakhtak watched as high above, a shape appeared and plummeted through one of the rotten floorboards. She barely had the time to think before she dove towards it, managing to catch it before it met the ground. Holding the figure close to her, she saw a pair of familiar icy blue eyes looking up at her through swollen eyelids before more debris landed all around them, burying the both of them in a massive pile of wood and stone.

High above, Spike had watched Ebony slip through the hole in the floor and plummet out of sight. Turning to what he thought was Asalah, he did the only thing he could do; he crawled over and pulled himself close to her, protectively wrapping himself around her with his wings and tail. Her returned embrace gave him some measure of comfort as debris continued falling all around them.

With a great groaning sound, the whole building fell in on itself, the great spokes of the windmill snapping like twigs as everything collapsed. The lower stone walls simply folded in on themselves; the mortar holding them together, having long since been destroyed by the fighting between the Nightmare and the vampire. The upper floors simply fell down with the last of the supports giving under the pressure, while the ceiling above simply fell down on them like a great sheet of wood. A great pile of dust rose into the air as the splinters of stone and wood flew everywhere, casting debris all over the clearing.

The low rumble of the building’s collapse carried for miles, eventually being drowned out as the storm that had been building above finally let loose its payload. With the sounds of rolling thunder and falling rain beginning to cover the lands once more, the cloud of dust dissipated and everything lay still.

Not a soul moved as the night continued on, indifferent to what had transpired below.

Author's Note

Well, this was a long one chapter, and with so many plot-lines wrapped up, what's next for our group?

You'll have to see next time!

A Kingly Gift

Chapter Fifty Three

A Kingly Gift

The sun rose slowly that early morning, the rays shining for the first time in days. The clouds had long since dispersed after the storm the night before, and now, in the morning chill, the mist began to dissipate.

Rising from under a dry spot in the clearing, the tree branches above having sheltered him from the majority of the rain, a lone guard stood, every muscle in his body aching. Near him, several other guards rose, their injuries no more severe than his own. Others, however, were unable to rise, as they were far too injured to do so. Acting almost on pure instinct, the few guards that were able to even steadily stand went around and supported their brethren as they were all moved near a large, drier area underneath the brambles.

“The duchess; has anypony seen her?” one of the standing guards asked, one of his arms hanging at his side, still numb from the attack the night before.

“I saw her go with Bakhtak after the creature,” one of the two captains said, the other trying to attend to his comrade’s wounds even as he remained swollen and bruised from his savage beating. “We must make all haste to find her.”

Taking four of the few guards that remained standing, and ordering the rest to assist the other captain with their comrades, the captain slowly worked his way through the brambles, noting spots where there was debris that hadn’t been there when they arrived. Of course, the obvious clue to that was apparent as soon as they exited the thick brambles and found themselves face to face with a collapsed windmill.

“They might be inside,” one of the guards said, half of his face swollen to an almost unrecognizable state. “You think they’re still alive?”

“Your highness!” the captain called, carefully climbing the ruins and listening intently for a reply. “Your highness, are you in there?”

“Captain!” a muffled voice replied, buried deep beneath the rubble. “We are trapped in a compacted room with a small air flow from the north side. See if you can work your way to us through there.”

“Come on lads, you heard her; dig!”

From beneath the rubble, two pairs of eyes opened, blinking in the dark, cramped space they were confined to. Above them, they could hear two others moving around, or trying to, and from above that, seemingly far away, voices and the sounds of digging and debris being removed.

“Well, we’re not dead,” Ebony said.

“No, but you look halfway there,” Bakhtak replied.

“I feel more than that,” the batpony replied. “Do I really look so bad?”

“I’m surprised you can see me through those swollen eyelids of yours,” she replied. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s a start, at least.”

The two simply looked at one another as they could hear the sounds above them continue. “Tell me, Bakhtak, why?” the batpony asked.

“Why what?”

“Why did you save me?”

She blinked a few times in silence. “I was… I was told by Lady Fyrefly to come save you and, if possible, stop her sister from drinking the dragon’s blood.”

Even though his lips were as bruised as the rest of his face, Ebony Blade tsked at her reply. “Bakhtak, you know as well as I do that she told you no such thing. I was still conscious when you came and drove off the vampire. The duchess appeared several minutes after that, which meant you came here in all haste, rather than stay by her side until she arrived. Now, if you did come here as fast as you could, without having been told to, then why would you?”

“I… I had to stop the vampire,” she said softly.

“From drinking Spike’s blood, I would hope,” he said. “Or was it to save his life?”

She simply gave a noncommittal grunt.

He sighed, knowing he should have seen the signs sooner. “Do you love him?”

Her eyes zeroed in on his own, shock filling her face. “What?”

“Do you love him?” Ebony asked again. “I’ll admit, he is a very fine catch, much like I imagine I was back in the day. He’ll be good for you, you know; young, filled with life, and very long-lived, so that he won’t leave you lonely early in your lifetime. Plus, I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind you joining his herd, especially Asalah. You can go with him, if you-,”

“Ebony, shut up,” she said, a blush creeping over her face.

“What? I was just freeing you of your oath to me,” he said, surprised at her defensiveness.

“And what if I don’t want to be free of that oath?” she asked.

“Well, then, how would you go with him if you were stuck here? I mean, he’s not staying here, and if you did, that’d be really weird, don’t you think?”

“I’m not going with him; I’m staying here, in Transylmania,” Bakhtak said simply.

“A long distance relationship, eh? Well, it could work, seeing as eventually my oath would be no more and you could move on to his greener pastures-,”

“Ebony, I don’t love Spike,” the Nightmare replied.

“You don’t?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“No, I never said I loved him,” she said, wondering if the batpony in her arms was suffering from a concussion. “I like him; he’s a swell dragon and a very loving husband, from what I’ve been told, but I don’t feel anything like that for him. I love... another,” she added, pointedly at that. “One much closer to home.”

“Oh, I see,” the batpony said. “Does... does the duchess know?”

“In all likelihood, no, she does not.”

“Well then, why don’t you tell her? Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to just talk to her?”

“I’m not sure how she would react, though I’m sure she would take the news with as much grace as she could. Her feelings on the matter may be conflicted, for all I know, and besides, I’m still trying to figure out what I’m feeling myself.”

“Grace? Bakhtak, you shouldn’t feel like she’d reject you on the spot. I’m sure the duchess is more than capable of accepting how you feel about her, and-,”

Bakhtak blinked in confusion.

“What? No!” the Nightmare said, suddenly realizing what the mercenary was talking about. “No, I don’t love the duchess either!”

“What? Then why would you be worried about how she would react? Is it one of her guards? I thought that captain Chiro fellow was married, but maybe one of his brothers is single?”

“No!”

“Is it one of those visiting dignitaries she often has from other duchies? You know, from near the capital?”

“Wha- no, no you idiot!” She was fed up with this nonsense. “I love you.”

Even as confusion filled his painfully-swollen features, Ebony watched, almost helplessly, as the Nightmare descended upon him and planted her lips softly, yet firmly, against his own. On instinct, and somewhat against his body’s pain, his free hand traveled up and gently cupped her face as they kissed.

Breaking apart, she looked him in the eyes, tears brimming in the edges as she slowly caressed his face.

“It’s you, Ebony Blade,” she said softly, choking back a small, happy sob. “It is you that I love... not the duchess, not a dignitary, not a guard or Spike the dragon; you, and only you.”

Staring blankly at her smiling face, Ebony felt… strange. Something was rising to his head from a very lonely place within his body; his heart. It was… it was telling him something, something he had long thought he’d never experience again.

He felt the same way. Surprise surprise, it had taken five visitors, a rogue vampire, a bare-knuckle brawl that beat him to a pulp and a collapsing windmill to make him realize it, but... he loved her too. She had been there for him for so many years, rarely if ever complaining, always willing to lend some advice or assist him with anything he asked. She was a godsend for keeping the house in good working order when he was away, and was an absolute treasure for his guests, yet she asked for so little, managed to be so fine with so few accommodations. She worried for him when he was in trouble, usually knew what to say to make him feel better, and just seemed to bring out the best in him…

“Me... me too, I guess,” he whispered back.

“You guess?” she replied, eyebrow raised.

“I... I know,” he said.

“Know what?”

“I feel the same way, Bakhtak.”

“Feel the same what?” She asked. “Say it.”

“I... I love you too, Bakhtak,” he replied.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” she whispered, recapturing his lips as she gently, tenderly, lovingly pulled him close. His own hands, where they could, pulled her closer to him, rubbing gently up and down her back, fingers trailing over the scars she had so recently acquired the night before.

“Ahem.”

The two broke apart to see Lady Fyrefly and Spike looking down at them in shock, with several guards tactfully looking in the opposite direction. It would seem they had been dug out.

“So… you two mind telling me what’s going on?” Fyrefly asked, a small grin spreading across her face. Behind her, the dragon just looked confused, though the knowing look in his eyes spoke wonders.

“Um…” the pair said in unison, glancing back at one another. “It’s a long story.”

“Then fill us in when we get back to your place,” the duchess said. “My men need food and somewhere to rest until we can get them to a doctor to check their injuries.” As if to agree, several of the guards being supported by their comrades let out groans of pain.

“I’ll carry you,” Bakhtak whispered to the mercenary as they slowly climbed their way from the excavated debris.

“Okay.”

Later…

Queen Chrysalis awoke with a slight jump at the sound of a door opening, accompanied by the lighter sounds of many hooves trodding down in the main hall while the others still slept around her, still exhausted from the stressful night before. Rising slowly and readying her magic, she heard several steps approaching the room. Bracing herself, with her magic at the ready, she watched as the door opened and in stepped...

“Hey, Chrissy, are you up? Sorry if we woke you, I just-,”

“WHERE the FUCK have you BEEN?!” The queen screeched, rushing him and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt with a strength the dragon didn’t know she possessed, lifting him clear off the floor, holding him slightly above her as she ferociously scowled at him. “Do you have ANY idea how WORRIED we’ve been about you?”

“I’m... sorry?” Spike weakly replied as the others jolted awake behind her.

“DAMN RIGHT you’re sorry!” Chrysalis shouted, her harsh expression immediately turning soft, so rapidly and so abruptly that her husband thought her facial muscles failed. Now, instead of a scowl, she had an expression of tender concern. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

“Um... no, the vampire... she didn’t get the chance,” he meekly replied as he was lowered back down to the ground, only to get immediately tackled by his three other wives.

“What do you mean she didn’t get the chance?” Maria asked as she checked her husband over for injuries. Other than some dust and dirt on his clothes, he more or less seemed fine to her.

“I mean, I think so; I was pretty out of it most of the time, but from what the others said, Bakhtak came in and fought her off. I mean, I think they said she killed the vampire, which somehow caused the whole place to collapse, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a cramped space with the duchess. We’re lucky we weren’t crushed; just another foot or two and we would have been flatter than pancakes.”

“Wait, so, you guys were in a windmill?” Trixie asked.

“And it collapsed?” Chrysalis repeated.

“You were in a tight, confined space with the duchess all night?” Asalah asked, her voice becoming... edgy.

“Well, yeah. The vampire put a spell on me so that everypony looked like you, Asalah,” he replied, hoping to defuse the potentially dangerous situation before his family tried to murder the duchess. “Well, except for Bakhtak; she looked herself. Apparently Bathory did the same kind of thing to Lady Fyrefly, where everypony looked like Ebony Blade, even me. Although, I don’t remember most of what happened after I was taken, and she doesn’t either after the whole “spell” thing was put on her.”

“So, neither of you remember what happened whilst you were in that room together?” Trixie repeated.

“No, but from what I can tell, nothing did happen,” the dragon said simply. “I think we both passed out after the collapse, either from a side effect from the spell, or maybe exhaustion?”

“Exhausted? What would the duchess have to be exhausted about?” Chrysalis queried.

“I heard she got beaten up pretty badly by her sister before the spell was placed on her,” Spike muttered. “She looked bad, too; really torn up, both outside and in. Must have been one nasty talk during the fight; I think I saw her cry when they found her sister’s body under the rubble, or, what was left of it.”

“So they dug out the vampire’s corpse?” Asalah asked. “What did they do with it?”

“Burned it,” he replied as he saw another figure stirring behind them. “Wasn’t in good shape, judging from the blood everywhere. All I know is, Bathory is dead for sure.”

“How are you holding up?” Eutropia asked from behind the dragon’ wives, looking more tired than the others. She must have stayed up longer than the rest of them.

“Pretty good, all things considered, what with a vampiric abduction and a windmill collapse,” Spike said with a noncommittal shrug. “Yourself?”

“Sleepy, and nursing a sore stomach from where your queen kicked me last night, but otherwise, none the worse for wear,” the griffin replied, rubbing what was surely a nasty bruise on her belly.

“Yeah, sorry about that, I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time,” Chrysalis apologized. “Although, if not for your help and Bakhtak’s, I might have flown the coop and tried to track down Spike myself.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad, that was a pretty good kick,” Eutropia replied. “Besides, yeah, good thing we stopped you there. Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”

As Spike rose to his feet (after managing to pry his family off of him), he sensed a strange smell travel through his nostrils. It was a familiar one, something he’d known at some point or another throughout his life, but he couldn’t quite tell what, and looking around the room, he spied his bed.

Or, what may have been his bed at some point.

“Hey, um, did somepony set my bed on fire?”

Downstairs, Ebony Blade heard some screeching from the bedroom above, followed by not-so-loud conversing. “Must’ve woken them up,” he thought as he was carried across the threshold by Bakhtak. Already, some of the others were laying on couches and chairs, their bodies aching as the less-injured ones helped them along. “Hey, Bakhtak, I think you can put me down now.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll put you down, but only where you deserve it,” the Nightmare said softly, gingerly placing him in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. All that remained of the roaring fire of last night were some glowing coals, but after tossing in a few split logs, Bakhtak had the fireplace roaring in no time. “Do you need anything else, Ebony? Lady Fyrefly wanted me to send a message through to the other guards in the castle for assistance and transport. Huma, my phoenix, should be here shortly to deliver it.”

The batpony sat in silence for a few moments, pondering her question. “No, no, I should be good,” he said. “Though I think the others might be in need of some food and water.”

“I’ll get right on that,” she replied, leaning over and gently kissing him on the head. “Don’t move; I shan’t be gone long.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Ebony replied with a smile, despite of the moderate pain in his jaw.

As the Nightmare walked off, one of the guards resting in a chair opposite his own looked from her to the mercenary. “So... you, and her?” The guard said slowly, his face partially hidden by his dented helmet.

“I guess so,” Ebony said, unsure if this was a newer guard or a grizzled veteran. “Is that odd?”

“Yes,” the guard replied, fiddling with his arm’s bandages. “Odd, for sure, but not bad, by any means. It’s about time you settled down again, Mr. Blade.”

Ah, a veteran, it would seem. “I suppose it is,” the mercenary replied, the words “settled down again” beginning to replay in his mind. Hmm, now just would that entail this time around…

Once she had some water starting to boil and some vegetables tossed in, Bakhtak strode outside just as the last of the guards entered the house. Spying the castle in the far distance, she pursed her lips together and let out a high-pitched whistle, higher than even a batpony could hear.

In a flash of light, Huma, her phoenix, appeared before her, having teleported to her side the instant it heard her call. Hovering slightly, she landed on her companion’s shoulder and nuzzled her cheek. “Good girl,” she muttered, stroking the bird’s head affectionately as she held a quill and piece of paper in the other hand. “Been keeping an eye on the castle for me? Any problems?”

The bird cooed and shook it’s head, her plumage slightly glowing; a temporary aftereffect of the the teleportation.

“Good,” she said, placing the paper against a wall and beginning to write. “I’ve got something for you to deliver.”

The door opened a few minutes later and out came Lady Fyrefly, limping slightly as she walked over to the Nightmare. “Is that the letter I requested?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good, good,” the duchess replied, sighing as she leaned against the wall. “Bakhtak, you are loyal beyond measure, correct?”

“I would like to think so.”

“And you do not feel at all inclined to hide things from your liege, correct?”

“No, not really. I tell you everything, as per part of our agreement for living within your domain. A fair trade, I should think.”

“Then please, tell me,” the duchess began, watching the Nightmare out of the corner of her eye, “what was it that I came across after we dug you and Ebony Blade out?”

The Nightmare paused in her scribbling, the phoenix upon her shoulder turning with her to look at the batpony. “I’m... not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” Fyrefly said softly.

“I’m not so sure if I know, myself, exactly,” Bakhtak muttered, looking away from her liege.

“Then please, try and enlighten me.”

She sighed, the phoenix upon her shoulder beginning to preen as she wrote. “Ebony and I have known each other for years, your highness. I’ve been there for him for so long; seen him through the best and worst situations, with this topping the list, that I think I began to develop... feelings for him, a few years ago, most likely. But I was unsure of his reaction, so I guess I kept it locked up inside of me, keeping it restrained. But these past few days, I guess... I guess those locks broke down, and those feelings returned.”

And in force.

“They did?” The duchess asked, intrigued by her much-taller companion.

“Yes,” the Nightmare said softly. “When I came to save you, I did so with the thought that maybe you and Ebony had overpowered and defeated your sister, but not without injuring yourselves in the battle. But when you told me that Ebony had gone off to save the dragon and that the vampire was likely right on his heels, I... I grew angry, your highness. Not at you, not at Ebony, and not even at Bathory. I was angry at myself, for letting Ebony get himself into this kind of mess, and not being there for him as quickly as I should have.”

“And?”

“And... I guess that was why I more or less abandoned you, setting off for Ebony as fast as I could. I know, it was a stupid thing to do, what with how you said your sister promised to kill you, but I just... I just had to get to Ebony.”

“And save the dragon in the process?”

“Now that I’ve thought about it, no, not really. I’m not even sure Bathory could have drank the blood of Spike all that quickly, anyway. His scales are so strong that I doubt she could have bit through them; she would've had to work her fangs underneath the scales, down to his flesh, and that would've taken time. She would have been able to drink him, yes, but the work involved would have slowed her down considerably. Regardless, no, my intent was to save Ebony from Bathory, for reasons I couldn’t quite grasp at the time.”

“You love him?” It wasn’t really a question on Fyrefly’s part, but it needed to be asked.

“Yes; yes, I do.” Bakhtak nodded, finishing the letter.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” the duchess stated, watching as the Nightmare rolled up the paper and handed it to the phoenix. In a flash, Huma was gone, back at the castle and likely delivering the letter to a captain or courier at this very moment.

“You’re not?” Bakhtak asked, cocking her head to the side.

“No, I’m not. Like you said, you’ve known him for years now, so it was only natural that you would develop feelings for him. However, I do see a problem.”

“What sort of problem?”

“Your longevity. You will greatly outlive him, and though you are already “tied down” to these lands, with the oaths you’ve taken, being with Ebony would tie you down even more so. Do you really want that?”

“Yes,” Bakhtak replied, rather defensively at that. “I would be, no, I want to do that; to spend the rest of Ebony’s life with him, however long that may be.”

Fyrefly smiled, a kind, warm smile that had long been absent from her face. “That’s all I needed to hear,” she said. “You both have my blessing to be with one another for as long as both of you shall live.”

The Nightmare blinked. “Blessing?”

“Yes,” the duchess said. “It’s my royal right and duty to bless these sort of things. I’d like to attend the ceremony, if you don’t mind, but only as a regular guest, and not one of honor.”

“Ceremony?”

“Why, the wedding, of course!” Fyrefly laughed. “Knowing you, it’d be a nice, small, simple one, with only myself, Ebony and yourself present, along with a priest and maybe a few of my more discreet captains as witnesses.”

Okay, this was going a bit too fast for Bakhtak. “Er, um, I wasn’t thinking about a wedding just yet,” she muttered, blushing slightly. “But, yeah, that does sound like... like an ideal sort of thing. Thank you.”

“Glad to be of help,” the duchess said, turning to head back inside.

“Wait,” the Nightmare said.

“Yes?”

“Before we go back inside, can we keep what we talked about, the wedding and all that, just between the two of us-,”

“I shan’t say a thing; not a word will leave these lips.”

“... then, can I ask you something?”

“Ask away,” the duchess replied happily.

“Do you still love him?”

The words hung softly in the air as the clouds in the distance continued to break up, with more and more blue sky becoming evident as they did. Rising higher and higher into the sky, the sun’s warmth shone down on the pair, driving away the chilly dew of the night before.

“Excuse me?” Fyrefly asked, blinking as the sunlight shone into her face.

“Do you still love him? Ebony, I mean.” Bakhtak repeated. “Ebony told me on the way back, about what you two were when you were... younger.”

The duchess slowly and confidently looked her up and down, as if sizing her up again. She hadn’t been expecting this so soon, but, frankly, it was inevitable. “Yes, yes I still do love him,” she finally said. But as the Nightmare was about to sigh, she quickly added, “but not as you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ebony was a good part of a better portion of my young life, and he helped me become who I am today. I may have loved him as you do, once, a long time ago, but I moved on from then. Bakhtak, I have married and lost, as he had as well, and the time we’ve been apart has driven a wedge between us that I believe we, even if we wanted to, could never truly overcome. He is a mercenary, and I, a duchess. Most would care little in this duchy if I were to remarry, or even to whom, but there are other nobles out there that would pounce on the opportunity to disgrace me and my family’s legacy. So yes, Bakhtak, I still love Ebony Blade, as he is a part of me in some small way, but it is not the kind of love I saw the two of you sharing when we dug you out.”

“So... he’s mine?” The Nightmare asked, cracking a small grin.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that... but yes, he’s yours to pursue as you see fit; I will not interfere,” Lady Fyrefly calmly said. “Besides, he’s not mine to claim; not anymore. I saw the way he looked at you when you were carrying him back. He’s smitten with you,” and with that, she left, leaving the Nightmare behind as she limped off towards a spare room to rest.

Her entire body ached, and the fact she was still keeping herself upright alone was taxing her to her limit. “But at least it’s all over,” she muttered as she fell onto a nearby bed, refusing, or perhaps unable to remove her armor and underlying clothes before sleep finally took her once again.

Several hours later, a large caravan appeared on the road in front of the homestead. Ebony, though he still felt like he’d been put through Tartarus, answered the door and found himself looking up at one of the duchesses’ captains, a Mr. Chiro, if he remembered correctly.

“Hello,” he said simply, glad the swelling in his face was finally going down. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“I was told the others would be ready to depart,” the captain said. “Are they?”

“Most of them, yes, but a few will need assistance getting in the carriages,” the mercenary said. “Won’t you come in? I’m sure when she wakes up, Lady Fyrefly will want to discuss some things with you.”

“She’s still asleep?” The captain asked as he walked into the house, removing his helmet and setting it on a bench as they walked past.

“Out cold, last I checked,” Ebony said, remembering how tenderly Bakhtak had laid a blanket over the duchess. “Too tired to care that we made quite a racket getting the guards out of their armor. Some of it was so bent we had to have Spike tear it apart as gently as he could.”

“Spike?” Chiro asked as he undid the cloak around his shoulders. Up near the kitchen, the sound of dishes being put away seemed to be the only noise in the whole house.

“Oh, he’s the dragon under my care for now. I’ll go get the guards and tell them you've arrived.”

“A dragon? Most interesting,” captain Chiro muttered to himself as the mercenary hobbled off towards the living room. After a few minutes, most of the guards came hobbling out, some wrapped almost head to hoof in bandages. Many no longer wore their armor, but carried it as best they could with them.

“See to it that you all get to the infirmary as soon as we get back,” the captain said as the guards lined up beside him. “I don’t want to hear even a single word that anypony isn’t ready for active duty because they tried to hide a sprain or cracked bone, thinking that it was no big deal.”

“Yes, sir!” The bandaged stallions replied, limping their way out the door and off towards the awaiting carriages.

“Ebony, was the duchess... injured, by chance?” The captain asked as the mercenary returned, Bakhtak in tow with a more severely injured guard held gently in her arms.

“Physically, I wouldn't say too badly; a few scratches and bruising here and there, maybe a cracked rib, but other than that, no, not really,” he said. “However, I think she’s more injured inside, where it counts.”

“Her mind?”

“I think so. She didn’t seem all herself on the way back here. A mixture of deep-seated depression and weary elation, but with tinges of confusion, I’d say. Her sister messed with her mind as much as she did with her body, trying to break her, Bakhtak thinks. She’ll probably need more help in the long run than most of the guards.”

“What do you think we should do?” Chiro asked. “We’ve never really dealt with this kind of trauma before. I mean, soldiers often get some form of it, but they’ve been trained as best they can to deal with it, and they have their brothers in arms, families, with which to help with the trauma. The duchess, she has no one to personally turn to as they... I don’t know if she has the mental fortitude to deal with it.”

“I’m suggesting plenty of rest, and make sure she’s occupied with something to take her mind off of the fact she just had a hand in killing her vampire sister,” Ebony said as Bakhtak came past him once more, carrying the last guard out the door. “I’ve seen this thing before with other mercenaries, but as for the duchess, I’m afraid I can’t offer any other kind of advice. You and I both know what kind of pony she is; this will be a scar on her psyche if we’re not careful.”

Nodding, the captain turned to leave, only to stop and reach into his satchel. “In the letter I received, it stated that one of your visitors was in the habit of collecting artifacts, yes?”

“I believe so, Spike did mention something along those lines before,” the mercenary replied.

“Well, before we left the castle, I had a unicorn scribe transmogrify some of our spare books into a single volume,” Chiro said as he pulled out an impressively large book. “A copy of the history of our race in these lands and the rest of Europe, ever since the great exodus over a thousand years ago.”

Ebony accepted the weighty volume with a nod of thanks. “I’ll be sure to get it to him as soon as I can.”

“I’m sure he’ll enjoy it, and before I go, I have to ask... who was the one that killed Bathory?”

Ebony paused for a few seconds, just long enough for Bakhtak to return and walk past him. “It was my sword that killed the creature,” he said. “But not I who wielded it.”

“Then who did?”

“She did,” Ebony said, looking towards the living room, where Bakhtak was busy casting old bandages into the roaring fireplace.

“Bakhtak?”

“Yep.”

“Wow, it must’ve been quite the fight,” Chiro muttered as he retrieved his helmet.

“From what she told me, it was; a terrible one, to be sure, but necessary nonetheless. Good day to you, captain.”

“Good day to you, Mr. Blade,” he replied, his travelling cloak folded under one arm. “Please send news when the duchess is in good enough shape to return to the castle for proper medical examination.”

“Will do.” Shutting the door softly behind the captain, Ebony turned away from the door and limped back into the living room, where Bakhtak was sitting by the fireplace, watching as the last of the old bandages burned brightly into ash.

“Everything alright?” She asked.

“Yeah, yeah; everything’s fine,” he replied, gently lowering himself into his favorite chair with a wince.

“Well then, I hope you won't be too disappointed that you won’t be on the market for long,” the Nightmare said.

“Market? What market?”

“Oh, you know... the singles market.”

“Oh. What makes you say that?”

She scoffed at him; either he was being smart with her, or he was just daft. “We’re going to, you know...”

“Be a couple?”

“I guess you could put it that way.”

“Well, even if I was inclined to do so, and I’m saying right here and now I’m not, but if I was, I don’t think I could find many mares who’d want to share me with you,” he said, almost chuckling to himself. “You’d probably scare off any thoughts of that, anyway.”

“Then I’m doing my job,” Bakhtak replied, her grin soft and heartwarming.

“So, with me being off the market, that means you and I, we’ll be...”

“Living together?”

“Don’t we already kind of do that?”

“Yes, but not at the level we’ll be at.”

“And what level would that be?” Ebony wasn't sure where she was going with this, but he had a general idea that it was going to surprise him.

“I had a talk with Lady Fyrefly outside, before I sent the letter,” she said. “She gave me her blessing for us to... join.” She would hold true to her promise, not talk about Fyrefly’s former, and somewhat-current, love for Ebony. Maybe several years down the road; a decade, perhaps.

Oh. “Oh, that,” the mercenary said, rubbing the back of his bruised head. “Are you sure you want to be tied down to all of this?” Gesturing to himself for added effect made him look a bit pathetic, but lovably so.

“I don’t see any reason why I wouldn't want to,” the Nightmare replied. “Only... it will have to come with some stipulations.”

“Such as?”

“Either I come with you on your jobs, or you quit the mercenary life.”

Well, shit. “Um... do I get a say in this?” The potentially-former mercenary asked.

“Not if you want to make this relationship work,” she said. “I’ll be with you for the rest of your life, which may not be all that long if you keep yourself tied to your current profession. I’d rather we get to spend our years together taking it easy, not having to worry about whether or not you'd live to come back to me every few weeks or months.”

“Well, okay, but what would I do for work? I’m still in the prime of my life at the moment, but I can't just up and quit like that.”

“Sure you can.”

“But... but I have so many things I have to sort out before I leave the business. Medical expenses, promises of work in the coming months, debts to be repaid and collected; stuff like that, you know, isn't solved by a simple agreement or a paycheck.”

“I can help you with those,” she said.

Wait, what? “You... you can?” he asked. “You have the money to do that?”

“Of course!” she replied happily. “Like I said, I’m several hundred years old, and as a quasi-shapeshifter, I’ve done a fair bit of banking in my time. Sure, most of it was gold stolen off of battlefield corpses in the middle of the night, but hey, that was a long time ago. So, Ebony, how much do you think I’ve saved up?”

“Um... a lot?” Well, this was all rather sudden...

“That’s putting it lightly, and before you ask, yes, I know I could be living a luxurious life, far removed from the mundane aspects of this world. The thing is, I don't want that kind of lifestyle. I like being simple, having a simple life, with little comforts to keep me grounded and in tune with the kind of Nightmare I am.”

“So... you’ll help pay off whatever debts I have, and help me collect on what any others owe me?” he asked.

“Yes; think of it as a very early wedding present,” the Nightmare replied, walking over and gently leaning up against the chair.

Ebony sat in silence, still struggling to process all of what she had just said. “So... any ideas for a date?” He was all for taking it slow, letting each other grow more accustomed to being together on a more… intimate level.

“I’m thinking a few months after you get back from Marescow,” she said, nuzzling his cheek. “After you've sent Spike and company on their merry way, of course. Or maybe a little later, if you’re up for a bit more waiting.” She hoped he was, at any rate; they still really needed to come to terms with everything else this relationship would entail.

“Think we should tell them?”

“Mmm... I’ll leave that up to you, ‘dear’,” she cooed. “Now, Lady Fyrefly did say she’d like to be present, though she assumed it'd be a small affair. Any problems with that?”

“No, no, small is good.” Wait, that didn't sound right. “Also, no, I don’t see a problem with her being there.”

“Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make sure the guards put all the dishes away in the right spots.”

As the Nightmare walked off, a slightly spring in her step, Ebony buried his face in his hands, though not out resignation or sadness; he was happy, happier than he had been in a long time.

The only thing was, his whole world was about to turn on its head, and he wasn’t quite sure how it would turn out. He was just somewhat in shock, what with the events of the night before and all of these newfound and unleashed feelings coursing through his body.

Then again, he'd have Bakhtak along with him for the ride, so maybe things wouldn't be so chaotic as he’d originally thought. Either way, it seemed he’d cease to be a mercenary the instant he got back from the Duchy of Marescow. What would he be then? Farming didn’t really spark any sort of interest, but the barracks down in New Wingdah was in need of a new drill instructor, and he did know they were also looking for a tutor for some of the more military-inclined youth in town.

“I think I’ll look into that,” he decided, instinctively wondering how the pay would be. “Eventually.”

Later…

“So... Ebony and Bakhtak?” Asalah asked, barely managing to suppress a squeal of delight.

“That’s what I saw when we dug them out,” Spike said with a shrug as he helped his family into the large carriage. It was on loan from the duchess herself, to be returned when Ebony set out for home from Marescow without them. Nice and roomy, and very comfortable, but the solid steel frame, reinforced wheel spokes and barred windows were evident that this was far sturdier than most other carriages.

“What did Twilight say when you sent her the book?” Trixie asked as she clambered aboard.

“She hasn’t replied yet,” the dragon said. After gratefully accepting the book from Ebony and reading some of it to himself, Spike had sent it with his magical flames back to Equestria. He didn’t know what time it was there, but he was sure his unicorn friend would appreciate any new book.

Besides, he’d written a small note for her about why he hadn’t sent anything back from Istanbul, omitting most of the horrific things and just saying, “we didn’t have a chance to stay for a while,” and that a young griffin had joined them, hoping to see the world.

“Knowing Twilight, she’ll take it as a sign I’m trying out for a new wife,” he thought as he entered the carriage behind his family. He turned to see Eutropia waiting behind him, her attitude far more chipper after that nap she had snuck in a few hours before. “You joining us?”

“No, I think I’ll ride with Ebony; more room and there are some things I’d like to talk with him about,” she said. “Thanks for the offer, though; I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” Spike said. “So... when do we start my training?”

“Within a day or two,” she said with a shrug. “I’d prefer we weren’t on the move when we start, so I’m thinking either at our next stop, or in Marescow.”

“Good idea.” With that, he shut the carriage door behind him and sat down near a window. Chrysalis and Asalah were doing each other’s manes into styles he hadn’t seen before, which was saying a lot, considering the town and ponies he’s lived with most of his life, and Trixie was chatting away with Maria about what they’d heard about the Grand Duchy of Marescow.

He, on the other hand, was feeling rather out of it, so instead of joining the conversation, he let himself fall into a state of daydreaming, content with watching as the countryside began to slowly roll by as the carriage came up behind Ebony’s own.

“Stay safe,” a voice said, and turning his gaze away from the distant mountains, Spike spied Bakhtak standing rather close to Ebony, her downward eyes meeting his own. “Come back in one piece, all right?”

“You know me,” he replied with a shrug and a chuckle.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” she said. “I might not be there in time to save you from a werewolf or some other creature.”

“Bakhtak… Bakkie,” the stallion said, trying out her preferred nickname for the first time; judging from her gasp and smile, he’d done just fine. “I’ll be fine, and with Spike and his companions in good health, I think we’ll be safe. Besides, Eutropia will be riding with me; what could possibly go wrong?”

“Nothing, if you keep your nose out of trouble,” the Nightmare replied.

“I’ll do my best,” he said.

She leaned down and gave him a soft kiss, which lasted far longer than a surprised Spike would have expected. However, he smiled as they pulled apart; he was happy for Ebony. He deserved some happiness after all he had been through.

“That is to remember me by,” Bakhtak said as she pulled away from the batpony, in an almost forlorn tone. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t forget that,” Ebony replied as he climbed aboard his carriage, where he saw Eutropia snickering inside. “Shut up.”

“What? It’s cute,” the griffin said, right before she made a fake gagging noise.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” he said as he took the reigns, one finger lightly tracing his lips, as if trying to burn the feeling into his memory forever. He turned to Bakhtak, silently waiting for him to wish him well.

“Probably not,” the griffin muttered.

“I shouldn’t be gone for more than a week or two,” Ebony Blade said.

“Then whenever you leave, please, make all haste to return,” Bakhtak said, a light, warm breeze fluttering her silky mane around her face. “We’ll have much to discuss; many plans to make and put into action.”

“Then make haste I shall,” Ebony replied, nodding in her direction and flashing her a smile. “Goodbye, Bakkie.”

“Goodbye… dear.”

With a sharp snap of the reigns, Ebony’s carriage lurched forward, with the carriage carrying Spike and his family lurching ahead several seconds later. The two carriages continued down the road, passing around turns and corners until they vanished from immediate sight. Still, Bakhtak watched, waited, as their carriages came once more into view, much farther down the road. From there, they turned away from New Wingdah and took another road, one leading away from the mountains and heading north, towards the lands of the Tsars.

Only after they completely disappeared from her sight did Bakhtak return to the house, gently shutting the door behind her. Then, unlike so many days in the past, she left it unlocked. There was no trouble in these lands; not any more, and for that, she was thankful.

She would be most thankful, however, when Ebony returned to her, safe and sound.

Author's Note

Well, I believe that is the end of the Transylmania Arc. So... what did you guys think? Did you like the inclusion of these several subplots and would like to see more, or would you prefer the opposite?

Across the Way

Chapter Fifty Four

Across the Way

Though the rains had battered the lands for days, and many a river still lay swollen past its banks, the land itself was calm, with a warm breeze blowing the smell of high autumn. Spike couldn’t believe he’d been gone so long that the seasons were already changing, nearly the same as they did back in Equestria.

All around him, trees were beginning to change color, and in many cases, already lose some of their leaves, the light breeze scattering them as they drifted to the ground along the road. The fields further away from Bathory’s wrath were filled with ponies tending to and harvesting the early crops. Some of the fields seemed to be already harvested, waiting for next spring to be filled with a new crop, but Spike knew better. They’d most likely been planted with winter wheat; a most wonderful crop that would be ready for harvest come spring. It was the same for some of the places in Equestria that he visited during his tutelage under Princess Luna.

Speaking of which, he hadn’t received a letter from her in a long time, and surely by now she’d read the one he sent, right? Of course, she could’ve been too engrossed in the book he sent back, as well, but still, it would be nice to hear from his teacher and see how things are going back home. He’d already been gone for months, now; so long, in fact, that he was sure winter would be starting up in another month or two. By then, he at least hoped to be somewhere with a more agreeable climate for his family, or else they’d have to hunker down somewhere, to wait out the cold, potentially for months. A delay like that could cause them problems to no end, most importantly, by messing up the schedule they were set to maintain.

Spike wanted his foals, his very first, to be born in Equestria. Easy access to citizenship aside, they’d be the safer there than anywhere else, and he’d be home; his journey would be done, and he could focus on other matters in his life, like…

“Well, what would I do?” he thought as the carriage continued on, past houses, farms, and fields. Luna hadn’t told him of what would happen when he returned, and neither had Celestia. Come to think of it, just what would his position entail as an Equestrian semi co-ruler? Would he have a say in laws and passing them? Commerce and trade? Diplomatic negotiations? Or what about politics? He knew more than a few minor nobles and their houses were likely readying themselves to try and curry his favor, along with many other rich and powerful ponies. He had heard Luna and Celestia talk about those things for years, even before he began his apprenticeship, and even now, it was starting to make sense why they seemed so happy to get away from politics and courtly life.

Why would they bother, anyway? The lords and rich ponies, that is. It wasn’t like he’d accept a bribe, even if it was a particularly nice collection of gemstones or literary works or a large sum of gold. Sure, everypony and their grandmother knew about a dragon’s predilection to hoard, but why would he even want gold or jewels? He already had more than he needed from all the places he’d already visited, and from his time with Twilight, he had learned to like books. Not as much as she did, mind you, but enough to enjoy reading something new that piqued his interest, especially if it had something to do with dragons. With all those tomes and books and scrolls he had sent back from Baghdad, there was bound to be countless pieces he’d prefer to read in his spare time.

Then again, with the aspect of being a father looming on the not-quite-so-distant horizon, he doubted he’d have much free time to much of anything, what with both being involved in running the country and potentially being intricately involved in the politics. The only thing he knew was that, unlike what he had heard about some nobility, like Asalah’s father, he’d want to be there for his foals not only when they were born, but for when they were growing up. Most nobles only “cared” for their offspring up until a certain age, and even then they were most likely in the care of nannies or similar servants while their parents went about doing “important” stuff. After a certain age, most or all would be sent off or be placed under a tutor, often a soldier or scholar for colts and ladies of the court or their mother for fillies.

Spike wanted to be there for them from day one, and on and on up until they were old enough to set out on their own. He only somewhat hoped he wouldn’t turn into one of those “oh, don’t move too far away, I’d like you close to home” kind of parents. With his wings, he’d likely be able to fly anywhere they lived, so long as it was in Equestria, and if not, then he’d likely write to them once every other week or so.

Wow, he was already thinking of their later years, and they weren’t even technically “here” yet for him to see! Maybe he really was ready to be a dad.

“Even so, how many will I have?” He wondered, knowing full well that it was more up to his wives than to him. He could easily see himself having at least one foal apiece with his wives, and he’d be just as happy as if he had dozens. Of course, if that were the case, he’d definitely have to forget about having a hobby, seeing that raising that many offsprings would take up nearly every free second of each day.

But if that were the case, what would his wives have to say about his upcoming duties? What would they be involved in, whether they wanted to or not? Chrysalis’ been a queen for years now, and before that, she’s grown up, for a short while at least, under her mother’s care in some semblance of a normal palace. Maybe he should ask her...

“Hey, Chryssie?” He asked, turning to his second wife.

“Yes?” She replied, having just finished re-combing Asalah’s mane from the intangible mess it had been from that morning into something a bit nicer.

“Have you been giving any thought to, you know, when we get back?”

“You mean how you’ll have to explain to all of Equestria that the changeling queen they fear is no longer a threat to them, and that you managed to make her fall madly in love with you?” Chrysalis replied, her smile too sincere to be sarcastic.

“Well, yes, that too, but I meant after that,” Spike said. “I meant, you know, after the foals are born, and how we’ll take care of them.”

“Oh, you’re thinking of that.” She fell silent, obviously engrossing herself in thought.

“And?” Spike asked after a few minutes.

“Well... Spike, I’m not sure how to be a mother, seeing as my own didn’t deem it a good use of her time to tell me how to be one when she was still alive,” Chrysalis said simply. “I mean, I can follow what she did, but I know for a fact that she had a long time with her own mother before her untimely demise, and learned much in the ways of parenting. I won’t know the intrinsic value of the little things that go into parenting. Is there anypony we can have help us?”

“My mother would be more than happy to help,” Maria said simply from across the carriage. “She’s had five foals as it is, so I think she’d be more than qualified to assist us. Only...”

“Only what?” The pair asked.

“Well, she knows how to help raise us, even though for much of our young lives were we looked after by our nannies,” the noblemare said. “Plus the foals will have some, if not many, dragon characteristics. That is something I doubt she is knowledgeable of.”

“And I doubt there’s much literature on raising dragon younglings or hybrids out there,” Spike said with a shrug. “It’s not really a common enough thing, judging from how some cultures treat dragons.”

“Also, I might add, mother has so much already on her plate, that her frequently visiting Equestria to help us out would be nigh impossible,” Maria added. “She still needs to be there for my younger brother and sisters, and to help my father run, well, everything. She could still send us letters, though, I imagine.”

“Then we should write to her when we make our first stop,” Trixie said, glancing out the window at the passing countryside. “I’ve been meaning to write to Twilight and the others for a few days now, but with everything that has happened in the last week alone, I was just... I wasn’t sure if it was a good time to do so. I mean, do we tell them all that we’ve been through?”

“I don’t think we should tell them about Istanbul, or at least, not until we meet them eye to eye,” Asalah said suddenly.

“Why not?” Trixie asked. “Here I thought they should know right away; keep them abreast of the situation and all that.”

“Don’t you think that our experience may alter the whole scenario just a bit?” The zebra asked. “I mean, yes, it was terrible what was done to us, almost unforgivable, but if we were to tell just our side of the story so soon, don’t you think some of them might take it worse than we would?”

At first, Spike thought that wouldn’t have been possible, but then, in his mind’s eye, he could see Twilight descending upon the city in a magical ball of fire, ready to raze it to the ground. Or Celestia sending out a beam of sunlight so strong it vaporizes the entire city. Or Luna casting the city into a darkness so deep it sends the area into an irreversible ice age. “Yeah, that could be bad,” he said. “We’ll wait to tell them face to face, after we’ve had some time to learn some facts.”

“So, other than that, what else is there to tell them?” Chrysalis asked. “Maybe we should ask how things are going in Equestria?” She felt that, as a future citizen of the country, she’d at least need to know how things functioned to a degree.

“Hey, you’re right,” the dragon said. It’d been so long since he’d even seen home, even through the two-way magical flame mirror, that he had no idea if anything of note had happened. It wasn’t like they wrote to him constantly anymore. Just what was going on back home? “Besides, maybe it’s time some of you know a bit more about Equestria than just what I can tell you; a second opinion or something.”

Far across the realm of Europe and across the Barnlantic, in the distant lands of Equestria, much of Ponyville was just waking from its sleep. Birds soared into the sky from their nighttime perches, intent on making good time during their southern migrations. The cool breeze of the north filtered through the land as the trees continued to change color, many of them waiting for the Running of the Leaves to cause them to shed their colors.

One such resident groaned as she stretched, the sun’s rays softly flowing through the curtains into her room. The covers from the night before were somewhat tussled around her form, the unicorn sat up slowly, yawning as she scratched the back of her neck. The warm body in bed beside her moved a bit, turning over as they continued to sleep.

Twilight Sparkle did not like waking up in the morning; she loved it. Ever since she was a little filly and seen Celestia raise the sun in person, she’s always been fascinated by the small time between waking and sleeping; the time when some of the most fantastical things went on in her brain. It was as if dreams, daydreams, wishes, hopes, and reality itself all seemed to collide in an amazing amalgam of shapes and thoughts. Though however cherished these moments were to her, they were only a minute portion of her day, and as her analytical mind began to fully awaken from its slumber, several pieces of a very blurry puzzle began to fall into place.

Firstly, the Running of the Leaves would begin soon; that meant she would have to sign up for her place in the event, as she did every year. She’s never come in first yet, and really, she didn’t wish too; that would mean she’d miss out on all the wonderful sights to see as she made her way through the forest.

Secondly, Princess Luna told her that plans were being made for her and her friends to visit several parts of Equestria in the near future, in an effort to continue to spread harmony through some of the more troubled lands. So, like she always did, she’d have to start making plans for the travel arrangements; the unicorn could already tell a good seventy five percent of their luggage would be Rarity’s.

Thirdly, and perhaps the most important, was that Celestia had sent her a sizeable stack of papers dealing with the construction of the new wings of the castle, the ones where Spike and his family would live; that, and some papers dealing with what duties he would be in charge of once he returned. To think, he had left in early summer, and it’s already autumn; she felt as though he’d been gone longer than that, and still couldn’t believe how much further he had to go.

“I should probably get started on that before anything else,” Twilight muttered as she slunk out of bed, her pajamas as ruffled as her mane. Her horn glowed as she left her bedroom, a pot of coffee starting to boil as the stove lit underneath it. “There’s still a lot.”

Indeed, there was; even Twilight couldn’t believe the sheer density of the paper stack Celestia had sent her. It was as if the princess had chosen the toughest, yet lightest paper she could get her hands on, just so she could send the most amount of information with the least amount of volume. Sadly, however, that meant that the stack itself was so heavy that only her magic could actually lift it all at once. This, Twilight was not the most happy about. She loved carrying papers, especially important ones, be it with magic or her hands. Maybe it was the smell or the texture of the documents that appealed to her so, but the fact remained that the weight strained her magic more than she would’ve liked, so much so that it felt like even one more piece of paper would make the whole stack all but immovable.

As the coffee pot in the kitchen removed itself from the now-extinguished stovetop, and began to pour itself into a mug, Twilight sat down at her workstation in the middle of the library’s main floor. It’s been a temporary place for the first few things Spike’s sent back, though it had become more permanent ever since he sent back that absolutely enormous collection of nearly every scrap of paper in Baghdad. Even with skills like her own, and help from many others, it had taken literally weeks to sort through everything, even with her staying up late to catalog the tomes and cuneiform plates. Thankfully it was a deductible cost from the palace, or else she would have gone broke paying for the shipping of many of the larger collections to Canterlot University and other institutions.

Still, that near-Herculean task was more than matched by the one she faced now. “Governmental duties, section two, page nineteen,” Twilight muttered as the mug of coffee floated over to her, gently placing itself next to one of the stacks of paper. Reaching for it, she sniffed it before taking a sip; mmm, that hit the spot. Twilight read through several pages, her eyes carefully scanning each and every word as if it were the study guide to an important exam. Well, to her, it was.

“It is necessary for one in such a position of co-ruling to appoint a cabinet of advisors, chosen by way of committee, in the prospect of becoming more aware of issues that arise outside of their usual circle of information. Such a cabinet must meet strict guidelines and can only be chosen from amongst the citizens of Equestria, be they of natural birth or naturalization processes.”

She took another sip, happy the coffee was at least well-ground this time. The last one had had chunks in it somehow. “Cabinet candidates can only be selected by the co-ruler and by written approval of fellow co-rulers. The committee that decides who is chosen is randomly selected from a group of judges throughout the country, similar to jury duty for the common pony. If in times of emergency, be it war or something else, this process may be skipped entirely by way of popular vote, though the final step in election then falls to the remaining cabinet members.”

To anypony else, this may have been one of the dullest things they had ever read. To Twilight, it gave a fascinating insight into how the country was run, and how it would continue to do so when Spike returned. That of course, begged the question if he would even be able to fulfill these duties with, potentially, four foals running around, all born within months of one another? Then there was the fact that he would likely continue having foals with his wives, perhaps several over the course of a decade or so, so that in the end, he could have a dozen or more half-dragons taking up much, if not all of his free time.

“He’d need a good set of advisors to deal with all the aspects of helping run the kingdom if that’s the case,” Twilight muttered. The thought of Spike, of all beings, being a father was still something she found hard to believe. It wasn’t that she didn’t think him capable or anything; if these past few months had led her to believe anything, it was that he’d be a great father. The only thing was that she could still remember the day she hatched him from that egg and brought him into her home, to be raised by her parents and, later, by herself and her older brother.

Even though he was now bigger than her and by now more traveled, in more ways than one, to her, he would always be like her little brother. Maybe that’s why she sent him that week-long erection-suppressing spell when she learned of his marriage to Asalah; she’d just started coming to terms that he was going to be a father, and yet had already surpassed his goal of the number of wives to have in his herd. Maybe it was the part of her that couldn’t accept that he was growing up so fast; maybe that same part didn’t want him to grow up at all. With all these duties he’d have to partake in, both in terms of running the kingdom and in taking care of his inevitably-growing family, he’d likely no longer have any time for her.

That was clawing at her heart every time she indulged herself to think about it. She’d seen him grow up; helped him develop many of the skills that made his apprenticeship under Luna all the more rewarding. She had shared in the good times, been for him in the bad times, and had been there for him for every important event in his life… until the day he had left her. Now, with him so far from home, with all these adventures he’d already been in, and the countless others he would likely get himself into…

It was hard for her not to cry, at least a little. What would she be doing when he returned? What would she do after he had settled in Canterlot, and had taken his place in society? Would she be the lonely, career-driven aunt Twilight, the unicorn who never managed to let a relationship last for more than a month or two? That lonely mare who stopped by every now and then to visit with her pseudo-brother and visit her pseudo-nieces and nephews? He’d already outpaced her in the game of life, and for someone as long-lived as he was, he likely still had a very long way to go. Unlike him, she didn’t have thousands or tens of thousands of years to spend on her life; maybe a few hundred if she was extremely lucky, with her magic naturally boosting her lifespan by a handful of decades.

“Twilight, why are you up so early?” A voice called softly from the top of the stairs. “I thought you said the weekend was for sleeping in and relaxing.”

“Oh, I see you’re finally awake, sleepyhead,” the unicorn muttered as she took another sip of her coffee. “I’m just feeling a bit more energy than I usually would; you could stand to try and be more like me.”

“Hey, after what you did last night, it’s hard to be energetic first thing in the morning,” the voice replied as they slowly made their way down the stairs. To think, their relationship had started off as a fluke, a chance meeting that,over the course of several years had eventually evolved into something so much more. Softly wrapping their arms around her, they gave the unicorn a kiss on the cheek. “Still going at Spike’s paperwork, eh? Here I’d have thought a bookworm like you would have finished it by now.”

“No, there’s more than enough to keep me mostly occupied for a while, so yeah, still going at it,” Twilight replied with a smile. “Care to help a mare out for a bit? Don’t try telling me you’re busy, you’re not due back in Canterlot until next week, and I intend to take full advantage of you being here until then.”

The pegasus behind her grinned, his tan coat as ruffled as his mane from last night’s “activities”. “Sure thing,” he said as he pulled up a chair. “You know you’re the only pony who likes paperwork more than I do.”

“Yeah, no other guard I know of likes filling out forms like you do.” While Twilight sat there with the stallion she had let into her life, she mused over what she had been thinking of just moments ago. Life was too short to focus solely on grandiose plans and careers; sometimes, being impulsive and thinking with your heart, not your head, is what everypony needed in life now and again.

And that gave her an idea, the kind of idea she would likely never have thought of if her life hadn’t changed the way it had...

“Hey, Flash. Can I ask you something?”

“Sister, is it not time for you to rest?”

“Go away, Tia. I’m reading.”

“Sister, it’s morning, already; your duties for the night have been fulfilled.”

“Tia, the book young Spike sent me is on the entirety of the batpony race from when many of them left Equestria after my... incident as Nightmare Moon,” Princess Luna said, turning to find her sister already drawing the curtains for her sleep. “Besides, I know many a batpony resident who would enjoy reading such material. I must have it copied and transcribed for the whole of Equestria’s batponies, and maybe later for the rest of society.”

“Luna,” Celestia said with a hint of exasperation as she began to comb her mane. “I’m telling you, as your sister, that you need your sleep during the day. I know how cranky you get when you’re running on only a few hours of sleep.”

“No less cranky than you are,” the younger princess retorted.

“Come now, no need for that this early in the morning,” Celestia said with a sigh, seating herself on the corner of her sister’s bed. “Besides, what would Spike say if he found out his tutor was being an incorrigible brat when somepony tried to tell her to go to bed?”

“He’d likely laugh,” Luna replied. “Although, sister, you do raise a point, I have been... pondering.”

“Oh? On what, may I ask?” Celestia asked. She knew her sister devoted much of her time with politics and looking after the dreams of their citizens, so if she was thinking of something outside of those realms, then it must have been important.

“You and I both know that Spike has, so far, caused many changes in the realms he has visited,” the princess of the night said. “The letter we received from the Saddle Arabian king alone was a great example of that.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Celestia said. “How is the king’s son, by the way?” She had been closely following the developments in Saddle Arabia ever since Spike had left the country, including the increase in trade with its southern neighbors ever since those pirates were vanquished.

“The prince and his bride have rarely emerged from their honeymoon palace,” Luna said with a shrug. “Whenever they do, they are constantly at each other’s side, smiling and laughing and always embracing.”

“Good,” the elder sister said.

“Anyways, about Spike,” Luna continued. “The reason we sent him on this journey, you remember, was so that he could find himself and, with a bit of luck, would change the world around him for the better. However, I am beginning to sense a pattern.”

“A pattern? Do tell,” Celestia said.

“Spike does not just go through a place and emerge unscathed, I should think; at least, not physically, I believe. He is changing, but on the inside. I could see it in the way he wrote the letter that went along with this book. He is becoming less of a purist idealist; he is losing his naivete, instead becoming more practical and yet, at the same time, far less reserved. He’s becoming more outgoing, more compassionate, more sincere, more... well, it’s hard to fully explain, but let’s just say that he’s becoming... more.”

“And you’re worrying about him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I do worry,” Luna said as she placed a slip of paper between the pages, so as to remember where she left off. “I worry for him because, I suppose, it’s my duty to do so. I mean, you worry for Twilight, don’t you?”

“All the time, to varying extents,” Celestia said. “It’s not that I don’t trust her; I have the fullest faith in her abilities and that she will never stop trying. It’s just, in a world where not everything has a happy ending, I can’t help but worry. Besides, our relationship is so very similar to that of yours and Spike’s; a teacher and an apprentice, close enough to be friends, but formal enough to maintain boundaries.”

“Yes, well, those boundaries are there for a reason,” the younger alicorn said. “Regardless, Spike is doing well with the task we assigned him, be it a very lengthy and life-changing one at that. Yet, he has such a long way to go, both in miles and in years, that I fear the strain may take its toll on him more than we originally anticipated.”

“How so?” Celestia was genuinely curious; many of their future plans depended on Spike returning, hopefully in good health. This was especially true when taken into account that he’d have foals to help raise when he returned.

“The journey, from what we do know, has been fraught with peril from the beginning, something we planned on but at least hoped would pass by without much in the way of damage. Spike will have seen, perhaps even caused, so much destruction and death that I fear he will come to regret his choices, even if they were in defense of himself or his family. Remorse is often something that takes time to manifest, usually growing stronger the longer it stays. I should know; his guilt could eat him up inside until he is just... nothing.”

“That is why he has us and his family to be there for him, as I and others were there for you,” Celestia said softly, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. She was truly touched at her sister’s concern. “He will not be alone to remember and decide whether his actions were the best he could’ve made. We all make mistakes, and even if others see them as the right ones, how we feel is not necessarily the same. I am glad to see your concern for him, sister; many a candidate for your tutoring would have likely fallen victim to these feelings if on such a journey, but Spike’s resilience seems to know no bounds; he truly was, as you said, the perfect candidate for this, even with his youth and naivete being a limiting factor in your plans.”

“I do worry for Spike, yes, but not only for him; I worry what will happen when he finally comes home,” Luna said. “It will be no small shock to the nobles, both minor and more substantial, along with many rich, powerful, and influential ponies, that Spike is to be instated as a co-ruler. Even if we were to break the news to them now, I feel would be unwise, as they would likely conspire to have him denounced by way of misinformational campaigns or building up their own powers so that when he does arrive, they could swarm him with gifts, promises, bribes, or perhaps their own daughters, so as to secure power for themselves. You and I both know they are not above this: stooping so low as to even sell family as bargaining chips; I would have thought such barbaric “trading” would have gone the way of ritualistic sacrifice and been purged from the majority of the world.”

“Not every bad thing can be washed away forever, or quickly at that. As for your assertions of their potential intentions, indeed, I believe you to be on to something. Though, I must say, the fact they have kept themselves distant from you and I in these matters is nothing to ponder,” Celestia said. “They are in awe of us, more or less, and would likely prefer to remain where they are than to attempt and fail at courting our favor. However, Prince Blueblood... why do they even bother with him? We both know he wouldn’t give a damn about any of them if he were to assume any sort of power.”

“Perhaps that is why he is so good at accepting their gifts but never truly acting upon what they want,” Luna said. “Spike is not very versed in political intrigue; Blueblood has become a master at it, and yet without succumbing to its more... sinister temptations.”

“Then credit must be given where credit is due, I suppose,” Celestia said with a nod. “Besides, even with the title of prince, he technically holds no office, has little authority outside of the castle, and for all of his supposed “ambition”, he’s never once made it seem as though he wanted anything more than his title. He has even suggested that others in his stead take up more permanent and sometimes more prestigious positions in government, often ponies he is at odds with.”

“Titles and positions are entirely different, and I believe he likes the diffusion of responsibility of the title of “prince” affords him,” Luna replied. “He can do more while taking less risks, and therefore less blame if something goes wrong.”

“Assuming that Spike does not become as versed in the political arena by his return, perhaps it would be best for him to take some lessons from Blueblood as well? Within reason, of course, and strictly with concern to the kingdom itself; no need for more elaborate intrigue until later.” Luna had tried to teach the young dragon of politics, but it had usually gone off into some odd tangent in one way or another. Besides, stallions and mares often had entirely different approaches to politics, and seeing as Spike was technically neither, a point of view from both sides would be better for him in the long run. That being said, however, Luna knew that the true test of her pupil’s abilities would not be in the home arena, but in the international one.

“Then Spike will have to be careful of the world outside of Equestria, or more specifically, its politicians,” Celestia said, her words unknowingly mirroring the thoughts of her younger sister. “His newfound position will be very interesting to other countries, especially our closest neighbors. There is no way of telling if they will react kindly to such news. The Crystal Empire owes him a great debt for his help in rescuing the Crystal Heart and defeating Sombra all those years ago, so they will not see him as a rival, but as an powerful ally. The dragons... well, they would likely care less what position he attains, though a dragon in such a position of power would go a long way to healing the great mistrust between us.”

“They are still sore from the Great Dragon-Pony War of ages past? That war was ancient! Fought and resolved even before we were born,” Luna said.

“Dragons have very long memories, and life spans to match,” Celestia reminded her as she gently took the book from her sister’s hands. “Plus, we must be careful of our other neighbors; the recent unrest in the Minotaur lands and the silence of the Changeling Kingdom may not remain in the same state of flux after he comes back. For all we know, Spike in such a position of power would be the ideal time for Queen Chrysalis to try and make a bid for our lands, or even worse, the Griffin King’s brother.”

“High Duke Lightcaster? Why would he be such a threat?” Luna had heard of the griffin king’s brother as being quite bothersome in diplomatic negotiations, but never a threat of any kind.

“It is not him, but his daughter that I worry about. She is young, naïve, and easily manipulated by her father. It would be no small stretch of imagination to say that when Spike returns with his four wives, that the High Duke would not be above, say, asking for Spike to marry his daughter? I would even imagine he would not be opposed to one of Spike’s family suffering an “accident” if he thought he could get away with it. Any offspring of Spike and the High Duke’s daughter would then have a claim on Equestria as equally as the Griffin Kingdom, and if the High Duke were ever to rise up and dethrone his brother, he could then invade our kingdom with a valid casus belli.”

“You mean, claiming his grandchildren’s right to rule as a valid excuse to invade?”

“Exactly, and it would be even more troublesome because many of our allies would honor such a claim and refuse us aid, if only because of honor. Then, if successful, his conquest would practically unite Equestria entirely under his rule, and eventually his daughter and her offspring.”

“So... perhaps we should advise Spike in not being tempted to marry any more royalty in the future?” Luna asked as she left her chair for her bed. “Come to think of it, it seems that we have lucked out, in that he has taken only two royals as wives, and from two very different cultures at that.”

“Asalah’s father, the sultan, is not one for such underhandedness, and from what Spike has told me, Maria’s family is far too noble to try anything like that. We can trust them, and with Trixie and Meia being of normal birth, we should have little if anything to worry about from them.”

Luna paused for a moment. “Wait... you said that Queen Chrysalis might attempt it, but High Duke Lightcaster’s would be worse?”

“Lightcaster has a known bias against ponies, and that is putting it lightly,” Celestia said. “While Chrysalis may, indeed, not have many good interests at heart, other than her own power, she would at least not reduce us to poverty and ruin. That would make for a poor kingdom, and while she would still prefer us to be shamed, I suspect that because they are still ponies, there is still some deep connection to us. So yes, Queen Chrysalis marrying or ensnaring Spike and then all-out invading us would be terrible, but it’s the lesser of two evils, I think.”

“What of the Diamond Dogs?” Luna asked.

“Our treaties with them are... tenuous at best, seeing as many of their more outlier communities are nigh independent from the central monarchs,” the elder alicorn said simply. “Though they may in turn not care, they may also take note of Spike’s longevity.”

“Why would they take note of that?”

“Luna, eventually, Spike’s wives will pass away, likely many decades from now. The king and queen of the Diamond Dog Kingdom know this, and would likely plan for it. Eventually, say perhaps several generations down the line, they would seek to wed a descendant of theirs to Spike, once he is all alone. Only, they would likely do it for different reasons than, say, the griffins.”

“How so?”

“Diamond Dogs are, by nature, not terribly bright, or at least, most of their lower classes are not. You don’t need to be smart if you dig all your life, so when their upper class emerged, so too did the ideas of diplomacy and equality with other races. However, the problem is that many Diamond Dogs do not live on equal terms with other races, often being of a lower class than them. Many have called this almost blatant speciesism, and thus are requesting for their kind to be more prevalent in matters outside of their own lands.”

“So, if one of these descendants were to marry Spike in his later life, what would that accomplish?”

“Well, it would give them an ear to listen to their plights, and a very powerful and influential one at that,” the elder alicorn said. “Plus, it would give them a voice in the court of Equestria, and seeing as we have been in contact with the kingdom for almost as long as Equestria has existed, it would be seen as progress by many towards a brighter future.”

“And your thoughts on the matter?” Luna could practically see the gears turning in her sister’s head at the prospect of all these plans, possible solutions to potential problems, and just a pathway through which everything could, should not, and would be connected. It was easy to see how she had kept the kingdom running smoothly nearly on her own for a thousand years.

“I am not opposed to it, in time, but with things as they are now, it would be best to wait for such things, if even for a little while longer.” The white alicorn looked out to see the sun continuing to rise into the sky. “Come now sister, let us talk no more of these things. It is time for you to rest.”

“Perhaps... you are right,” Luna said as she tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn. “We are not done with this discussion, though. While I will be leaving in a few months, with Twilight and her friends shortly after, you still need to make arrangements for the expansions to the castle designated for Spike and his family. How many rooms have you added now?” She added as she slowly crawled under her covers.

“There are currently seven rooms, with one main bedroom, a large nursery for his foals, and several smaller rooms if his wives are incline to sleep by themselves from time to time.”

As Celestia left her sister to her rest, Luna smirked. “Unlikely,” she whispered.

“It’s your turn.”

Those were the first words Shining Armor heard that morning. Well, the first coherent ones, at any rate; all the ones before had been a mixture of grunts and grumbling, along with some crying from the next room. “Good morning to you too, dear,” he said.

“So sorry I’m not my chipper self, Shiney,” Princess Cadance said as she rolled over, trying not to yawn as she did so. “The maids were having such a hard time last night with the kids, and you were busy with setting up drills for the new recruits...”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, I got this,” her husband said softly, leaving her side and heading off to the adjacent room where their foals should be sleeping.

Cadance smiled as she watched him go, closing her eyes once more and trying to go back to sleep.

“Hush now, it’s okay, I’m here,” Shining said as he came upon his foals, smiling as they instantly opened their arms, demanding he pick them up. Gently doing so, he carried them over to a rocking chair and began to gently cradle them.

Though, thankfully, they were no longer mere infants, the little heirs to his wife’s throne were more than a handful for the two parents and their often-exhausted servants. It wasn’t that Princess Cadance overworked them, or gave them harsh duties, far from it, actually. It was merely the fact that their rambunctious foals were driven by an energy that seemed to defy their size and age.

Parenthood had not been on their minds after their marriage years before. Back then, they were more focused on protecting the Crystal Empire from outside threats and re-establishing diplomatic ties with other countries than they were with starting a family. That’s why it was such a shock to the two of them when, at a routine check-up, the doctor had told them that they would be parents in only a few months. To the two of them, the fact that she shown none of the early symptoms of a pregnancy had been a worrying feature, at least until she developed some healthy weight gain and a craving for peaches. Not pickles, not ice cream, not even chocolate, but peaches; for a solid month she ate peaches at least once a day, be they fresh or canned. For a while, Shining had joked that she’d give birth to a pony colored like a one, a joke that had earned him many a playful cuff upside the head from Cadance.

Near the end of her pregnancy, Cadance had taken a nasty spill on some ice during a visit to Canterlot, and had been hospitalized almost immediately. Shining Armor had dropped everything and immediately rushed to her side the very next day, arriving minutes before she suddenly went into labor. Everypony was scared; she was almost three weeks early for her due date, and the foal had made it clear that, for one reason or another, it wanted out.

With his parents barely restraining him in the waiting room, Shining had heard what sounded like an explosion come from the delivery room. Bursting through the doors, he found her lying in bed, exhausted, with medical instruments scattered everywhere, and a small foal, magically suspended in the air by a disheveled doctor.

“Little bugger thought fit to come into this world firing his magic everywhere... sir,” a nurse said as she swaddled the infant, who went from silent to a screaming ball of wet pelt in a matter of seconds. It had taken Shining nearly five minutes to sooth the newborn and for him to finally register her saying “he” and realize that he had a son. Immediately, and surprisingly, he managed to hand the bundle off to a surprised Cadance before fainting away onto a nearby chair.

When he awoke, Shining found the colt completely asleep in his wife’s arms, his little white pelt seeming almost bright in hospital room.

“What should we call him?” Cadance asked.

“Well, we never did discuss names before,” he remembered saying as he gently stroked the sleeping infant’s cheek.

“Well we know his last name will be my own,” his wife said. “But I was hoping... that you could pick his name.”

“Me? You... you really want me to pick a name?” He hadn’t prepared for that, but his colt looked so peaceful, so at odds at how he came into the world...

“Halcyon Arco,” he said, looking down at the young colt cuddling against him in his rocking chair. “A fitting name for such a rambunctious little colt.”

His son smiled up at him as his sister bounced herself slightly on his knee, intent on trying to reach up and grab her father’s fingers.

“Oh, don’t think I forgot about you, Lucent La Follia,” the stallion muttered, gently tussling his daughter’s mane, earning a delighted squeal from her. Shining knew for a fact that the two of them would grow to hate their full names, for a while at least, so he had already come up with the nicknames of “Hal” and “Lucy” for when that time came.

After a few minutes of gently keeping the two foals preoccupied, the stallion heard a noise and glanced over to see Cadance joining them, her mane still slightly disheveled. “You’re up.”

“I only needed a few more minutes,” the princess replied with a smile, gently taking little Lucent into her arms. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime.”

“Yes, I know. You still won’t let me forget about the “Crystal Liquor” gift baskets I sent to all my guards for Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

“That’s because you had them brew a particularly strong batch at the brewery; all the guards ended up getting too drunk to go back to work for the next two days,” Shining said. “We’re lucky nothing bad happened during that time.”

“Anyway,” Cadance continued. “Celestia sent me a letter the other day, a copy of the one sent by Spike. He’s already through Transylmania now, and he’s headed up into the land of the Tsars.”

“Marescow? Wow, seems like only last month he was leaving Spreign,” her husband replied. “Any word on how he is doing?”

“Well, he and his family would be sending my aunts some letters in the near future, though Celestia wasn’t clear on what they would be about. Regardless, I feel as though we should send them something, three of his wives are pregnant, and by now they are beginning to experience some of the... less enjoyable aspects of motherhood.”

“Maybe. Well, as parents ourselves, what could we send them? They aren’t due to give birth anytime soon, so... advice, perhaps?”

“That’s what I was thinking. The coming months will be important for development, not only of the foals, but of their bodies. Spike may have already experienced the mood swings and cravings his wives had surely have, but for them the worst is yet to come.”

“Worst? Come on, you weren’t that different in the later months,” Shining said with a frown.

“No, but I moved a lot slower than I used to, and needed far more frequent breaks,” the princess replied as she snuggled Lucent against her. “That means Spike’s journey could take longer than expected. I know he’s probably given it a lot of thought, but if his foals are to be born in Equestria, he’ll have to make good time everywhere he goes. I can only imagine the kind of stress that would put on his family, as well.”

“Then he’ll be there for them. After all, if even half of what we’ve heard is true, he’ll be ready for pretty much anything life throws at him.”

“So... you and Bakhtak, huh?” Eutropia asked, leaning out of the carriage window as it wound its way along a lonely mountain road.

“Yes,” Ebony replied simply.

“Never would have guessed you for the romantic type.”

“I most certainly was in my younger years. I just... was out of practice for so long, it felt odd to try it once more.”

“So, you just need to get back into the swing of things. Well, good luck to you,” the griffin said.

“What do you mean by that?” the batpony asked.

“Well, she’s got a good two feet on you, and I saw her carrying you like a foal, effortlessly at that. I don’t know if I’d be comfortable in a relationship like that.”

Ebony chuckled. “Physical appearances can be deceiving, Eutropia. For all her bluster, appearance and carnivorous nature, Bakhtak is really a sweetheart. I’ve known her long enough to realize that me entering into a relationship with her was rather normal. Only... am I taking this too fast?”

“What do you mean? The marriage? I mean, yeah, to me it seems like you two are kind of rushing things,” Eutropia said. “Don’t you want to get to know her... better?”

“Well, we’ve known each other for almost a decade now, I think we know each other... oh. Oh, you mean that. Wait, aren’t you a little young to be thinking of stuff like that?”

“No, seeing as I’m pretty much the same age as Spike back there,” the griffin said, jerking one talon back towards following carriage. “I’m just not sure on the whole thing, you know? So, maybe my naivete is why I can ask you these questions. So, do you know her?”

“Well, no, not in that sense, but... should I? Before we get married, that is?” Why was he feeling so confused all of a sudden? Marrying and living with Bakhtak felt so right, so natural, and yet the fact that they were going to do so, so soon, felt so at odds with how he normally approached a subject. He had trained himself to not rush into things, to make plans, to pace himself, lest he overextend and everything fall apart. By Tartarus, it had taken him several months to even ask his now-deceased wife to go on a date with him, even though they had seen one another nearly every day in New Wingdah. This... this seemed so different, that for the life of him, he knew it wasn’t logical, but yet it felt so right.

“Mother always said that sex was something to explore after you’ve become mature enough to do so, both in body and in mind. ‘Uneducated sex leads to problems of all kinds’, she’d say, especially for those who weren’t ready, in case things... changed. Since you’re older and, from what I can tell, much wiser, I’ll leave all of that decision-making up to you.” The griffin retreated into the carriage, closing the window behind her, leaving the batpony to his own thoughts.

“She’s wiser than I gave her credit for, that one,” Ebony mused. “Hmm, maybe I’ll talk it over with Bakhtak when I get back. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind pushing the wedding back a few months, if only to for us to get to know each other better.”

Whether she would be understanding or upset, he wasn’t quite sure. All he did know was that, when he left Spike and company to their own devices and returned home, he and her would have to have a good sit down and fully discuss their plans for the future

He only hoped that nothing went wrong between now and then.

Author's Note

Yes, yes, I know, I have Twilight with Flash Sentry. Bear in mind, this story completely negates any and all earlier references to him in Equestria Girls 1&2, and does the same for any episodes he was featured in. I mean, I started writing this before season 3 began, and the story is tagged "alternate universe" for a reasons. Just think of him as the Flash Sentry I would have written instead of who was shown.

Other than that, what do you think?

A First for a Dragon

Chapter Fifty Five

A First for a Dragon

After the first stop for the night, in an old outpost long since abandoned by any living creature, save for a few mice, Spike found himself literally shaken out of bed, early the next morning, by a rather chipper Eutropia. Granted, what he was sleeping in wasn’t much of a bed to begin with, but with lying-down space rather sparse in the carriage he was in, and entirely against the prospect of sleeping in the other carriage with Ebony and Eutropia, he had elected to rest in here, so that at least his family could sleep in comfort.

“Come now, Spike, I said I’d be easy on you at first, before we began your training, and now that time is over,” she said. “I want you to keep pace with us, the carriages are going to leave any minute and we won’t stop unless you drop. Got it?”

“We’re leaving already?” He asked, rising slowly from the cold floor.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Eutropia said, cocking her head to the side as if slightly amused by his reaction. “Come now, we don’t have all day for you to wake up. We gotta go if we’re going to make good time.”

“But what about breakfast?” Spike asked, feeling rather hungry...

“The rest of us already had breakfast while you were asleep,” she replied simply, turning and walking out of the small building. “You’ll get something to eat if you hurry to the carriages now, but running on a full stomach is not always a good idea.”

“What about second breakfast?” The dragon muttered as he slowly rose to his feet.

“You won’t be getting any breakfast if you don’t hurry it up,” was her reply.

“Well, I guess this won’t be too bad,” he muttered as he walked out the door in time to see the carriages starting to move. “I mean, she said they’d stop if I did, so it shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

Some time later, Spike was wishing he could eat his words. Panting constantly, he could just barely keep up with the carriages, and by keep up, he meant running about fifty feet behind them. He had lost track of just how long he had been moving; a few hours, at least, or maybe even more. His feet hurt, his back ached, his legs moved as if they were stuffed full of wet cement, and his lungs felt like they were on fire.

The irony was not lost on him.

“Maybe... I... should... take a breather,” he panted as they came around a bend in the road. “It can’t... be much... farther to... a town.” After all, the sign he saw for the next town was passed several hours ago, and surely they weren’t too far off from it... right?

Looking ahead, he couldn’t believe his luck. Indeed, not only was there a town up ahead, a small one by the looks of it, but from where the sun sat, it was already noon; time for rest and lunch.

And true to the fact, the minute they reached the small town and came to a stop, he did the first and only thing his body would allow at the moment: dropping to the ground with a loud thud. He couldn’t even make the effort to look up when he heard his wives exiting the carriage and walking over to him.

“Are you okay?” Trixie asked as Asalah checked his pulse.

“Mfn,” the dragon muttered in the dirt, his legs twitching slightly as the urge to keep walking still held root in them.

“What?” Asalah asked as Chrysalis and Maria magically rolled him over.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, wheezing slightly as he did. “Just need... a rest is all.”

“Well then, you’ll be getting one for a while, at least,” Ebony Blade said as he stepped down from his own carriage. “We’ll be in Marescow in a few days, but that won’t do us any good if you run yourself too ragged to meet our future hosts. Haven’t you ever run before?”

“Yeah, I’ve run,” Spike replied. “Just not for hours on end. Seriously, who even does that?”

“More than you’d think,” the mercenary replied with a shrug. “I myself had to do a lot of running in my younger years, when I was training in the art of fighting. Builds strength and endurance, plus it’s a good way to keep in shape if you don’t overdo it.” He'd heard horror stories about mercs who'd literally run themselves so much without pause that they'd drop dead in their prime, or would practically cripple themselves at an early age because their body eventually just gave up on them. A few he knew even got shorter somehow by an inch or two, something a healer had once said was due to "compression" of something.

“Well, I’d prefer we make it to Marescow before winter comes along,” Eutropia said, exiting the carriage and walking up to Ebony. “Okay, so maybe having you run for hours straight was a bit too much for a first lesson, but don’t think I’m going easy on you.”

“Trust me, I don’t,” the dragon muttered.

“Okay, so then you’ll be happy to know I’ve reduced that part of your training to around ten miles a day, with you resting in the carriage with your family in the meantime,” the griffin said simply.

“Oh wow, only ten miles? Stop me if I sound too grateful,” Spike said, slowly dragging himself to his feet. “We have any food? I didn’t get breakfast, and I’m starved.”

“Well, that just so happens to be one of the reasons why we’re stopping,” Ebony said as he retrieved a small bag. “We need some supplies if we’re going to make good time, and if nobody has any objections, I think it’d be best if I, alone, do the shopping.”

“Why’s that?” Eutropia asked.

“Well, these lands don’t exactly have a good history with griffins, what with the wars of the Ottomare Empire often conflicting with these lands,” the batpony replied. “A lot of ponies have become disillusioned with the whole “emperors rule over all” idea, especially since so many were ousted and came here, looking for recruits to build armies to take back their thrones. During some of the griffin dynasties, the brothers of emperors would often try to raise armies to overthrow their siblings in this area particularly, leading to some very nasty civil wars.”

“How do you know so much about that?” It was not Eutropia that asked this, but Asalah.

“I make it my business to know about the lands around my own, history and culture and all,” Ebony said simply. “Besides, I know these kinds of ponies; the younger ones will likely bother Eutropia for reasons or others, so it’d be best for her to stay by the carriages, preferably with you lot for company. Okay?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stay here,” the griffin said, crossing her arms and leaning against a carriage.

“Promise me you won’t get in trouble?” The batpony asked.

“I promise,” she replied.

“Good.” With that, the mercenary walked off, disappearing amongst the stalls and buildings along the street. Maria, Trixie, and Chrysalis all, more or less, dragged Spike back into their carriage to give him some rest while they waited for Ebony to come back, while Asalah chose to stay outside, glancing over at the griffin every now and then, who seemed lost in thought.

“Um... Eutropia?” The zebra asked.

“Huh? I mean, yeah?”

“Have... have you ever, you know... flown?”

“Yeah... why do you ask?” Flying was as natural to griffins as magic was to unicorns or swimming was to a whale. While Istanbul had not given her many opportunities to take to the air, Eutropia had indeed flown before, often behind her mother. Flying was easy for her; landing, on the other hand, was something else.

“Well, it’s just, when I was younger my father kept all sorts of beautiful birds in his gardens. Falcons, canaries, peacocks, parrots... he’d even have some of them fly around the palace, soaring so gracefully on the warm desert winds. I just... I don’t know, I guess I just wished I could fly when I was younger. Soar up into the air, seemingly lighter than the breeze, away from all earthly problems; maybe it was the part of me that didn’t like where my life was potentially heading.”

“Potentially?”

“My father sought suitors almost as soon as my cycle began,” the mare said simply. “In my culture, mares are often married off at such an age, sometimes younger, as infant mortality and other factors can really limit how many foals one has, even amongst nobles. Or at least, that’s what some of my nannies told me growing up, but they worked for my father, so for all I knew, they told me what he told them to tell me.”

The griffin raised an eyebrow as a few passing ponies stared at the pair of them. “He really wanted to marry you off that soon?”

“I know, it sounds barbaric, and now that I know of what it is like for others outside of my old life, it seems so, even to me, but it was practical for our culture. It had to have been, or else it never would have developed in the first place. Regardless, most did not find me all that appealing.”

“What?” Eutropia asked, motioning with a free talon at the mare. “But you’re gorgeous! Any stallion in his right mind would be tripping on himself just to kneel before you!”

“Well, when I was younger, I did not look like this,” Asalah said, subtly gesturing to herself. “Still, my father’s power would have made me quite the catch on some noble’s arm, but it was not to be. I never liked any that visited us, and many likely thought of me as “damaged goods” once they learned of my mother’s demise when I was young.”

“I know that feeling,” Eutropia muttered.

“You do, don’t you,” the zebra stated.

“Yeah,” the griffin replied, smoothing out a few of her head feathers. “My father wasn’t around for me when I hit puberty. He died about seven years ago, you see.”

“Oh, I’m... I’m sorry for your loss,” Asalah said.

“Yeah, well, somebody has to be,” the griffin said, trying not fall into the pain she still felt for him. “I mean... he was there for me when I was younger, all the time, no matter how busy he was. Then I lost him, and mother tried so hard raising me on her own while she was captain of the guard, and then this all happened...”

“It’s okay, everything will turn out alright in the end,” Asalah said, gently laying her hand on the griffin’s shoulder.

Eutropia brushed it off. “Yeah? Asalah, I don’t know about you, but the fact remains that my father died well before his time, something I’ll likely never get over. There was so much left for him to teach me, to talk about, so much left unsaid, and I’ll never get to know about him, about his side of the family. I’ve lost a part of me that I can never hope to get back.”

Even with the barely-suppressed angst coming off the young griffin in waves, Asalah placed her hand on Eutropia’s shoulder once more, a little more firmly this time. “I know what that’s like,” she said quietly.

“You do?” The griffin didn’t even have the will to remove the zebra’s hand again.

“Yes, I do,” the mare said softly. “I lost my mother at a young age, in an accident that I used to believe was my own fault. My entire life after that point revolved around my father and what he said, what he did, what he told me was expected of me. If not for Spike, I’d likely still be back there, suffering in quiet anguish, as you are now.”

“What? No, no, I’m n-not suffering,” Eutropia said, turning away quickly to hide her face.

“It’s okay to feel sadness, Eutropia; it doesn't make you less of a po— griffin to admit that, does it?”

“But... but I’ve been taught all my life to keep my emotions in check, to keep them hidden from others,” the griffin said slowly. “I... I don’t want to be weak by showing them to anyone, including you.”

“Eutropia, showing your true feelings isn’t weakness,” the zebra mare said as several ponies pointed in their direction. “You’re confusing that with strength. It takes a strong pony to acknowledge they have these sorts of feelings, and an even stronger one to embrace them and let others in. Bottling all that up inside yourself; letting it simmer and stew within your heart is not healthy for your sanity or your health. Trust me, I know all too well what it’s like to feel alone in the world, even when surrounded by everything I have ever known.”

“Then... what am I supposed to do?” Eutropia asked.

“Believe in me,” was the mare’s reply. “Believe in the fact that you can trust in me, and in my family, to be there for you while you try to find your way in this new and frightful world. But most importantly, believe in yourself. You can do this, Eutropia: you can be stronger than your fears and let yourself open up to those around you.”

The griffin made a sniffing sound. “I’ll... I’ll try, okay? At least, for now, around you, Asalah.”

“It’s a start, but a good start nonetheless,” the zebra said sweetly, softly pulling the griffin into a hug. “We’ll see how things go from there.”

“Excuse me.”

The two looked over to see a small gathering of ponies looking at them; mostly stallions, and from the way they carried themselves, likely teenagers or younger, though one or two were definitely in their mid twenties. Most of them were looking Eutropia up and down as if they were wondering just what she was, while a few others were doing the same to Asalah. If what Ebony said about these ponies were true, about them being fairly isolated from the rest of the world, then it was just as likely that none of them had ever seen a zebra before, let alone a griffin. They’d probably lose their minds if they saw Spike or Chrysalis.

“Yes?” Asalah asked.

“Who’s your friend?” One of the taller ponies asked, gesturing towards the griffin.

“Who’s asking?” Eutropia replied, removing herself from the hug and protectively placing herself between the zebra and the group.

“Now now, no need to get defensive,” another pony said, apparently put off by the sudden scowl on the griffin’s beak. “We just don’t get visitors often, or at least, none that stay for more than a few minutes.”

“I’m Eutropia,” she said. “I’m a griffin. This here is Asalah, a friend of mine. She’s a zebra, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh,” several of the younger ones said, with a few of them taking a step back.

The other pony from before stepped forward. “Sorry, it’s just none of us have ever seen a griffin or a zebra in real life before. Ponies who come this way usually don’t stay for very long, often just enough to get directions or something, and even then, they tend to keep to themselves and stay out of sight. For good reason, too; our parents tell us that griffins tend to bring trouble.”

“Ah griffin, eh?” A voice said, and as the group parted, a trio of older, gruff-looking ponies arrived on the scene. “Now what’s a griffin doing in parts like these?”

“They’re just travelers,” one of the smaller ponies said, not looking up as the rest of the group began to back away. To Asalah, it was clear these three were troublemakers of some kind, if not a local gang or something equally dubious.

“Is that so?” One of the three asked, his face being the rough approximation of what happens to a jack o’lantern left out in the cold for too long. The others were slightly more handsome, but not by much, and their collective sneers made them all the more unfriendly-looking. “Where did you two come from?”

“We came by way of Transylmania, after... leaving the borders of the Ottomare Empire,” Asalah said. There was no need for any of these ponies to know they were escapees from Istanbul; in fact, none needed to know of that bit of information, not until they were far beyond the reach of their captor’s influence. Like, say, China: or maybe Japan.

“Just you two?” One said, his gaze making the pair of them feel rather uncomfortable. By now, the rest of the others had began to disperse, with some of the younger ones being almost forcefully led away by the older ponies. It was evident this trio was not good company.

“No, we’re not alone,” Eutropia said, while in fact, other than Asalah being there, she was alone with these three. “Our guide, a mercenary, decided we should stop here to buy some supplies. Asalah’s husband also needed his rest.”

“Oh, so she’s taken?” The oldest of the three said.

“Yes, very much so,” the zebra said, wishing Spike were here to stand by her side, if only because his presence comforted her.

He turned to Eutropia, slowly approaching her as he did so. “What about you, griffin? You taken?”

“My name is Eutropia,” she replied, crossing her arms and scowling at the trio. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, come now, don’t be rude,” he said, his tone clearly rude in and of itself. “No need to make a fuss, just wanted to know if you were taken, is all.”

Eutropia was not happy at his increasing proximity. “No, I am not taken, and I prefer it to remain that way,” she said. “Kindly back off.”

“Oh, really?” He said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I’m betting I can change th-,”

Asalah’s eyes couldn’t track exactly what happened next, but to her, it seemed one moment the stallion had placed his hand on the griffin’s shoulder, and in the next instant, he was flying upside down, past his two cohorts, along with a loud thud as he slammed into the ground, rolling head over heels past where the others had been before coming to a stop in the middle of the dusty road. His two pals looked from him, to each other, and then to the griffin.

“What? I said I’m not taken,” Eutropia said, casually brushing herself off as if nothing had happened. “Must not have caught the hint I wasn’t interested.”

“Get her!” One of the remaining two said before they rushed the griffin, just as Asalah took several steps back in fright, trying to keep herself out of harms way.

The first one threw a wild punch, only for Eutropia to snap her head to the side, watching as it missed her by inches. Then, with a strong uppercut, she hit him right under the chin, throwing him off balance, followed by a swift pair of kicks to the stomach and the solar plexus. The stallion flew backwards too, lifted high enough off of his hooves that he soared over his buddy and landed in a wheezing heap on top of his other friend.

The last stopped in his tracks right before he reached Eutropia, this time aiming a kick for her ribs. She swerved slightly, catching his legs under an arm, and almost casually lifted him off the ground. With a slight shift in her stance she let go, which propelled him into the air, where she slammed her open palm upside his head, sending him spinning into the dirt. Once down, she picked him up by the scruff of the neck and tossed him onto his other two friends.

All of this happened in a space of less than ten seconds.

Asalah could only stare as the griffin smoothed out her feathers. “Anypony else?”

The group of ponies from before, scattered all over the area at a safe distance, simply stared from her to the three groaning troublemakers. “We’re not with them” one of the older ones called as they then all proceeded to disappear.

“Good.”

Shoving his two groaning friends off of him, the first one fumbled in his belt and quickly withdrew a long, shiny dagger. “I’m going to make you regret that,” he growled, breaking into a run towards Eutropia.

The griffin met him halfway, knocking his sword arm off to the side whilst bringing up a knee on his forearm. Howling in pain as something clearly was suddenly not well inside him, the stallion looked up in time to see Eutropia’s foot land square in his face, sending a spurt of blood through the air as he fell backwards, blood dribbling from his suddenly-misshapen nose. Landing with a loud thud, the stallion clutched at his nose with one hand and cradled his arm against his body with another.

Eutropia walked up to his side and kicked the dagger away, looking down on her suddenly-pitiful attacker. “Here’s a hint, bozo,” she said, kicking him slightly in the leg for good measure. “If a female doesn’t want you near her, she doesn’t want you near her. Doesn’t matter what you think of the situation; I said back off, so please, next time, if there is a next time where a female says that to you, kindly, back off.”

All the stallion could do was moan in pain.

“Eutropia, what did I say?”

Turning, Asalah saw Ebony walking towards them, a sizeable bag over one shoulder and a look of both exasperation on his face, along with… fear?

“What?” The griffin replied.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t get in trouble, and what did you do? Beat up on three stallions while I’m gone!” He gestured over at the one holding himself on the ground. “That one probably has a broken arm!”

“Mr. Blade, they started it,” Asalah said. “They were getting too close for comfort, and one got too close to Eutropia and grabbed her by the shoulder, even after she told him to back off, and—,”

“Asalah, thank you, but this is between me and Eutropia,” the batpony said as he set the bag inside the carriage.

“I don’t see how not letting those low-lifes put their hands on me is somehow my fault,” the griffin retorted.

“But Eutropia, that’s just it; defending yourself is one thing. Potentially crippling is another entirely, especially when you obviously knocked that dagger out of his hands so easily.”

“So I should have just let myself get stabbed, or let Asalah get caught in the struggle?” She asked, bewildered at his tone. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, for starters, you didn’t need to attempt to break his arm,” the batpony said, walking over to the huddled youth. Reaching out, he gently grasped and observed the forearm in question. “Well, thankfully, no, you didn’t break it; a bad dislocation, yes, but nothing broken.” With a quick wrenching motion, the mercenary set the bone back into place, earning another loud howl of agony from the injured youth. “Get yourself to a healer, young man, and don’t be bothering anypony again, understand? I won’t be here next time to stop someone tougher than you from breaking every bone in your body, or worse, gutting you: understand?”

The youth nodded with a whimper and slowly clambered back to his hooves, scampering off as his two companions rose to theirs.

As Ebony turned away, there was a shout, and ducking, he saw as another dagger narrowly soared past him and headed straight for Eutropia, where—

—a magical glow arrested it’s flight instantly. Everypony looked to see Maria step out of the second carriage, her horn glowing as she casually flicked the dagger away into a pile of dung.

The batpony turned to see the two ruffians running for their lives, only for two bolts of magic to slam into their backs. Lifting them off their hooves, the two soared through the air before slamming into a building, whereupon they fell into a large pile of cow manure.

“You do not threaten our friends and expect to just get away with it, anymore than you would threaten our family,” the unicorn noblemare said harshly as the others looked at her. “What? I saw everything that happened, only none of you would’ve been able to stop that other dagger.”

“I would have dodged it,” Eutropia muttered as the pregnant unicorn fished through the bag of supplies Ebony brought back.

“You weren’t looking at it, and even if it hadn’t skewered you to the carriage, you could have been hurt,” was the mare’s reply. “Now, if you lot are done making a spectacle of yourselves, we’d best get going. I thought we were on a schedule?”

Ebony merely sighed; even though she was not yet half his age, Maria still somehow carried with her a grace and a dignity that made him feel incredibly foolish all of a sudden, as if he were a young stallion who had been caught by his mother picking on his younger siblings. “Okay, okay; load up everypony, and you too, Eutropia. You and I need to have a talk, alone.”

Groaning in frustration, the young griffin clambered into the first carriage and slammed the door behind her. Ebony just looked at Asalah with a mixture of “now what” and “it’ll be okay” written on his face, to which Asalah simply nodded politely and followed Maria back into their own carriage. Soon, they set out, their wheels creaking as they left the town behind them.

“Eutropia, I promised your mother I would keep you safe, and to keep you out of the hands of the Ottomare Empire,” Ebony Blade said after some time, the town now many hours and miles behind them. He had thought that giving her some time to think, and himself, to some extent, would be best for the both of them before they talked.

He could only hope he was right.

“Yeah, so?” The griffin muttered.

“Eutropia, please, humor me. I’ve tried caring for you as best I could in the short time you’ve been under my care, but you’re no more my daughter than I am your father. We’re from worlds so different that to try and deny such a thing would be ludicrous. Now, please, you have to know that I would not have scolded you back there if it was not for a good reason.”

“Oh yeah?” She said, leaning her head out of the carriage window. “Name one.”

“Eutropia, when you’ve got a chip on your shoulder, you tend to have many, many problems in life, especially if you start as young as you are,” the older batpony said simply. “Getting into fights over anything can lead to much greater troubles down the road, especially if those fights lead to serious injuries, or even worse. There are towns, Eutropia, towns I can never return to in parts of Crimea for reasons like that. Some of my first mercenary work was up there, and some drunk local would challenge me to a fight because I was from out of town, and after I beat him fair and square, he or his friends would try to ambush me. More often than not, somepony would get hurt, or even killed, and no matter what I tried to say or explain, I was always the outsider to that community, and that was as good a proof of guiltiness as anything. They won’t come after me, or at least, none have, but Eutropia, if I were to ever set hoof near those towns again, I’d be hanged.”

“And?”

“And, Eutropia, that means my life has been irreversibly altered by some stupid decision, like to fight some jerk who was bothering you. Did you really think they stood a chance against you, the daughter of the captain of the Ottomare royal guard?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But nothing, Eutropia. No matter how good your technique, no matter how well you handle yourself, no matter your skill, it is better not to fight at all, understand?”

“Sure, I guess so,” the griffin mumbled.

“I’m not saying don’t stand up for yourself, or even to not defend yourself in times of trouble, but you need to know restraint, only fighting as a last resort. Skilled as you are, you’re still young, and have a long way to go.”

“But what about you? You’re a mercenary; it’s your job to fight, and more often than not, kill, right?”

“Yes, but that is my life, and I don’t want you to make the same mistakes as I did,” he replied. “Eutropia, I’ve seen a lot of dead ponies and other creatures in my time, more than a few by my own sword and the hand that wielded it. When it’s war, it’s one thing, but a fight, it’s something entirely different. Nopony will think less of you for killing another being in war: that’s what war is, killing and killing and killing until either someone runs out of soldiers to kill or the leaders decide to stop the bloodshed for often differing reasons. There can be those who claim war is never just or that to defend oneself in a war is just as bad as starting one, but they if have never experienced what war is, then how can they claim as such? You, Eutropia... you could have killed that stallion back there if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” she mumbled. “Just show him not to mess with me ever again.”

“Eutropia, not only will you likely never see him again, but nothing was stopping you from going too far, and too far you would have easily gone if I hadn’t come along.”

“I was going to walk away,” the griffin said. “I didn’t want him dead, I just... I just wanted to make sure he knew I wasn’t some weakling that he could just push around.”

Ebony sighed. “Think he learned his lesson?”

“Yeah,” Eutropia said. “Hey, wait a minute, you said I was skilled; did you really mean that?”

“Yes, I did,” the mercenary said. “For someone your age, Eutropia, you’re quite talented.”

“Is that a compliment I hear?” She asked, hiding a small, growing smile.

“I guess it is, but don’t get too cocky,” Ebony said as they continued down the road. “Like I said, you’re still young, and as such, you’ve got a long road ahead of you. You’re free to make your own choices, even your own mistakes if you like, only... I’m just trying to help you avoid some of the more dangerous ones.”

“I’ll try,” she said, sticking her head out of the carriage window.

“Which reminds me, young one,” he continued. “Stay away from alcohol.”

“What? Why is that?”

“It can impair your judgement, often severely,” he said. “I used to drown myself in the bottle after my family passed away; for a few years, at least. Even now, I can barely tolerate small amounts of it, because the temptation is always there. The same goes for you; when influenced by drink, things that you would normally never consider become much more apparent, much more available, much more... approachable.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay away from the drink and from fights,” she said, sounding rather amused at his concern. “I promise.”

“Good,” Ebony said, softly smiling as he looked out over the northern skyline. “It won’t be long now; only a few more days and we’ll be crossing into the lands of the Marescow, with the capital city another day or two ahead of then.”

“What’s it like? Marescow, that is?” Eutropia asked as the sun moved closer and closer towards the western horizon, the passing shadows already beginning to stretch before them.

“It’s an old city, but not near as ancient as Istanbul,” the batpony said. “Many different ponies and races have occupied the hills, mountains, forests, and plains over its time. Though it is relatively new in terms of its modern composition, as it’s been a little over two centuries since the surrounding lands were all united under the Tsars, who’d ruled barely more than Marescow about a hundred years prior. It’s really quite beautiful, especially in winter; many of the more historical buildings are absolutely picturesque when covered in a light snow.” He didn’t need to add that heavy snow was usually then right around the corner, and that the city would often have to completely dig itself out after every blizzard.

“Sounds lovely,” the griffin said. “Are the ponies there friendly?”

“Well, yes, but there are more than just ponies in those lands, my dear,” Ebony replied. “Tell me, Eutropia, have you ever met a Diamond Dog before?”

“So then she literally tossed the last one up in the air and slammed her hand across his face, sending him right into the ground,” Asalah said, regaling the others in the carriage of what she had seen. “Then she picked him up and tossed him by his friends.”

“Wow,” Trixie and Chrysalis said in unison as they snuggled next to Spike, who was just beginning to recover his energy from the walk he’d been subjected to.

“Yeah, wow,” Spike agreed. “You said you didn’t even see her throw the first one? Like it was all just an instant?”

“No, it was all just a blur to me; one thing he’s advancing on her, and the next, he’s flying through the air and landing on the road. I didn’t know she could move so quickly; she must have been out of it back in Istanbul when that guard struck her, or else she’d have probably tossed him just as quickly.”

“Must be predatory instincts,” Maria said simply. “If I remember correctly, griffins evolved from creatures that ate fish and small animals, so it stands to assume that they’d still have such a force inside of them.”

“Well, even if it is, do you think she’ll be a danger to the rest of us?” Trixie asked.

“Well, she seemed to be in control of her emotions,” Maria said. “It wasn’t like she was crying and screaming and trying to stomp on the stallion’s throat after she disarmed him or something. I think she knows what she’s doing, so we should probably give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“Plus, this is all as new to her as it is to us, if not slightly more so,” Asalah said, feeling she should keep her promise to the young griffin. “We’ve been on the road for months now, some much longer than others, but she has barely been gone from home for more than a few weeks. She’s just beginning to open up to others, myself included, so maybe we should give her some more time to adjust to us before we start making assumptions. Wasn’t it already clear that assuming something about another from the start isn’t the best thing to do?”

The others nodded solemnly; Asalah, of all of them, knew what it was liked to be nigh-shunned by a group. The mares she had come to know as near-sisters had done the same to her when she first joined them, so the fact that she was willing to stand up for this young griffin made it all the more evident that she did not wish for this sort of history to repeat itself.

“So, for the time being, give her some space, but be friendly,” Spike said, grunting softly as he shifted his legs. “Easier said than done.”

“Why is that?” Chrysalis asked.

“Well, it’s not because she’s a she, but because she is more or less going to be my trainer from now until who knows when. She said I’d be running ten miles a day, which I’m assuming if the weather permits. Besides, now that we know just what she can do, I’m not exactly looking forward to when she begins my combat training.”

“Why?” Asalah asked.

Spike winced. “If I can’t use my dragon instincts, I’m going to get my ass kicked,” he said. “On this journey so far, that’d actually be a first for me.”

“A first for our dragon,” Maria said with a small smile. “In this case, not a bad first, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well... Spike, you’ve rescued us many times so far, and from the very beginning, it feels like we’ve done so little to help, that maybe a small slice of humble pie would be good for you.”

“But... but I want to keep you all safe,” he muttered, gently placing the tip of his tail against his second wife’s stomach. “All of you.”

“I know you do, love, but really, three of your wives know how to use magic, and so far, you’ve had it come to our aid, what, three times now? Four, if we include Chrysalis summoning her personal army?”

“It’s true, Spike,” the queen said, leaning on his shoulder. “We could have helped you so many times, yet we either couldn’t, or in some cases, you specifically told us to stay out of the way. We love you, you know, and in this kind of partnership, it’s a two-way street for that sort of thing. You push, we pull, and vice versa.”

The dragon sighed; they did have a point. Many times on the journey, magic could’ve really helped them out, like when he was abducted by that vampiress: Chrysalis could have magically shoved her away and shut the windows, while Trixie could have then summoned him back to bed and magically restrained him, like what she did with him in Roam. Or when they were beset upon by those pirates: Maria could have thrown up some sort of magical shield, just in case any of the cannonballs had come too close to their quarters.

He’d really been a fool to think he could have done all of this all on his own, hadn’t he? He had been willing to risk the lives of his family, inadvertently, over some predisposition to try and solve all of their problems practically on his own. Heck, he hadn’t even been the one to break them out of prison, and he had a feeling that the reason Myrrina took his wives out of his cell had less to do with how much he begged, but because she felt pity for his family at the time.

“Okay, okay, I give up,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Whenever trouble arises, you four can help or rescue me or one another, all right? I just... I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’d never forgive myself if something did. I just love you all so much.”

“It’s okay Spike, we all love you too,” Asalah said as the four of them snuggled up against their husband. “Now, I’ve been thinking...”

“A dangerous pastime,” Trixie said, earning a few giggles from Maria and Chrysalis

“Yes, yes, anyway, about Marescow... do you think the ponies Ebony knows will be friendly?”

“Oh, I think they will be,” Spike said with a smile. “Ebony said they were, and he hasn’t really done anything to lead us astray yet, so I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Author's Note

Well, took long enough to getting around to write this. First three or four hundred words took since the last chapter was published up until recently to be written. The rest.... meh, took a few days, as I was bored and was getting sick of playing Warband, Medieval 2 and Planetside 2 in my spare time.

A little shorter, but I really like the direction I took it, especially with Eutropia and Asalah kinda sharing a moment there. Also, yes, I know Ebony sounds a tad hypocritical, but the difference between war and a fight is that, in war, you intend to kill (or so I would assume in medieval times, especially), whereas a fight, you want to win, or at least put the hurt on the other guy. Any fight can turn into something worse with just one wrong punch, or if the falling guy lands just the wrong way on his neck: boom, stupid meaningless fight turns into murder.

That's why, as my father told me growing up, "just walk away if you can". That doesn't mean don't defend yourself: just don't be the instigator.

Anyways, hope I left you with something to think about, and more to look forward to. ~~Mother Russia~~, er, I mean, the Grand Duchy of Marescow awaits!

Cordial Invitation

Chapter Fifty Six

Cordial Invitation

By the time that the land began to change; when the mountainous valleys turned into wide open plains, Spike felt as though his legs would either fall off completely, or continue to robotically walk of their own free will, not of his own volition. True to her word, Eutropia had reduced the amount of walking he had needed to do per day, but that didn’t make it any easier on him, especially since the carriages would go quite a bit faster downhill. To him, it was not so easy, not only running after them for miles on end, but slugging his way uphill at a constant rate?

That was just pure agony for the dragon.

Luckily for him, his family had offered some encouragement to keep him at as best a pace as he could, one that gave him another reason to get back to the carriage, other than sleep or food.

“Mmm, that feels good,” he moaned, laying face-down in some pillows, his four lovers gently kneading the muscles all over his body, especially those of his legs and tail, the latter because it was his natural counterweight, that, unfortunately, he never learned to use properly, thus putting him and it under far more strain. Their hands felt so good all over him, he almost couldn't feel their breasts press into him as well: almost.

“Well, if you won’t loosen up on your own, then, for your sake, it’s a good idea we help you do so,” Asalah said as she worked his calves. “Why must you make this so much harder on yourself, anyway? There is no need to run ahead of the carriages every now and then, especially since we slow down on hills now.”

“But someone’s gotta check the road ahead,” Spike muttered.

“Ebony does a fine enough job of that as it is,” Chrysalis said as her magic stroked the base of his spines. “You really need to let go of doing everything yourself and let others do things for you. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before you turn fifty at this rate.”

“Do dragons even get heart attacks?” Trixie queried.

“This one will if he doesn’t take things down a notch,” Maria muttered, her hands kneading up and down his long tail. “Spike, you may need to get in better shape, and that’s what Eutropia’s helping you do, but I seriously doubt even you could just handle her training regime with ease. It takes years to condition one’s body for such a lifestyle, and even with what we’ve been through, these past months, you’re still nowhere near what you’d need for this to be easy.”

“I don’t want it easy, but I don’t want it impossible either,” the dragon mumbled, groaning as he felt his joints pop under his family’s firm appliance of pressure.

“Then find a happy medium that won’t leave you crippled later in life,” Chrysalis said.

“What do you suppose I do?”

“Well, as soon as we reach Marescow, you won’t be needing to run anymore, especially with the winter conditions likely preventing you from doing anymore running by itself,” Asalah said. “Eutropia said she’d then help you learn hand to hand combat or something.”

“Is she going to teach any of you stuff like that?”

“Well, maybe Asalah, but the rest of us are a bit preoccupied at the moment,” Trixie said, pointing at her belly. “Besides, three of us have been practicing magic our whole lives; what could she teach us that’d be more useful than that?”

“Maybe how to use a sword?”

“Why in the world would I need to learn how to use a sword?” The blue unicorn asked.

“Well, for starters, self-defense. With magic, you can only get so far,” Maria said. “Father did have our tutors teach us some means of self-defence, but as I grew older, my studies turned from martial to marital. Even in a rather progressive part of the country where I lived, it isn’t exactly encouraged for ladies to learn how to use swords.”

“Then again, most of them would never find themselves in the same situations we have,” Chrysalis said. “I relied on my bodyguards in my younger years, as I was too focused on other things. Still, it might be fun, for all we know.”

“If Eutropia’s involved, “fun” might not be an option,” Spike muttered, letting out a rather loud groan as two of his wives bent his legs back to stretch out his muscles. “At least when we’re there, she won’t have me running laps around the city or something.”

“Hopefully, though we can’t make any promises,” Asalah said.

“But winter’s coming,” he replied.

“True, but you’re a dragon; snow shouldn’t mean all that much to you, what with your thick scales and internal fire, and all that.”

Off in the distance, a trumpet flared, and while lifting his head up, Spike carefully watched his family’s reaction. “What is it?”

Asalah peered through the carriage’s barred windows. Far across the golden plains, a gleaming series of towers stood high over a large river. Brown buildings spread as far as the eye could see, almost like great sea of wood. Here and there, other towers thrust into the sky, their architecture so unlike that of the buildings surrounding them, it was almost jarring. “I think we’re here,” she said.

The closer they came to the city, the more apparent it became that this city was nothing like Istanbul. A large river flowed in and out of the city, lazily winding its way off into the distance. Forests seemed to crowd around and within the city, as if the trees had magically sprouted all over the place after the city was built. Its walls stretched all around the immense, sprawling city; a mixture of stone faces and wooden towers. Here and there, around the city, were huge fields that were being tended to by busy farmers, their numbers too vast to count.

“Indeed, it is a sight to behold, is it not?” A voice said, causing the zebra to look over and find Ebony’s carriage alongside their own.

“So you’ve been here before, I take it?” Asalah asked as the carriages continued on.

“Quite a few times, often as a mercenary for the Tsar,” Ebony replied with a smile. “Though, to be honest, I haven’t been exactly truthful to you all.”

“How so?” Spike asked from within the carriage.

“The lands we are entering have not been called the territory of the Grand Duchy of Marescow for quite some time,” the batpony said. “Such a title was phased out, about a generation or two ago, when the ruler handed it down to his son, in spite of the previous line of succession dictating otherwise. As of now, the ruler is still called the Tsar, but the country is called the Empire of Russia, or “Land of the Rus,” by some.”

“I guess Princess Luna’s information was out of date,” Spike replied. “She told me that it was still called the Grand Duchy. Then again, it’s been a long time since an Equestrian was this far out of the country, so it wouldn’t surprise me if other things changed along the way.”

“Such as?” It wasn’t Ebony who asked this, but Chrysalis.

“Well, for all we know, the Marengols are not a kingdom, but a republic or something. I really don’t know. Anything is possible, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, you’d all best get ready, for once we’re in the city, I’ll be taking you right to the Tsar,” Ebony said.

“Wait, you can do that?” Trixie asked. “Back in Equestria, or pretty much anywhere we’ve been so far, only special guests are allowed to meet royalty so soon, especially without arranging a meeting, beforehand.”

“Well, that’s true for here as well, but the Tsar knows me very well, as do most of the guards. But do not worry, it will not take long.”

“Not take long?” Spike asked as the batpony sat atop the carriage, waiting for the roads to the palace to clear up. He was trying to be serious, but the small grin on his face meant that he was anything but.

“I said I was sorry,” Ebony replied with a chuckle, shaking his head. “I forgot today was the anniversary of the transition from the Grand Duchy to the Empire of Russia. If I had remembered, then maybe I would have taken a different route into the city, but now...”

“Now we’ll just have to wait for the parade to pass through,” the dragon said, looking over to his family. While Trixie had inclined to stay in the carriage for the time being, the others had dressed in warmer clothes, and were sitting atop their own carriage, watching the great spectacle pass by.

Soldiers marched down the streets, some waving banners and flags whilst others played many strange and wonderful instruments in sync. All were dressed in their finest armors and uniforms, some wearing simple, yet elegant, padded leather, and others covered head to toe with shining metal plates. All around, weapons were sheathed or hoisted, depending on the position in the long procession, with the colors of the state trailing high above them. Then, from off in the distance, a blast of trumpets sounded, and as the procession continued, atop a large platform, pulled by several carriages in the middle of it all, sat the Tsar and Tsarina of Russia.

A handsome, hazel-colored stallion, with a well-kempt moustache and beard adoring his smiling face, he wore a most splendid uniform, complete with medals, golden tassels, and countless insignia. Around his shoulders was draped a large cloak of purest white with a golden inner lining and bright scarlet trimmings. Atop his head sat a crown, but unlike any crown that Spike had ever seen in Equestria, it was shaped almost like a helmet, only far more decorated and likely trimmed with only the finest of silks. In one hand, he held aloft a large scepter, a double-headed eagle, serving as the crest, atop the golden, gilded staff. His other hand, however, was currently entwined with his wife’s, and as Spike watched them pass, he could not help but gaze upon her in amazement.

The Tsarina was anything but plain, with a radiant beauty that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, just as her pearl necklaces and jewel-laden silver crown did. Her dress was an immaculate white, like the freshest of snow, as was her cream-colored pelt. Golden threads held it all together, with inlaid jewels spanning up and down the fine materials, yet all of this was secondary to what drew Spike’s eyes the most.

The Tsarina’s own. They were blue as a cloudless, midday sky; they seemed to survey the crowd with a connectedness he has only been seen before by Princess Celestia. It was as if she not only knew each and every subject under her rule, but was mentally familiarizing herself with their faces every time she gazed upon them. Every smile, every wave, every gesture was the picture of nobility and kindness, and when she looked into her husband’s eyes, Spike saw something he had thought he’d only seen in his own family’s gazes.

Love; the kind of love that transcended mere physical distance and attraction. It was the kind of love that he was lucky enough to receive not once, not twice, but four times over. And yet, this felt different. It was obvious, from the way they held each other’s hands, that they had known each other for several years before being married, and yet he had no idea as to when that was, or how they apparently felt so strongly about the other, so that their hands seemed fused together.

He would have to ask them when they met, if they allowed for such talk, that is. He loved his wives dearly, but the way these two looked at each other, it was evident that their love had stayed the same, if not grown even stronger, as time passed after their union. Spike found himself lucky to be a witness to such a thing: a mare with many of the same qualities as Princess Celestia, herself, only sharing them with a stallion she so obviously loved.

As the two passed by, the Tsarina absentmindedly waved in the direction of their carriages, Spike could only wonder if this was what Celestia would’ve been like if she found someone to marry; found a stallion to love her; to be with her for all her life; to rule alongside, and share in all of life’s miseries and triumphs. Yet, he knew of no stallion that would’ve been able to live long enough to be with Celestia, let alone approach and court her, and he hadn’t even heard of there being an alicorn stallion before, so... why hadn’t she settled down, even once? Was she truly married to the kingdom she protected as much as she ruled? Or was there something else to it; something deeper; something that he just didn’t know about?

“Probably,” he muttered, turning to Ebony as the rulers continued on. “Hey, Ebony, can I ask you a question?”

“Are you not, right now?” He replied.

“You know what I mean.”

“Go on, then. Ask away.”

“For meeting the Tsar and the Tsarina... are there any special protocols I should know about? Any particular customs that I should have a heads-up on?”

“None, other than being polite and not interrupting them while they speak. Why do you ask?” The batpony queried.

“Well, see, when I arrived in Agrabah, I didn’t know any of the local customs, and after getting drunk one night, I ended up stumbling into what I thought was a spare bed, only to find myself waking up in Asalah’s room. Turns out that it’s customary for a guest to sleep in the same room as the one they wish to marry, and in this case, it was the sultan’s daughter, and the guy was only too happy to put us together.”

“Really, now?” Ebony asked. “While I am not surprised about the sultan wishing to marry off his daughter, it does strike me odd that such a custom exists, and that you just so happened to... “fall for it”, as they say.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, everything turned out great,” Spike said. “I love Asalah, and she loves me back. The others... took some time to smooth out the problems between them, but now they’re very close friends.”

“I see.”

“The other reason is, well, back in Baghdad, I was told that dragons weren’t all that welcome in Istanbul. I didn’t think much of it, other than to disguise ourselves, but you heard how that turned out,” the dragon said, shaking his head. “That last one was just too close a call for my family. The uncertainty; the danger; the possibility of losing each other or one of the foals... I can’t put them through that again. I can’t put me through that again.”

“Sounds like guilt, to me,” Ebony said. “Spike, we all feel guilty about things, but you’re beating yourself up a bit too much about it.”

“What?”

“Well, only a little bit. It’s not healthy to just write off everything bad that happens to you as part of bad luck, sometimes you have to take account of what led you to that part in your life and make peace with it. Just... not too harshly, okay? I told you about how hard things were for me after my family’s passing, and I don’t want you going down that same road. It’s a long and lonely one, and was very hard to get off, for a normal guy like me. But you, a dragon? I’d imagine it’d be an even longer and lonelier road.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Spike said. “All I know is that, for the remainder of this trip, I just want my family to be safe.”

“A goal anyone would strive for, should they find themselves in a situation like your own,” the batpony replied, looking out over the crowds. The minute the last of the royal procession passed, everyone returned to normal, moving this way and that, as they went about their usual daily routine. That was one of the things Ebony liked about Russia: very pragmatic, and often very adaptable to whatever was thrown in its way. “Come, the parade should finish soon enough, and I do not wish to simply dump you in the Tsar’s lap without proper introductions or farewells.”

“Aim to make good time getting back home?” The dragon asked, cracking a grin.

“You might say that,” the batpony replied with a smile of his own. “Home; it sounds rather odd to say it, considering that this will be the first time in many years that I’ll actually stay there, likely for good.”

“What will you do for work?” Spike asked.

“Oh, maybe be a drill instructor for the local militias, or perhaps start up an orchard. I’ve been meaning to expand the stone walls around the yard a bit to include one, but never really had the time to do so. But now that Bakhtak more or less encouraged me to retire from mercenary work, I’m really not sure what to do anymore.”

“Except be with her, right?”

“Right. Come now, let’s get everyone ready.”

As Spike helped his family out of the carriage, he couldn’t believe it, himself. The Tsar’s palace looked more like a low-lying fortress than the residence of a ruler, yet it was nowhere near as foreboding as Husam’s, back in Saddle Arabia. It was more practical, more at ease with the landscape around it, with trees lining many gardens and a small pond in the front. Yet, the few towers that did rise above the structure were squat, with rather wide bases and tapering upper floors.

“It’s for the wind,” Ebony said, following Spike’s gaze. “Especially in winter, the winds and the driving snow can collapse towers of a more slender nature, hence the more robust designs of these. That’s also why most of the buildings in the city are as short as they are.”

“I see,” the dragon muttered. Come to think of it, that did make quite a bit of sense: the city was situated on a large floodplain with nothing substantial to block the wind for many miles in any direction. He could only imagine how fierce the deep winter winds could get, especially if they weren’t the kind they could control, like back in Ponyville.

Ponyville; it seemed so far away from him now, in both body and spirit. The vast miles of land and ocean separating him from the place he’s lived for a good portion of his life. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t even be staying in Ponyville when he got back to Equestria: by then, the castle additions would probably be done, and that’d be where he and his family would stay.

It felt so strange to think about home. Here he was, only about halfway through his journey, several months in, and it felt like it’s been many years. All that he’s seen, all that he’s done, all that he’s been a part of... it was all still so vivid, and yet strangely, compressed. It was as if he’s been a part of it all in a much shorter time than he had been.

Following Ebony up the massive palace steps, Spike, his family, and Eutropia watched as several guards approached the group, their weapons cautiously gripped in their hands.

“What is your purpose for visiting the Tsar?” One said, his regalia signifying him to be the rank of a captain.

“Tell them that Ebony Blade is here to see them,” the batpony said. “With guests, of course.”

Nodding, the captain motioned for another guard, who then marched off as quickly as he could. “You know protocol, Ebony. Nobody enters the palace without the say-so from the Tsar, or his wife. The servants will bring you your luggage after you’ve entered.” As if on queue, a pair of stout stallions walked past them and to their carriage.

“I know, Dimitri,” Ebony replied. “How’s the family?”

“Good, good,” the guard said. “Little Pyotr is already walking, and his sister just said her first word. Wife’s good, but tired from tending the fields. We’re hoping winter won’t be as bad as last year. Anything new with yourself?”

“Not much, just considering retirement,” the batpony replied. “Finally settling down again, hopefully for good, this time.”

“Ah, good for you. I knew you’d find somepony again,” Captain Dimitri said, noticing the ones following him. “Friends of yours?”

“You could say that,” Ebony said, motioning towards them. “This is Spike and his family. They’re on a journey of sorts, and needed my services for a portion of it. Oh, and this young griffin is Eutropia,” he added.

“Pleased to meet you,” Spike said, his wives giving simple bows and Eutropia nodding her head in acknowledgement. “We’ve been with Ebony since Istanbul.”

“Ah, I heard there was trouble down that way,” the captain said. “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”

Spike blinked. “Umm...”

Dimitri laughed, earning confused looks from them all. “Here I thought I’d never meet a dragon before, and I just so happen to meet the first one in living memory to pass through Istanbul, alive. I’d buy you a drink, if not for the fact that I know dragon’s can’t handle fruit-based alcohol.”

“How did you know that?” Asalah asked.

“Well, here in Russia, many areas have very short growing seasons,” the captain explained. “As such, we grow everything we can, and, more often than not, what grows fastest usually lasts the shortest through the winter. So, we make it into alcohol, which preserves it for far longer than mere salt or drying would. And as you know, in Russia, we do have dragons, including the great ice dragons along the northern coasts, and some of their offsprings can, occasionally, make their way into big cities, which can be a blessing in hot summers. And because of that, it quickly became common knowledge that dragons and fruit-based alcohols do not mix. That is one of the reasons we make vodka: because dragons can handle it.”

The guard from before returned, bowing to everyone before facing his captain. “They are allowed to enter.”

“Excellent,” Ebony said, giving the stallion a nod of thanks. “Come, everyone. We mustn’t keep them waiting.”

Before long, they were waiting at the doors to the palace, which were a sight to behold, themselves. Massive slabs of oak that took three guards to swing even one open, and only just enough for them to walk inside. Once there, everyone but Ebony nearly stopped in their tracks, amazed by what they saw.

The halls of the palace were glittered with drapes, curtains, and rugs of the richest scarlet they’ve ever seen. Silver chandeliers twinkled in the light from the large windows, their multifaceted surfaces sending cascading hues of light all over the place. Large painting hung on the walls, many of them likely belonging to Tsars of long ago. Yet, it was not these things that drew Spike’s attention the most as they walked, but what seemed to cover most of the interior.

Amber: a golden, shiny stone, the fossilized residue from trees millions of years ago. Polished to a sheen that seemed to give off its own light, like the surface of a miniature sun, inlaid into seemingly every possible corner it could be: from small statues to the smaller chandeliers, to the curtains, tapestries, and even a ceremonial suit of armor or two, standing off to the side. It crested tables, hung from chairs like dewdrops, even graced the outlines of doorways and door handles.

“Magnificent, is it not?” A mildly baritone voice said, causing the group to look away from the fanciful golden jewelry and, instead, towards the center of the room.

There stood the Tsar, still dressed in the uniform he’d worn in the parade. Though the large cloak, the scepter, and the crown were not there, he still carried with him an aura of authority, the likes of which Spike had not seen in previous encounters with nobility. This was a stallion born to a throne, yet he seemed far more down to earth than, say, Asalah’s father. The warm smile from under his short beard and moustache, the small wrinkles around his caring eyes, the way his posture seemed to exude welcome and comfort: he was amazing.

Spike and the others bowed, Ebony included. “It is good to see you again, your majesty,” Ebony announced.

“Likewise, Ebony Blade,” the Tsar replied, turning to the batpony’s companions. “I am Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov, though you may simply call me Nicholas. It is with great pride and humility that I welcome you all to my home. Please, if you’ll follow me, I will show you to your quarters.”

“The Tsar is going to be our guide?” Trixie whispered, astounded at the stallion’s informality. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, before.”

“Better him than I,” Ebony whispered back, before turning to the noble stallion. “Then this is where I must bid my companions farewell, your majesty,” he said. “I have been given a new chance at a life off of the battlefield, and, this time, I wish to return home for good.”

“Then you may leave, Ebony Blade,” the tsar said with a small bow of his own. “If you should ever find yourself in Marescow, do not hesitate to drop by for a visit. Our home is always open to an old friend, such as yourself.”

“Goodbye, all,” Ebony said, shaking hands with Spike and his family. “Perhaps, one day, we might meet again.”

“I’d like that,” Spike said with a smile. “If you and Bakhtak are ever in Equestria, for some reason, or feel like visiting, just write ahead, so we can make some arrangements.”

“That I will,” the stallion replied, turning to Eutropia at last.

“So, we’re going back?” She asked.

“No, Eutropia. This is where you and I part ways,” Ebony said simply. “I have fulfilled my end of the deal; your mother’s wishes have been completed. You are safe and far from the lands of the Ottomare Empire, and can only journey farther away.”

“So, what? You’re just going to abandon me in Russia?”

“No, my dear. I am not abandoning you,” he replied. “You will be staying with Spike and his family. You still have to train him, remember? Call me crazy, but I think he’s going to need all the help he can get in the near future. I’m going to rely on you to help him see this journey of his through. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like Equestria if you stick around long enough for that.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll stay with the dragon,” she said. “But if I don’t like it, I’m coming straight back to Transylmania and moving in with you, no matter what Bakhtak says. Got it?”

“I’ll let her know to keep a spare bed ready, just in case,” the batpony replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I-”

He was cut off by the young griffin pulling him into a powerful, yet brief, hug. Sniffling slightly, her composure temporarily derailed, Eutropia wiped the corner of her eye and brushed past him. With a small smile on his face, and a nod in Spike’s direction, the batpony left them behind, off towards home, once again.

As soon as the door closed behind Ebony, the Tsar turned to look at his guests. “Follow me please,” he said. “The Tsarina will be expecting you for supper, so I’d suggest we get you all settled in as soon as we can.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Chrysalis said as they walked down the bejeweled halls. “The journey’s been very long for all of us,” she added, gently patting her stomach.

“Just how far have you all come?” Nicholas asked. “Ebony did inform me in his letter that several of you are from Equestria, is that not correct? That is quite a world away.”

“Trixie, Chrysalis, and myself, yes,” Spike said, motioning to each of them as he said their names. “While Asalah’s from northern Africa, Maria’s from Spreign, and Eutropia’s from the Ottomare Empire.”

“A very varied group of travelers, I must say,” the tsar chuckled. “Tell me, Spike the dragon, is it true that you have come all this way just to learn about my country, and to pass on such knowledge to your fellow Equestrians back home?”

“You might say that,” the dragon said simply. “There’s so much we don’t know about countries so far from our borders, like Russia for instance. In fact, Princess Luna still referred to it as the Grand Duchy of Marescow, a name Ebony Blade told me was several generations out of date.”

“Ah, then it is good that you are here, so as to correct such oversights,” Nicholas said as they entered a large room. “These will be your quarters for the time being. I trust they will be to your liking during your stay in my palace. Also, there is a small side-room for you as well, Miss Eutropia.” They all saw the large bed in the corner, that could’ve easily held nine slumbering guests, and the fireplace against the main wall roared with a flickering flame behind the metal grate. Yet, the room itself was not just a bed, but something much beyond that. The curtains were wide open on the sizable windows, overlooking the royal gardens and ponds, with another building, one covered in opaque glass, nestled amongst the bare trees. The floor was solid marble, likely cold to the touch, but it was offset by many rugs, some of them thick and woolly. What little furniture in the room, itself, was limited to an intricate writing desk, several highly-decorated chairs that sat near the fireplace, and a small glass table between them, likely a place to set drinks. It was a cozy room, or at least as cozy as a room built for royal guests could be.

Looking up, Spike thought that the silver chandelier, fitted with emeralds and amber teardrops, was a little much, but hey, this would be the first real bed he’s slept in since they left Ebony’s home. That, and they didn’t need to leave for a while now, so they’d actually get a chance to rest for quite some time. He was definitely looking forward to that. “Thank you, your highness,” he said.

“Then I will leave you to your own devices, for the time being, anyway,” the tsar said with a smile. “When supper is ready, one of the servants will come and get you. If you have need for any clothes, simply ask one of the maids, and they will see if they can find something in your sizes. I apologize in advance for any ill-fitting clothes you come across, as quite a few of our other distinguished guests are often rather frail.” With that, the Tsar left them alone, gently closing the door behind him.

“I like him,” Maria said immediately. “He seems really nice.”

“I agree,” Asalah said. “It’s not every day that you meet a ruler of a country that invites you into his home, and guides you to your room like he’s a simple innkeeper. He’s a humble stallion, I’ll give him that.”

“Kinda reminds me of you, Spike,” Trixie said as she moved some of their luggage around. The captain wasn’t kidding; those servants likely brought their cases here before they even turned to walk down the corridor. “Only you’re far more handsome,” she added with a giggle.

“I don’t know, he was really pulling off the bearded and moustached look,” the dragon said, wiping his chin where hair would grow if he was a mammal. “Anyways, what do you all want to do first? Supper isn’t for several hours yet, and-,”

His four wives slumped immediately onto the bed, stretching themselves out after such a long and tightly-packed journey in the carriage.

“Okay,” he said. “Eutropia, what about you?”

“I’m going to check out my own room,” she said, turning away from him. “If you need anything, you’ll know where to find me.”

Spike simply shrugged and went over to his luggage as she left the room, his mind roaming back to earlier, on the steps up to the palace. It’s been a good week since he’d written home, and they hadn’t replied back yet. “Probably busy,” he thought, rummaging around in his bag. Finding what he was looking for, retrieving the small journal from within, magically enhanced by the clerk Ebony bought it from, containing far more pages than any normal journal could hold. Thankfully, the mercenary said it would retain its size and left, no matter how much he wrote. Good thing, too: all of his other journals, along with pretty much everything else they owned, was still somewhere in the archives of Istanbul, likely to be forgotten by the bureaucracy for the foreseeable future.

Walking over to the sizable writing desk, he opened a drawer to find a bottle of ink and a quill. Sitting himself down as his family began to pull out and away their own clothes, he began to write.

“The journey’s been long, from Transylmania to Russia, but it was a rather pleasant one,” he began, pausing every now and then to look out the window. Snow was not yet here, it would seem, but he hoped to be on the road as soon as they were done resting here. It wouldn’t do them any good to try and set out immediately, and right now, he had a feeling that his wives might staunchly support staying for a while. “The Tsar seems like a good fellow, friendly and courteous. We’re staying in his palace for the next few weeks, in order to relax and regain both our wits and our strength for the journey ahead.”

Spike paused. “Ebony Blade left us in the Tsar’s care, having fulfilled his role as our protector and escort from the lands of the Ottomare Empire, and is now setting out to return to his home, where I wish him peace and happiness for the rest of his days. As per his request, and her somewhat reluctant acceptance, Eutropia the griffin will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. The main reason for this is that she will be training me in the ways of self-defense, so that I may not need to resort to using my heritage in such dire situations. “A crutch”, I believe she called it, once. Either way, it seems that it’ll be from her own heritage that I’ll be drawing experience from, now.”

He turned the page. “Having come this far into the journey, I can only hope that the progress we’ve made will better Equestria. I’ve seen a great many and wondrous things in my travels so far, and hope to see more in the future. Yet, some part of me is doubtful of this entire endeavor, if only because it hasn’t been as safe as I would’ve hoped. Perhaps it’s because trouble always seems to find a way to track me and my family down, whether we’re on the road or staying in someone’s home. It hasn't been easy, and there have been several close calls in these past few months, but everypony is taking it well, a lot better than I would’ve expected.”

Spike smiled, glancing over to his wives as they unpacked and sorted their clothes, talking about which ones they could wear to dinner. “Since we left New Wingdah behind, when I haven’t been outside building up my endurance under Eutropia’s training, I’ve been spending time in the carriage Lady Fyrefly gave us. We’ve spent most of our time just talking about the future and what’ll happen when we reach Canterlot many months from now, an end to this already long journey. Still, there is much more of it yet to traverse, so we are limited in what we can do if we are to make good time wherever we go.”

Flipping the page, he continued. “While she hasn’t been very talkative as of recently, likely due to her constantly writing back to her parents, Maria has been a very comforting presence among us, often going to great lengths to soothe our worries with simple things, like hugs and soft singing. It’s actually quite nice. She’s also been rather adamant about having me name our first foal together, even after I insisted that she should have a say as well. In the end, we compromised: I’ll name them if they’re a colt, and she’ll name them if they’re a filly. We really have no way of knowing which it will be, as it’s still far too early in the pregnancy to tell. Luckily, her cravings have subsided, as have the others, but, for the time being, she’s often a bit sad in the mornings, being so far from home, as we all are. She says that it’s all just hormones, but I can tell she misses her family. I told her we’d invite her parents to Canterlot for the foal’s birth, if not sooner. That really cheered her up. I’m not sure how we’d manage to have her brothers and sisters come along as well, but I can see us visiting them all some time afterwards, when the foal is fit enough to travel. Maybe then we’ll take ask Celestia if we can use a flying carriage instead of a ship: I bet it would be quicker that way.”

The dragon turned to a new page. “Chrysalis has been much more active in telling the others, myself included, about her homeland and the history of her kind. It’s kind of hard to believe her when she said that changelings arose from a cross between a male unicorn and the queen of a now-extinct species of giant, underground-dwelling sapient wasps. Over the millennia, of course, they’ve slowly taken on new characteristics from each new queen’s father: earth pony strength, pegasus flight, and bits and pieces of numerous other creatures to get better and more adaptable traits. She said that she’s often half-awake when the rest of us are asleep, mentally communicating with some of her advisors on the status of her kingdom. Apparently there have been some recent developments with the newest generation, but she told us that it was nothing to worry about. Still, if what she said about the inheritance passing into the rest of the populace, I can only imagine what might become of the species, now that a royal heir of dragon blood is on the way. She’s also talked a bit about how, within days of being born, our foal will have to be coronated as the new heir to her throne, something involving the gathering of every changeling in the government, as well as the armed forces and a substantial portion of the civilian population. I can only hope that goes over well.”

“Trixie’s been surprisingly upbeat about everything that’s happened so far,” Spike wrote, dipping his quill in the ink fountain. “While I cannot bring myself to try and remind how dire some our situations have been at points, I can only pray her cheerfulness remains intact for as much of the journey as possible. It’s quite infectious, almost in a Pinkie Pie-like manner, and, some days, it’s hard to be sad when she’s around. Then again, like Maria, she’s been pretty gung-ho about naming the foal she carries in her belly. I told her that the naming should be done at birth, not beforehand, as it’d be pretty embarrassing to arrange a name for a colt, and then to have a little filly pop out instead. However, we agreed that we’d name the foal what she desired. I don’t want to make all the decision in their lives, after all. We’re a family, and family makes decisions like this together. Yet, I feel that this may be a point of contention between her and her parents, seeing that she hasn’t seen them in years, and I doubt they know about our marriage, let alone the grandfoal she’s carrying. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, as she's told me telling them by way of a letter would go over worse than telling them in person.”

He paused, unsure if he should include some more information about Eutropia after he finished Asalah’s portion. “Maybe some other time, after we’ve all gotten to know her a bit more,” he muttered, turning the page. “Writing anything now would just be guesswork; mostly, anyway.”

Spike continued. “Asalah’s been fairly quiet recently, only speaking when spoken to. She hasn’t said why, but I believe it may have something to do with the events in Transylmania. When I was... under the spell of the vampiress, I saw both Lady Bathory and Lady Fyrefly as Asalah. Why? I don’t know, but it might have been because I love her so dearly, and that she remains the only one of my family that’s not expecting, which would’ve been much harder, I assume, to duplicate. I can tell it weighs on her mind from time to time, both what I saw and why it was her form that was chosen. She thinks I didn’t notice it in the carriage: the way she looked at all the others’ bellies, but I did notice. She’s almost assuredly going to conceive when her estrus comes around again, though we can’t say when that will be, for sure. Hers ended many months before we married, and while I don’t think, for a minute, that she’s jealous, I do believe that she wishes we met sooner, and thus had more of a chance of her conceiving. Whether it’s an innate byproduct of her father’s insistence that she marry and bear her husband many foals, or maybe just her being surrounded by all this new life, and wishing to feel the same way, I do not know. I do know one thing, however: the minute she enters her heat, I will likely be very... busy.”

He smiled at that last part, slowly putting the quill and ink away. He really would have to write more entries like this, but for now, that was good enough. Supper wouldn’t be ready for some time, and as such, the dragon realized he didn’t have much to wear. “Trixie?”

“Yes, Spike?” She replied.

“Do you have a moment to spare? I don’t think any of the clothes I have are good enough to dine with royalty, and I was wondering if you could flag down one of the maids to tell them that.”

“Why don’t you?” Maria asked as she finished folding what few clothes she had.

“Well, they’re used to unicorns, earth ponies, and pegasi, but several of us are probably something these palace maids have likely never seen before,” Spike said, motioning to Chrysalis, himself and Asalah. “I’d just like to try and get some clothes without scaring some poor mare half to death by stepping out from around a corner.”

“I’ll get to it then, but you owe me,” Trixie replied, straightening out her mane. “In the meantime, you be sure to help everypony else find something that fits them.”

Most other stallions would’ve likely groaned at that, or at least tried to get out of it for some reason or another. After all, playing dress-up with some mares was often a hassle and a half, as it had been for him in his younger years. Whenever Twilight needed something to wear to a conference or a party, he was right there to help here, often bored out of his skull. But, unlike all those other stallions, who’d complain every second they could, he was like the other lot that did the exact opposite. Spike simply looked over at his three other wives; his three beautiful, sexy, gorgeous mares, whom he would do anything for, and who would likely do that same for him...

“Okay,” he said.

Author's Note

Well, welcome to Mother Russia! Also, so long Ebony Blade, and thank you for being a part of the story.

This will be an enjoyable arc, personally, and this is just proof that I have been working on this instead of publishing it right away.

A Different Kind of Court

Chapter Fifty Seven

A Different Kind of Court

“Will you just hold still?” Spike asked as he tried to button up the back of Asalah’s dress. “Your squirming isn’t making this any easier, you know, and the maid said supper’s in twenty minutes.”

“I can’t help it. The dress is just too small,” the zebra replied.

“Where?”

“Pretty much everywhere, Spike,” Asalah said. “I don’t think the royalty here have hips, or, if they do, they must be thin as sticks. It feels like my legs are going to burst right through the dress.”

“At least your stomach isn’t,” Trixie replied, motioning down to the noticeable bump in her golden dress. “If I loosen the back any more, I swear it’s going to slip off me if I stand still for too long.”

“Well, I guess whoever designed the dress didn’t think somepony as figured as Asalah would ever wear it,” Spike muttered, hoping that the green fabric wouldn’t tear apart if she sat down. “How are you two doing?”

“Better than Trixie, though the stomach’s still a bit tight,” Maria replied, her own white outfit sporting a rather high collar and long sleeves. “I don’t know what gargantuan mare this was made for, but it’s the only one that has leggings that don’t trail past my hooves.”

“Well, I like my dress,” Chrysalis said, her deep red outfit hugging her every curve.

“But you can shapeshift,” her husband replied.

“Some, but not enough to make this ideal,” the changeling said. “Besides, it’s a bit too low-cut, for even my tastes. I guess I’ll just have to wear a scarf or something to prevent my breasts from spilling out, in case I have to sit up quickly or something.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Spike said with a laugh.

“Well, I’m sure the Tsar and Tsarina would,” Chrysalis said, smirking in spite of herself. “I’d rather not have that happen when we’re in front of the rulers of Russia. You know, the ones that just so happen to opened their home to us?”

“I agree,” Asalah said as she felt the last of the buttons pop into place. “Thank you, Spike.”

“No problem,” he said. “Now, about my suit... did they ever figure out where my tail would go?”

“See, that’s where the tailors had trouble,” Trixie said. “None of the suits they have are fitted for dragons, their tails being much wider than ponies’, and really, the whole ‘spines along your back’ bit made it clear that they’d have to either make something from scratch, or just cut holes in the back of their fine, silk suits, and you know-”

“—let me guess, they didn’t want to ruin them?” Maria asked.

Trixie nodded, holding said suit aloft, which seemed to be a rather nice-looking one, almost like something an officer would wear, only more regal in design. “I’m sure your tail will fit quite nicely in the hole they made in these, though it may take some practice to get the hang of sliding your spines in and out of the slits along the back.”

“I can only hope so,” the dragon said as Trixie handed him the suit. “I’d like to make a good impression on the local royals, for once. I mean, when was the last time it didn’t involve a war, or a vampiress, or some kind of argument?”

“Well, if we’re discounting the club incident in Saddle Arabia, and the terrified faces of all the Baghdad scholars, when you seemingly vaporized that collection of books and scrolls, then... I don’t know. What about Maredagascar?” Maria asked.

“But what about our fight, there?” Chrysalis asked. “When I told you all the truth about who I was?”

“But the sultan there didn’t know about that, so I’d chalk that one up as a good impression,” Asalah said. “That, and he was very friendly, so even if he had heard us, he would’ve likely been too polite to say anything about it.”

“I don’t know, his palace was pretty big, and we were arguing during the storm,” Spike said as he pulled on the shirt, taking care to fold his wings down. “So, yeah, I’d count that as a good first impression. He did wish us well when we left, after all. Though I bet that’s customary for any host to say. Care to help me with my spines?”

“Here,” Chrysalis said, walking over and tugging the shirt this way and that, until, at last, her husband’s green spines poked through the fabric. “Now don’t try any exercises in this, or you might just shred through everything.”

“Trust me, exercising in the last thing on my mind,” the dragon muttered, glancing over at the door that led to Eutropia’s room. “Asalah, could you check on Eutropia for us? She hasn’t come out yet, and dinner’s going to be ready soon.”

“Yes, I can do that,” the zebra replied, walking slowly, so as to avoid stressing her dress too early. In time, it would loosen slightly, from the natural process of the material stretching, but for now, it was a bit too tight for normal walking.

“Eutropia?” She asked as she opened the door. “Are you in here?”

“Over here,” the griffin said, standing by the window near her bed.

Closing the door behind her, Asalah walked over to the young griffin’s side. “I see you found your dress,” she said with a smile. “It looks good on you.”

“I don’t know, it felt a bit too loose in the chest when I put it on,” Eutropia muttered. “I had to tighten it up with a knot or two in the back.”

“You still look lovely,” the zebra said. “The sapphire dress really seems to contrast well with your feathers. I’m just surprised they had a dress made for visiting griffins; the wing slots mesh well with the rest of it.”

“But I don’t feel like I’m meant to wear something like this,” the griffin replied, motioning at the blue fabric. “It’s weird. I never wore something this pretty in my life. I’m completely out of my element, Asalah. I’ve never even been invited to one of the dinner parties my mom threw for guards, let alone one for nobles. What if I mess up?”

Asalah was surprised: the normally stoic, tough-as-nails griffin, who didn’t take anything from anyone... sounded genuinely scared. “There, there. Everything’s going to be all right,” she said, patting her on the back.

“How do you know?” Eutropia asked. “I mean, I’m just some simple griffin from Istanbul, whose mother is... was a guard, and whose family never really amounted to much on a social level. Why am I here, in this gorgeous dress, being treated like royalty, when I know I’m not?”

The zebra sighed. “My dear, I know how you feel,” she said. “When I was younger, and I just left the comfort of my caretaker’s guidance, the world of nobility was strange, and often scary at times, but I persevered and learned quickly, as most young ladies do. And, over time, what was once scary and strange, actually became fun, even mundane at times. Just sit by me, and if you have any questions, I’ll be sure to answer them as best I can.” Funny how she was telling her this in such a matronly fashion, when they were practically the same age.

“You’d do that for me?” The griffin asked.

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Asalah asked. “I am your friend, aren’t I?”

The griffin was silent for a few moments. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, Asalah, I’d count you as a friend. Is everyone else ready?”

“Yes, yes we are,” Asalah said as she led her friend away from the window. “Come now, relax. Dinner with royalty might seem scary, but it won’t be all that bad, trust me. Just put on your most polite smile, and you’ll get through this just fine.”

“I hope so,” Eutropia replied.

The minute they rejoined the others, Trixie said that the griffin fit into her dress very well, before there was a knock at the door. Spike, making sure to walk slowly, as to get used to his fancy suit, opened it to find a peculiar stallion waiting for them. He was old, very old indeed, and while his expression was a warm one, his posture was as formal as could be.

“Dinner awaits,” he said, his voice as creaky as an old door’s hinges. “If you’ll follow me, please, I shall escort you to the dining hall.” Lining up, Spike and company left the room, treading carefully behind the elderly stallion.

“Will anypony else be dining with us?” Spike asked.

“No, no, you shall only be dining with the Tsar and his family, this evening,” the servant replied. “Usually there are other guests, but tonight is but a private affair. Many nobles around the country seldom meet with the Tsar during dinner.”

“Why is that?”

“Meeting with the Tsar is usually a rather public affair, with many guests attending lavish feasts, where the Tsar is needing to discuss upcoming matters with key members of the courts or ruling houses, usually before legislation comes up. This is so he is most informed of what the proposal means, at least, if it’s a rather sudden one that he has little knowledge of. Meeting the Tsar in private, however, is a rarer different occurrence. It is usually only reserved for the most influential politicians or aristocracy; dinner alone, with him and his family, is simply unheard of.”

“Well, I do hope we aren’t causing a fuss,” Chrysalis said.

“Not at all, madam,” the stallion replied as they turned a corner. A set of large doors, inlaid with small carvings of what looked like an ancient battle, stood before them. A pair of large, burly guards, dressed in fine suits, like the servant’s own, quickly opened the doors for them.

“Your excellency,” the elderly stallion said, stepping ahead of the others. “May I introduce Spike Dragul, his family, and friend.”

Eutropia managed to suppress a snort at the mention of her as a “friend,” if only because the stallion either didn’t know their names, or that it was just some sort of protocol. Still, she caught Asalah’s eye, who imperceptibly winked at her.

“Welcome, my dear guests,” the Tsar said, walking forward with his arms wide open. “Please, come; sit. Dinner is ready.”

Politely bowing to the Tsar, Spike, his family, and Eutropia seated themselves at the large table in the middle of the room. To Spike, it was very reminiscent of the tables Celestia usually brought out for the Grand Galloping Gala: not very broad, but very long, and often decorated with carvings and fine embellishments, like jewels. The Tsar’s table had no jewels in it, but up and down the legs were polished specks of amber, the round stones seemingly glowing in the late afternoon light.

Spike sat directly across from the Tsar, with Trixie and Maria on his right, and Chrysalis and Asalah to his left. Eutropia, mindful of how she sat down, sat beside Asalah, who winked at her again. The Tsarina sat next to her husband, her attire now in lovely light shade of violet.

“Will it just be us, tonight?” Spike asked.

“Oh, no, where are my manners?” The Tsar said before he turned away slightly, and with a simple clap of his hands, the doors to another room opened, allowing in five of the most well-dressed foals Spike’s ever seen. Well, foals being a subjective term: to the Tsar and his wife, they were, indeed, their own foals. For Spike, it was like looking into his future as a nobleman in Canterlot.

Four fillies, most of them likely several years younger than Spike, walking with a kind of grace that he thought only older mares could carry themselves with. The fifth was a handsome little colt, likely no older than he was when he first arrived in Ponyville, giving off an aura of both authority and deference to his sisters. All five of them came in and lined up alongside their mother: from the tallest filly, right down to the small colt.

“Honored guests, these are our children,” the Tsarina said with a smile, motioning towards the youth next to her. “Our daughters, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia.”

As each of their names were mentioned, the fillies gave short, very formal curtsies.

“And the littlest one is Alexei, our son,” the Tsar said, smiling in the young colt’s direction. “The Tsesarevich.”

“Tsesarevich?” Spike repeated.

“It is a title that signifies the heir,” the Tsarina replied. “Not to be confused with “Tsarevich”, which is just a title signifying a son of the Tsar. But with little Alexei being our only son, it is only fitting to call him the heir apparent.”

“How old is he?” Chrysalis asked, seemingly enamored by the cute little colt. She could only imagine her own little foal, should it be a colt, looking a lot like him. Though she imagined he'd be a little more colored; he did seem rather pale.

“Olga is the oldest, being seventeen,” the Tsar said. “Tatiana is fifteen, Maria is thirteen, Anastasia is eleven, and little Alexei, here, is seven.” There was a hint of pride in his voice, as if the fact that his son reached seven was an accomplishment in and of itself.

“Those are lovely names,” Asalah said. “Yet, that reminds me, I don’t think we’ve ever heard yours.”

“Ah, where are my manners?” He replied. “My name is Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov, though by way of technicality, I am called Nicholas II. You, on the other hand, may simply call me Nicholas, or sir, if you prefer.”

“And I am Alexandra Feodorovna, though that is but the name bestowed upon me by our church,” his wife said. “My birth name was a bit simpler: Alix of Hesse. I was from Germareny, originally.”

“We never got the chance to visit there, when we were in Central Europe a few months ago,” Maria commented.

“Well, I would very much like to hear of your travels, thus far,” Nicholas said, and, with a wave of his hand, several doors opened to allow a multitude of stallions to stroll in, all bearing trays of rather delicious-smelling food. “Over dinner, of course,” he added.

As if his ending words were a cue, the five young royals seated themselves down the line, with little Alexei facing Eutropia near the very end. The servants around them moved with a practiced ease and grace that rivaled dancers; platters of food were soon spread out before them, with the most of it being efficiently served onto everyone’s plates as they passed.

“And I, of your country, your highness,” Spike replied as he surveyed his plate. It all looked so good, so much more than what he and his family have been eating since they left Bakhtak’s cooking. Wow, it felt so strange to think that they’ve only been gone for a little more than a week, and yet she only fed them for a few days.

“Well, what would you like to know, honored guests?” Nicholas asked, the servants dispersing as quickly as they appeared.

“Well, first things first: what of your government?” The dragon asked. “Back in Equestria, the princesses, more or less, have a say in everything. Though it’s often that their input is only needed for the more important aspects, with most of the lesser ones being left to the governing bodies and the minor nobles across the country.”

“Ah, well, in Russia, I am the head of everything, more or less,” Nicholas replied, taking a sip of wine. “I have a say in everything, be it the government or religion. Some might call me a despot, but in truth, I think of myself more as the head of an autocratic empire. Though there is a good deal of self-government in many of the more rural areas, along with an independent justice system, and while it’s still in its infancy, I have also been forming a Duma.”

“Duma?” Asalah asked.

“Basically a national assembly, along with a constitution to dictate it,” the Tsar said. “Mostly made up of nobles and the wealthy; you know, those who can afford to be away from, say, the farm, for months at a time, deliberating and discussing laws and such. I know, already, that it will be readily open to corruption, but I am confident that it will run much smoother, now that the gentry realize that revolution is not the way to make good changes.”

“Revolution?” Trixie asked.

“Yes, during my father’s time,” Nicholas replied. “Many of the elite were able to take large sections of land, and ended up treating those that lived on them as little more than livestock, even more so that they used to. My grandfather sought to end this, freeing the serfs and putting into place many new reforms. He was even drafting a new constitution by the time the revolution began... at least until his assassination. My father, upon assuming the throne, brutally put down the rebels, while rolling back many of the reforms of my grandfather... the same reforms that I have been working to reintroduce and expand upon for these past few years.”

“Oh my,” Chrysalis said, the word “assassination” bringing back some rather awful memories of her own ascension to the throne. All the death and destruction to maintain her power and control over her kingdom... it would seem she wasn’t the only one to have done such things. “Your father... was he killed as well?”

“No, not him,” the stallion said with a sigh. “He thought it best to keep me from politics until I was nearly thirty, deciding, instead, that I should spend more time in the army. Yet he overestimated his own health, and died before I was even married.”

“I’m sorry,” Spike said. “I never got to know my father, so I can only imagine what losing one would feel like. It must’ve been hard on you.”

“It was, but my dear Alexandra helped me through the worst of it,” Nicholas said, smiling at his wife and pulling her hand in for a gentle squeeze. “Her patience and gentle nature were gifts I was not ready for, nor did I deserve at the time.”

“Yet I was there, and need them, you did,” she replied with a smile of her own. “The road was long and hard, but we pulled through it, together.”

Off to the side, in spite of themselves, their daughters either rolled their eyes or made slight grimaces, except for the oldest; Olga, who made an “aww” face, and the youngest; Alexei, who simply looked a bit confused, or maybe he was just bored.

“So what happened after that?” Spike asked.

“Well, there were many that saw me as ill-suited for governing, and, to a great extent, they were right,” the Tsar said as everyone continued to eat. “I had so little experience running things, that I feared another revolution would erupt before Olga was born. So, I turned to someone my father and grandfather trusted with matters for the longest time. He was an old ice dragon by the name of Arkhangelsk, and was even around when my ancestor, Peter the Great, was in power.”

“So I take it you took him on as an advisor?” Chrysalis asked.

“Yes, and my country is all the better for it,” Nicholas replied. “I was able to not only revitalize much of the judicial aspects, but now the state assembly is finally leaving its infancy state; many more citizens are now having a say in government. A say in line with my own, that is.”

“Have you ever given thought to dispersing your power?” Eutropia asked, her voice only slightly louder than a whisper. “It seems that one pony with as much power as you would be open to... temptation. I imagine it’s a lot like what has happened before, in Istanbul.” She knew of the stories, of emperors before and after the Turks going mad with power, or causing so much trouble that revolutions and rebellions were almost common-place.

“Oh, the country has had poorer Tsars in the past, ones who did fall from grace and commit rather dreadful acts,” the Tsarina said. “Not my Nicholas, though. It’s a test of character to be in charge of such an expansive and diverse populace.”

“I see,” Asalah said, giving her griffin companion a wink of encouragement. “Well, that’s a good a reason as any to keep family in the picture. From my own experience, a stallion without a family to support him is, well... much less stable.”

“Oh, I agree,” the Tsar said. “Without my wife, and, more recently, my children, I could never have helped my country prosper as well as it has. Like Olga’s devotion to those injured in wars, which helped convince me to set up networks of hospitals in every major city, including some of the more provincial towns.”

“Sounds like something Celestia would do, if she were in your position,” Spike commented.

“That reminds me, what exactly is it like in Equestria? I heard some stories of the place from a few of our nannies, but they were never in the clearest sense.” It was not the Tsar, nor the Tsarina, who asked this, but little Anastasia. She spoke with a kind of clarity and vocabulary that Spike would never have expected of a filly her age. Only eleven years old, and already more mature than most ponies her age, back in Equestria. Then again, she was a princess, so that might’ve been just a result of the way she’s been raised.

“Well, Equestria is a beautiful country, though I’m sure most would say that about their homeland,” the dragon said with a smile. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are in charge of most things, though the nobles are often in deliberation within the more mundane aspects of governing: setting tax codes, redistributing funds for projects that need attention, adjusting tax rates on farmers, depending on the amount gained at harvest... you know, things like that.”

“Sounds a lot like here,” Olga replied.

“Well, yeah, there are some similarities, but I’m sure you could find things like that when you compare practically any two counties,” Spike said with a slight shrug. “All I know is that the government of Equestria has, more or less, evolved over the centuries, though many aspects of it, like the assembly and the minor nobles having a say in government... that’s been there for who knows how long. And in all likelihood, there’s not much more room for change in there, without completely restructuring the entire system, and it works, so where’s the rush?”

“What about when you get back?” Alexandra asked. “I do believe some of the maids overheard a few of you talking about returning home and what that would bring. Might I ask what would happen, exactly?”

“Well, for starters, I’m going to be part of the ruling elite, in Equestria, alongside the Princesses, of course. After that, I’ll be putting together a large, sort-of assembly: one that’s directly between myself, the princesses, and the more general assembly. This one will handle more of the matters of the state; the ones that often end up being overlooked or underfunded. Think of it as a way of expanding the role of government, without actually having it take on new responsibilities: more of a way to pick up the slack that’s already there.” Spike wasn’t sure how much more there was to all of what he was saying, but they asked, and he might as well fill them in on it. “Other than that, it seems that getting home will be a bigger hurdle to overcome than actually dealing with the things that are to come, once we are home.”

“Such as?”

“Well, introducing me to the family, for one,” Chrysalis said. “Everyone else he knows thinks I’m somepony else, entirely. I actually joined with Spike, when he first began his journey, under the guise of someone else, and while I came to love him dearly, and he the same, Equestria and my own realm have had... issues, in the past.”

“Your own realm?”

“My kingdom; the kingdom of the changelings,” the queen replied. “A couple years ago, I sorta... tried to invade and conquer Equestria...”

Stunned stares emanated from the Tsar and Tsarina, as well as from Olga and Maria. The other children simply seemed more than happy to just be eating.

“Yes, I was at a sort of.... low point in life, you might say,” Chrysalis continued. “Power-hungry, land-hungry, amongst other things. Most ponies won’t take it well: when they find out that I’m married to Spike, especially those closest to him.”

“I’m guessing your husband has powerful friends, other than the princesses?” Nicholas asked.

“Oh, you have no idea,” the queen said, shaking her head. “Two of them in particular will have the biggest problem with me. During my... invasion, I, more or less, held one of them captive and changed my appearance to look like her, taking her place during her own wedding. Her fiance was forcefully put under my control, and even though I was thoroughly defeated, the whole thing’s just a bad memory waiting to resurface.”

“And the other one that he knows?”

“Well... the stallion under my control was, more or less, his adopted brother, and, by way of proxy, the other pony’s sister.”

“I can see how that would be terribly awkward, should you meet with them,” Olga said. “Almost ruining her brother’s wedding? I can only imagine his sister being much less pleased than he.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Spike muttered. “She actually saw through her disguise, but nopony believed her until after she showed up with the real bride. It turns out that my wife hid her in the same place she hid the real pony she was impersonating: Princess Cadence. Then, from wherever they were, they showed up and stopped the wedding. I should know, I saw the whole thing go down. It was crazy.”

“Much crazier than our weddings,” Maria and Trixie said with knowing smiles. “Nice, simple ceremonies.”

“While Spike and I were actually wed before the king of Prance,” Chrysalis added. “And Asalah here...”

“My father, the sultan of Agrabah, wed us, or at least oversaw it,” the zebra said. “Still, while nobody would think it to be true, our weddings were actually the calmer points of Spike’s journey, so far. We’ve been through quite a few... “exciting” times, these past few months.”

“Exciting?” The Tsar repeated. “That just makes me want to hear more about it.”

“Well, as we’ll be here for another week, it’d be best I think to split it up,” Chrysalis said. “After all, there’s a lot to tell.”

“I like it,” Alexei said, his diminutive smile no less genuine than his vibrant voice. Finally, dinner conversations that weren’t likely to be boring in the slightest. “Papa, is that alright?”

“Yes, yes it is,” Nicholas said. “Please, start at the beginning, if you would be so kind.”

“All right then,” Spike said, taking a pause from eating his dinner. “It all started several months ago, all the way back in Canterlot...”

After dinner, Spike and his family, as well as Eutropia, returned to their rooms, changing into clothes more suited for casual sightseeing. At least, that’s what the Tsar insisted they do; seeing that he had no other guests due to arrive, during their stay, Nicholas simply told them to “dress as you see fit.” Alexandra added “modestly” to that, seeing that little Alexei was known to wander the halls, even with his chaperones watching his every move.

So it was with little surprise that the Tsar showed up at their door, an hour after dinner, with the Tsarina in tow. Each were dressed in glamorous nightwear, the Tsar cutting an impressive figure in his fine suit, while his wife, on the other hand, wore a dress that was as simple as it was practical: flowing, yet not loose or frilly.

“We would be honored if you would accompany us for a special tour,” Nicholas said.

“Where to?” Asalah asked.

“To the gardens,” Alexandra said. “They close the gates to visitors in a short while, and although you will be here for a week, it would be best for you to see them now, before the cold really begins to set in, and some of the less-hardy plants are brought to less accessible areas.”

“If it’s okay with you, I’m fine just staying here, for now,” Eutropia said.

“Me too, my hooves are killing me,” Trixie muttered, lying down on the large bed.

“What about you three?” Spike asked.

“Well, I haven’t seen a real garden in a long time... since we left my home, actually,” Maria said. “It’d be a nice change of scenery, if only for a while.” Asalah and Chrysalis nodded, their simple evening gowns being more than appropriate for such a short walk.

With a nod, the Tsar led his four guests out, into the hall, where, after a while, they came to a stop at a large pair of doors, a guard standing at each side. “These lead outside, but as winter approaches, they are often sealed, so as to prevent the cold from getting in,” Alexandra said. “Bitter and biting, it is, what with the wind always trying to blow snow in, through every crack and crevice.”

The pair of guards nodded and opened the door, a faint rush of cool flew past them as they went, quickly making their way past several trees, whose golden and scarlet leaves were already littering the ground. Shrubs, here and there, were still tenuously clung to their own foliage, but soon, they too would drop what little leaves they held. Soon enough, they reached a large building, much of it, apparently, set into the ground, but made almost entirely of large sheets of glass. The faint shimmer around it signified that it was radiating heat, but also something else, as well.

“Is this protected by magic?” Maria asked. The gardens of her own home were left to the devices of wind, rain, and cold, but she’s heard stories of the kings of Mali keeping certain plants in greenhouses that repelled heat. Could it be that there were spells that did the opposite?

“Yes, by some of the finest heat-retention spells there are,” the Tsar said, opening the door. “It’s not very practical to keep such spells on, say, the palace: seeing that they need to be maintained all the time. On the gardens, however, the cost is greatly outweighed by the benefits. See for yourself.”

All around the interior of the building, all kinds of plants grew from various pots, trays, and even in water-filled tubs sitting on the floor. Greenery stretched into every corner, or so it seemed; a sight so greatly at odds with the increasingly-bleak landscape, just outside the building. From the tall reeds to the flattened lily pads; from the small trees, adorned with tropical fruits, to the vines climbing over anything in their way, the whole building gave off a scent as fresh and earthy as a summer forest.

Yet it was not just the greenery that drew Spike’s attention, but the smells that were wafting off the flowers. Everywhere, flowers bloomed; countless shapes and sizes, all with aromas too varied to pinpoint by sight. From the small pink ones, no larger than one of his scales, all the way up to the great red ones that towered a yard above most of the other plants; it was almost like something out of a fairy tale: the kind of garden one would find in the presence of a pantheon of gods. In the background, a soft hum seemed to sound forth from every stone, as if the building, itself, was softly singing.

“Mr. Monkshood, are you in here?” The Tsarina called out as they made their way further in, which now seemed much larger than they first thought. Countless rows of flowers, fruit trees, and vegetables seemed to form endless aisles in every which way, often twisting or turning around corners, like the path of a frenzied snake.

“Back here, your highness,” a voice called, past several suspended rows of what Spike guessed were orchids. Carefully making their way past so many colorful plants, a few of which were prickly like cacti but looking rather swollen in nature, Spike and his family arrived just as a pony strode into view.

He was dressed in rather odd attire for someone who lived on the grounds of such a magnificent palace, though this was likely because he worked in the greenhouse and nowhere else. The unicorn’s horn supported a simple cap atop his short, mud-brown, and seemingly unruly mane, that was only just peeking from underneath it, while his clothes were smudged with different soils, ranging from reddish and grey to brown and black. With an average build with a slightly shorter height, he moved slowly, wiping his hands with a rag hanging from one of his many coat pockets, exposing more of his light green pelt, which seemed very at home with the greenery surrounding him. He seemed so at home with how he moved amongst the plants that it would not have been crazy to think of him as part plant.

“To what do I own the pleasure for this visit, your highness?” The unicorn asked, his strangely purple eyes seemingly looking right through Spike and his family.

“Mr. Monkshood, several guests have arrived, and we invited them to tour the gardens,” Nicholas said, his tone even but his voice just a tad louder than normal. “If you would be so kind as to give us an impromptu tour, we would be most appreciative.”

“Anything for you, your majesty,” the unicorn replied, slowly turning around as a soft glow shone from his horn. “As you can undoubtedly see, many of the flowers around us are not from this part of Russia, or, indeed, any part of our empire. Nay, many are from the more tropical parts of the world, kept in good health by the heating spells that are sheltering this building from our frigid winter. Of course, tending to them as frequently as I do, certainly helps matters.”

“What exactly do you do in here, Mr. Monkshood?” Chrysalis asked as she eyed a particularly blue flower hanging from a basket. It reminded her of the sky on a cool spring day; cloudless, and of a deep blue in the center, with the periphery slightly faded as the horizon grew closer. The center mass of the flower hard a stark yellow stalk, like a drop of sunlight cast into a mold and placed in the flower itself.

“Please, call me Campanula, most honored guests,” the unicorn replied without looking at them, his focus elsewhere. “Other than tending to the plants, many from places I can’t even pronounce correctly, I craft and care for a select variety of native plants, either as fresh food for the Tsar’s kitchens, or for reasons known only to him.”

"They can know as well," Nicholas said.

"But, your majesty, these are secret-,"

“You may show them, Campanula,” the Tsar said, gentle but firm in his tone. “They are my guests, but not for long, and I would wish for them to witness what wonders you have made.”

The stallion was silent for a few moments. “Very well, your majesty,” he replied. As they rounded a bend, he paused at what appeared to be a large section of barbed vines, their sharp ends seemingly glinting in the low light of this wall. Running his hands gently over the sharp points with practiced ease, and softly murmuring under his breath, the unicorn stepped forward right into the pointed mass of wood...

... only for it to retreat the moment his face drew near it. Spike and his two wives could only watch in awe as the vines retreated of their own accord, revealing a small wooden door. Opening it, the unicorn motioned for them to follow, and once inside this secret room, they were stunned by what they saw.

All around them were flowers, just as there were before, but only now did they realize where the thrumming noise had been coming from: the flowers around them, of all shapes and sizes, of colors and fragrances, in a vast multitude, rivalling the finest palace gardens of the world... they were the source of the humming. Each and every flower swayed in tune with the others, like one great orchestral symphony. Each petal furled and unfurled in time with the notes they let loose, living instruments in every aspect.

Off in the center of this room sat a set of chairs, including one large lounging couch, made of the sturdiest mahogany wood and fitted with finely-sewn cushions of purest wool. It looked less like a garden and more like something out of a dream.

“These are my most prized possessions, all in thanks to the Tsarina,” Campanula said softly. “I... I taught them to sing, taught them to harmonize in ways plants should not be able to.”

“I found him alone in the gardens, one day, many years ago,” Alexandra said. “He was no more than five years old, yet had somehow wandered past the guards and found refuge amongst some of the more destitute plants. The previous gardener had been afflicted with sickness, and was not able to care for them as best he could, so imagine my surprise when I arrived with a guard, only to find him singing to these formerly dead plants, and they replied as they regained their color and size. I knew such a gift could not be wasted, so brought him into our household as one of the servants under our employment.”

“After his skills became more refined, it came to my attention that he could induce eloquent music from his plants,” Nicholas added. “That is why you see these chairs, here. This is a private room, where my family and I can retreat to, when the stresses of ruling have been particularly hard on us. I could not have asked for a more diligent, or patient pony to help with our stress.”

“You have treated me with the greatest kindness one could ask for, your highnesses,” the unicorn replied, turning to them with his purple eyes. “You gave me a home when I had none, and have treated me as a friend for most of my life. I cannot see the beauty before me, but the gratefulness in your voices more than makes up for it.”

“You cannot see?” Maria asked. “What do you mean? These flowers, all around you... they are so beautiful.”

“So I have been told,” the unicorn said with a small, sad smile. “Tell me, what color are my eyes?”

“A strange shade of purple, but that is...” Asalah trailed off, realization crossing over her features.

“Yes,” Campanula said simply. “I am blind, from before I came to this place. Completely, I might add, ever since eating something I should not have when I was very young. My magic is my sight now, as without it, I would not be able to care of my plants as I do. Without it, my plants would not sing.”

“Yet, without your sight, you have managed to make something so grand and beautiful, as to be such a closely guarded secret; an accomplishment worthy of note in the history books. Thank you for sharing this with our guests, Campanula,” the Tsar said. “We will see ourselves out, but we would be honored if you would show us to the cellar. There are a few things I would like to personally retrieve, before the night is upon us.”

“Ah, of course,” the unicorn said, waiting patiently for the others to file out ahead of him. The flowers continuing their soft singing, he closed the door gently behind him, and with a slow flourish of his hand, heard the rustle of the sharp vines come down, obscuring the door from sight.

“That reminds me, Mr. Monkshood, have we had any shipments, today?” Alexandra asked.

“Not that I know of, but they usually do occur at around this time,” the blind unicorn said with a shrug as the lot of them worked their way past tall, spiraling reeds.

Spike was amazed at how the royal gardener moved. Campanula was entirely blind, yet not only was he able to use his magic to care for his flowers and make them sing, but he was able to easily get around the rather confined spaces of the greenhouse. Either his magic gave him some sort of directional sight, or he had memorized every pathway, there. Was it, perhaps, a bit of both?

Coming upon a large door, heavily reinforced, by the looks of it, the Tsar produced a key from his coat pocket. “Very few have access to this room, or, at least, few have access to it from this building,” Nicholas said as he opened it. “Those that do are sworn to secrecy, and, more often than not, have a stake in being allowed into such a place: a dependence that assures both discretion and commitment.”

The door swung open with loud groans, as if protesting the movement, and inside, they saw crates upon crates that stood stacked along shelves that lead further down into the ground than Spike would’ve thought. All of these crates held bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors: bottles filled with vodka, beer, and other fine spirits, to which Spike made special care to stay as far away from the wine racks as he could.

“This personal store dates back to before my grandfather’s time, so there are some quality vintages in here,” the Tsar said, retrieving and dusting off a wine bottle. “Tonight’s supper was rather filling, but would any of you care to join me in my study, tomorrow night? It’s not every day that such distinguished guests visit, so breaking open a good bottle is all but essential, I should think.”

“Well, if it’s wine, I’m afraid I must decline,” Spike said, very aware of the fact that he had just rhymed. “I’ve unfortunately learned that alcohol distilled from fruits don’t mix well with dragons; other alcohols are fine, but wine... not a good idea.”

“I see,” Nicholas said. “Do you have a preference for anything else, then?”

“Hmm, I’ve always wished to try whiskey,” the dragon admitted. “Seeing that most of the the ones made where I’m from are derived from apples, I haven’t been able to try it. That, and the fact that my guardian never let me drink, nor did Luna, when I was her apprentice.”

“Ah, well then it is a good thing the whiskey here is made from grains, something we have plenty of,” the Tsar said as another door opened. Pausing, they watched as a figure came in and set down two rather sizable crates of vodka, each carried under their arm with apparent ease.

Straightening up, the figure looked at them as if they were startled, but then broke into a smile. “Ah, your excellencies! I did not expect to find you here at this hour,” she said, her delighted tone rather baritone for a female. Then again, she was nearly a foot taller than Spike, and her height was matched by her size: nearly all muscle, so much so that it almost scared him.

“Ah, Miss Talon, another delivery, right on schedule!” Alexandra said with a smile. “I take it Vladimir could not make them this time?”

“No, no, he’s been sick, as of late, and, frankly, it’s about time he started letting me do this. He nearly threw out his back last time, and we all know you can’t run a tavern and make deliveries in pain. Maybe just run a tavern for now, but eventually, he'll be too old or sick to do so.” The large griffin paused, looking over Spike and his wives. “Guests?”

“Yes, Talon, we were just showing them around for the evening,” the Tsar said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we should be getting back. Alexei will be in bed soon, and I promised to read to him of his ancestor, Peter the Great.”

“And I must help tuck the others in, as well,” Alexandra said. “Anastasia’s been having nightmares again, so I must sit by her bedside until she falls asleep.”

“It was nice to meet you, Miss Talon,” Asalah said as the Tsar and his wife left the cellar.

“It is not every day that I meet foreigners, especially such polite ones” the large griffin said with a shrug, turning to her companion as Spike and his family filed out after their hosts. “Campanula, how are your flowers?”

“Singing as beautifully as ever, Talon,” the unicorn replied. “Why do you ask?” Talon was one of the few outside of the Tsar's inner circles who knew of his flowers, all because the Tsar had invited her inside to relax one day, after she got news that her grandmother had passed away. Talon was a country girl through and through, trying to "make it big in the big city", and while she was big and tough, she didn't always act it, hence their first meeting. Since then, they had developed a casual friendship, as their lives were often a bit too busy for anything else.

“Oh, no reason; just curious, I guess,” she said with a soft smile. “I’ll be seeing you later, I guess.”

“I guess,” Campanula said, knowing that she fully knew he couldn't say the same thing. It was a little inside joke of theirs, something that made him feel less unhappy of his lost eyesight. “Good night, Talon.”

“Good night, Campy.”

The unicorn sighed as he heard her leave. “Talon, I've told you several times already, I would prefer for you to not call me that name,” he muttered under his breath. "Professionalism is not one of her strong suits, I guess."

Author's Note

Well, things are looking good so far. I'd just like to thank Campanula Monkshood and Sleepless Scribe for their OCs, "Campy" and Talon, and I hope I will do them justice.

Fists of Fury

Chapter Fifty Eight

Fists of Fury

That next morning was the most comfortable one Spike had woken to in a long while. No worries about setting out as soon as possible, no worries about being imprisoned, no danger on the horizon; just a warm, soft bed, with his warm, soft wives all around him. Closing his eyes, he just laid back, enjoying the feeling for the first time in what felt like forever. The last time he felt like this was Saddle Arabia, which felt like a lifetime ago.

“Better not get used to it,” he muttered, content with simply feeling the slow, steady heartbeats of his family next to him. “Probably won’t be like this, again, until we’re home, in Equestria.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Spike simply began to think about the future in ways that didn’t involve just getting to Equestria in one piece, or where they’d be staying in the upcoming winter nights, or how they might pay for food. He wasn’t even thinking about how they would introduce Chrysalis to the rest of his friends and family, which was probably going to be a monumental task in and of itself. No, now, he simply thought to the future: years from now, when he’d be living in Canterlot Castle, surrounded by friends and family as he took his place in helping run the country.

“Daddy, will you help me fly?” He could imagine Maria’s little foal saying before bedtime, her pelt the same color as her mother’s. Well, what pelt she had, what with her cute scaly underbelly.

“Of course,” he’d say, lifting her up over his head, much to her pleasant little giggles. She didn’t have wings, or maybe she would, but just holding her up and kissing her on the forehead was enough to make her feel like she could soar.

“Daddy, will you read me this book tonight?” A voice would say, causing him to turn and find Chrysalis’ little colt by his knee, tugging at his shirt with one hand as the other clutched a well-worn storybook.

“The one with the handsome dragon prince, who rescues the northern empire from the dark lord Sombra? I thought I read that to you last week!” He’d say with a laugh, still happily putting his colt to bed as he began to read it once more, skipping out on some of the more boring details.

Chuckling to himself at the thought of Trixie and Asalah entering the room, muttering something about a maid needing help changing a diaper or two, Spike simply laid back in his bed in the here and now. He was just so happy that things were finally starting to look up, for the first time in what felt like months, that spending the time with his family was not only better than just shouting it to the world, but much less likely to attract the kind of attention he didn’t want. No, he was fine where he was, and until the four snuggling mares woke up, he was content where he laid.

In the other room, Eutropia had long been awake. Accustomed to rising with the sun, as her mother had conditioned her to, the young griffin had already finished her fifth rep of sit-ups. Rising to her feet, she patted herself with one of the towels she acquired from the nearby bathroom. “Need to remember to keep doing that,” she muttered as she dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups. The fact that she’s been skipping out on that, among her other exercises, during her time with Spike and his family had only served to remind her of her commitment to herself and her body. Her mother stressed that physical fitness was almost as good as spiritual fitness, and while Eutropia did not pray like her mother did, she did feel that it was impossible not to do so at points in her life, be it for good luck, for good health, or for the strength she felt she didn’t have at the time.

After leaving her mother behind, she began to pray more than ever before, praying for her mother’s safety and good health. Of course, being from a different branch of Maria’s own religion, the young griffin did this in secret, so that no one would know, for fear of embarrassment or misunderstanding. They probably thought she wasn’t part of a religion at all, given her tight-lipped nature. Even Asalah knew nothing of that, and she was probably just as quiet about praying as the others were, as she was from another part of the world entirely: where the culture and religion were as different and as alike as could be from her own.

She rather liked that about them; all of them, really. Even Spike. They were not blatant about what they did or didn’t believe in, spiritually, anyway, and that was something she could easily get behind. No need to flaunt or be flashy about it; just keep it to yourself, and let others in, but only if they showed interest. If not, then just stay the course, away from them and those who might not understand.

Rolling onto her side, after losing track of how many push-ups she’s done after a hundred, she began to slowly do leg lifts. “He’s in pretty good shape for all he’s been through. But, then again, Spike did say that he was an apprentice before now, and she must’ve run him through quite the wringer,” the griffin muttered. “Still has a long way to go, though. And if it were up to me, he’d be running the rest of this journey. But no, with winter on the way, we can’t have him falling behind in a snow bank or something. No, strength and endurance training would be best, but so will his flexibility; gonna have to routinely bend him until he almost breaks, I’ll bet.”

Rolling onto her other side, she continued. “But first thing’s first, he’s going to have to learn how to properly throw a punch without his dragon blood. Instincts are good and all, but they’re often very messy, and not very effective against skilled opponents. Plus, I’m betting he could learn a good bit of self-control from all this.”

In her heart she knew that training him to keep his emotions in check, at least during times of crisis, would not be easy. Spike, being a dragon, was tied to his emotions, more so than any other creatures on the planet. That meant that any emotion, if fully and unintentionally tapped into, could unleash parts of him that should be better left in check, the most forefront being rage and greed. Yet, other emotions, seemingly innocuous, could also rise up and take ahold of him.

There were stories from before Istanbul became Constantinople, before it was changed from Byzantium, before it was anything more than just a single city in the vast expanse of the Roaman Empire, when dragons ruled much of the island territories as city states, their power only matched by their emotions. Countless wars were fought in those days, between those mighty beasts and those they lorded over, and even though their fighting was far removed from the more prosperous lands of the Roamans legions, it drew their attentions.

Rage, greed, fear, and sadness; all these and more claimed the lives of so many dragons in the Grecian Isles, all those thousands of years before. Some dragons, upon losing loved ones or friends, fell into rages so deep that they tore islands apart until they were slain. Those afflicted with the scourge of greed gathered vast hordes of wealth at the expense of all in their sight, with wars being fought over their treasures upon death. Dragons who became ruled by fear sought to vanquish those that might hurt them, turning on friends and neighbors with wanton abandon until they were killed. The dragons afflicted with sadness fell into despair so deep that they drowned themselves in their own tears, raising the tides enough to flood countrysides, bring sickness and famine with it.

So many lives lost over the countless years, from dragons who could not control their emotions. In the grand scheme of things, they've likely been only a handful of the vast number of dragons to have existed, but they helped to shape the history of that part of the world more thoroughly than even Eutropia believed she knew. So, understandably, she did feel some trepidation about trying to teach the dragon to use self-control. Yet, she knew she was up to the task, because Spike was tied to his family, and just being in their presence would do wonders for his control.

Or at least she hoped.

Right now, the biggest problem was getting him out of bed early enough to start, but seeing that she’s been up for a while, it was likely that the dragon was awake as well. “Better now than never,” she muttered, getting up, patting herself down with the towel, and throwing on some of the clothes the Tsar’s maids delivered last night, ones that she specifically asked to be as plain as possible, she walked out of her room and into Spike’s.

“Spike, I think it’s time we get started on your training,” the griffin said, crossing her arms at the sight of the dragon in bed. His eyes were open, and he turned to face her when she opened the door, but he seemed off in his own little world. “Up and at ’em,” she added.

“Okay, but my family’s asleep,” the dragon whispered after snapping out of his apparent trance, silently motioning to the four forms cuddling against him. “Think we could wait, at least until they wake up?”

“Some of us already are,” a voice said, and, looking down, Spike and Eutropia noticed one of Chrysalis' eyes were half open.

“How long?” Spike asked.

“For a short while, but it was so comfy that I didn’t feel like moving,” the changeling cooed. “Your body’s just so warm...”

“Mmm,” three other voices agreed, their murmurs accompanied by their owners opening their own eyes. “Morning, Spike.”

“Morning, ladies,” he said.

Eutropia rolled her eyes. “If we’re going to get any training done, we need to start early. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be borrowing your husband for a bit: testing him out on the easy stuff before the real training begins.”

“Easy?” Trixie mumbled, pressing herself against Spike in a half-hearted attempt to sit up. “Spike’s been through trouble before, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle... except for Istanbul, of course.”

“I know, but from what you’ve all told me, that was from him using his heritage to “augment” what little training he has,” the griffin replied as the others slowly rose. “You told me Princess Luna took him under her wing and put him through a rigorous training regime, but it seems to me that she left combat out.”

“Well, that’s because she wanted me to be a scholar, not a warrior,” Spike replied. “Though, yeah, I can definitely remember where some lessons in fighting would have come in handy.”

“Then get up, I’d rather not have to use up more of my time than necessary,” Eutropia said. “Besides, I’m sure the Tsar has stuff planned for you today, and I’m not going to be the one telling him that his guest can’t make it because he decided to put off his training until suppertime.”

“I wouldn’t do that...” Spike trailed off as his family grumbled and crawled out of bed. “At least not intentionally.”

“Where is this training going to be?” Asalah asked, rubbing her eyes as she yawned.

“When one of the maids came by to change my bedpans, I asked her if there were any big, open places we could use, and she told me that the ballroom’s usually empty during the day, so, I figure, why not there?” Eutropia said, averting her eyes as Spike climbed out of bed.

“Did she tell you how to get there?” Spike asked, dressing as quickly as he could.

Later...

“See? Told you I’d find it,” the griffin said with a grin as she and Spike entered the ballroom. Gilded, golden arches seemed to grace every contour of the room, from floor to the ceiling, upon which many frescos were painted of either religious figures or defining moments in Russian history. Amber-clad doorways, marble busts of likely famous or previous Tsars and Tsarinas, and even more red velvet curtains. The floor looked smooth enough to skate on, the polished stone glinting readily in the early morning rays of the sun.

“Yeah, but it took more than half an hour,” Spike said, his family following behind them. A maid told them on the way there that the Tsar was out on some sudden business, so breakfast won’t be served until after they return.

“Not my fault this place is so huge,” Eutropia said with a shrug.

“You could’ve just asked for directions,” he added. “We passed no less than six maids, not including the one who told us about breakfast. Why didn’t you ask any of them?”

“Why didn’t you?” The griffin countered.

“Oh, well, I assumed... I mean... I meant...” the dragon trailed off, his speech failing him. Why hadn’t he asked them? Did he just not want to bother them or something?

“That’s what I thought,” Eutropia said, moving out into the middle of the floor. “Come now, let’s begin. I’d prefer to eat breakfast after working up a good hunger, so build me up an appetite, if you please.”

“That’s an odd way to look at it,” Spike said as his family went and sat on a few velvet-lined benches near the far wall, likely meant for guests who grew too tired of dancing at a ball.

“Do you see any significant fat deposits on me?” The griffin countered. “I work to keep myself in shape, and sometimes I like to overindulge on food. So I’d like to have a reason to do so this morning.” She gestured towards him, her feet apart as she moved into a ready stance. “Come now, give me your best shot.”

“Alright,” Spike said with a shrug. He rushed her and threw a punch, straight for one of her shoulders.

Before he knew it, he was flat on his back, wheezing as a small indent in the shape of Eutropia’s foot disappeared from his chest scales.

“Missed,” she replied, still in her stance, somehow, and not a feather out of place. “Come, try again.”

Spike rose back to his feet and threw another punch, this one for her head. He watched in shock as time seemed to slow down, and with nary any effort, the griffin cocked her head to the side, easily avoiding the blow. Slowly, yet still far too quickly for his liking, Spike watched as her arm moved up underneath his, lifting it up and away from her. Her other fist came around and slammed into his other shoulder, knocking him off balance and sending him spinning away from her.

“Did I miss something?” Chrysalis asked, unfortunate enough to have blinked during the ‘altercation.’ “Why is Spike facing away from her now, and several feet away?”

“Try not to close your eyes all that often, or you’ll miss the action,” the blue unicorn replied, fascinated with how quickly the griffin could move. “Eutropia really knows her stuff. I’m just hoping she won’t be too hard on him; this is his first time fighting without just unleashing his inner beast.”

“Come on, try again, Spike,” Eutropia said, watching him turn around with a look of disinterest on her face. “Those stories weren’t just stories, were they?”

Spike swept at her with his tail, which she easily jumped over. One of his feet came up in a kick, aimed for her waist, but she not only handily caught it in both hands, she merely had to give it a slight shove for him to lose balance, making him fall right on his scaly butt.

“I told you this wouldn’t be easy,” she continued, watching as he rose to his feet once more. “I’ll give you a couple more tries, then it will be my turn, okay? Come at me with all you got.”

“Okay, I guess,” Spike replied, perplexed by her behavior. She was making him look like a fool with ease, and even though he was definitely holding back, he wondered if he even needed to. Yet, even as he thought this, the memory of what he did to those bandits in the desert flashed across his retinas...

Yes, best to hold back from that, just to be safe. Making a sweeping motion, Spike rushed the griffin and aimed for a downward blow with one open palm, while the other, balled into a fist, rushed directly towards the griffin’s ribcage...

...only to find that the griffin wasn’t there. Spike did, however, feel her body collide with his: her form having snaked its way through his two-pronged assault and directly next to him. Now, in a fight, Spike remembered Luna telling him, if you find yourself against a stronger but slower opponent, keep your foe as close as you can and you’re much more likely to win than if you keep them distant, especially if they have more reach. Close up, it is harder for them to use their full strength against you, especially if you’re the faster of the two.

Turns out, in this situation, he was the one with the larger and slower reach, and before he could react, he felt one of her elbows slam itself into his gut, and one of his legs getting kicked out from under him. In mid fall, his arms flailing wildly, he saw and felt her foot spin around and connect with his thigh, sending him spinning in mid-air, onto the ground.

Landing with a thud on his back, his wings flattened beneath him like a robe, Spike looked up to see the griffin standing over him, hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side, as if in amusement. The small smile on her beak confirmed that idea.

“Oh, I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?” She asked, her tone just a few sarcastic vowels away from full-blown mockery. She really knew how to tread the line, didn’t she? “Up and at ‘em, Spike, I’m starting to feel a bit peckish, but we’ve still got a ways to go.”

“Don’t get your feathers in a huff, I’m trying my best,” Spike said, not sure why he said that as he rose to his feet. Making a crack like that was likely not a good way to earn brownie points with her, even though he barely managed to restrain himself from making some comment linking her “peckish” nature with her beak. It sounded better in his head, but probably wouldn’t be the same on the outside, where she could-

His line of thought was interrupted as she swept her arms outwards, driving him away from his torso, and in a barrage of moves he almost couldn’t keep track of, she struck him across the stomach and chest with open palms, each hammering blow knocking him off balance bit by bit. Then, in another flurry, both palms were shoved into his shoulders, causing him to stumble backwards and fall right onto his scaly butt once again.

Dazed and confused, he shook his head like a dog with water in its ears before looking up to see Eutropia’s smirk continue to grow, her arms crossed across her chest in a victorious pose.

Spike huffed and puffed as he rolled over, clambering back up to his feet. ‘Okay, I’ll try and block now,’ he thought, putting himself in a defensive stance. Sure, she could guess his attacks, as he wasn’t as well trained like her, but surely he could at least predict a few of hers... right? After all, he built a lot of what he knew on being unpredictable: from his reaction to Chrysalis’ identity to his methods in helping Mehmed find love. Speaking of which, he’d have to remember to write back to the young prince, and see how he was doing; he liked the guy.

“Operative word is ‘try’ there,” the griffin said, readying her stance once more, as her words brought him out of his thoughts. “Not going to go too easy on you, just so you know.”

“I thought you were going easy on me,” the dragon muttered. “It’s not like haven’t been trying to-,”

Her open palm seemingly phased through his arms and slammed into his chest with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs and send him skidding backwards. Thankfully, this time, he shot his tail out behind him, the large spade-shaped end acting as a support to prevent him from falling straight down. Still, maybe it was better he had, as she moved towards him without breaking her stride, her face determined and focused solely on him.

The next blow was both of her hands slamming into his head, the force just light enough not to hurt too badly, but still more than enough to make it feel like his head was a rattling maraca. Dazed, he could barely register the next pair of blows, both knocking his arms to the side, followed by a pair of strikes right into the stomach and ribs. It was likely enough to bruise, but clearly not enough to break anything important; so, thankfully, she was still holding back, but it still hurt.

Wheezing, blinking as colors swirled in his vision, and feeling like his body was being put through several wringers, Spike briefly noticed a movement in his vision as the griffin’s next move involved a pair of spinning kicks to his legs, the blows short but with enough force to nearly make his knees buckle. Then, with a confident smirk on her face, the griffin merely placed a finger on his forehead and dragged it downward to his nose, the friction pulling his gaze down as well.

“Training is over, time for breakfast,” she said simply, slightly out of breath but none the worse for wear. With that, she simply pressed down slightly harder onto his nose.

Spike immediately felt as if he’d been under the hooves of an entire herd of stampeding bison, or maybe in a wrestling match with five brass knuckle-wielding manticores. So, groaning, he tumbled forward, slouching onto the ground in a quivering mass, his tail and wings sticking straight up into the air. He knew that, as sore and uncomfortable as he felt right now, he was going to be so sore the next morning that he’d likely be lucky to even get out of bed of his own free will. His own body would probably just say, “screw that, stay right here”, even if there was something he needed to do.

“He’s all yours, ladies,” Eutropia said, walking away. Spike didn’t even have the energy to look up as four sets of hoofsteps walked over to his side.

“Are you okay, Spike?” Maria asked. She didn’t sound all that worried, but then again, maybe she was, but it was being suppressed by an occasional snicker. He looked rather silly laying there, even though she was more concerned with checking his pulse than berating him for his performance.

“How’d I do?” The dragon mumbled against the floor, the shiny surface cool to his face. “Is Eutropia okay?”

“You didn’t even lay a finger on her,” Asalah said with a hint of awe in her voice. “I’ve only ever seen somepony move that fast when you slew those bandits back in the desert. You blink and you’d miss it.”

“But that was a wild, nearly uncontrollable rage,” Chrysalis said as she gently rolled him over and began to help him up with her magic. “This was something else entirely. She took you apart, seemingly without effort. Were you even trying to hit her?”

“Well, yes, but not all the way, you know?” He muttered as he felt Trixie’s magic join Chrysalis’ in supporting him. “Didn’t want to try and really lay into her, what with me usually just using my heritage to full effect.”

“Well, even if you had, you’d have probably been beaten just as handily, or at least, we’d have had to intervene,” the blue unicorn said, pressing her soothing fingers into the portions of his body that felt somewhat liquefied. “I’m not feeling like anything’s broken; just probably bruised here or there at the worst. Does anything really hurt where I press?”

“No, nothing’s broken, or else I think you’d know. Anyways, I hope none of it swells up too much, or else the Tsar might start wondering what kind of guests he really has,” the dragon muttered with a chuckle, which quickly turned into a half-choking groan. “Oh, wow, I feel so bad right now.”

“Bad as in “I’m in pain,” or “man, I wasn’t expecting that”?” Chrysalis asked.

“More the second than anything, with a bit of “what was I thinking” and “better not ever make that griffin mad” thrown in for good measure,” the dragon replied, just as another form entered his vision. It was the maid from before, the one he could’ve asked for directions from, but hadn’t.

“Breakfast is served, sir,” she said with a quick bow. “I trust you all know how to reach the dining hall?”

“Is it the same room as where last night’s supper was?” Maria asked.

“Yes,” the maid replied. “I must be going, so I leave you to your own devices.” With that, she scurried off just as Eutropia walked up, her slightly erratic breathing having returned to normal, though the smirk remained plastered on her beak. Spike felt the slight urge to try and punch it off her face, but feared that it might just result in her kicking him into the air and body slamming him into the ground, or a wall, or out a window or something, so he squashed the idea just as quickly as he thought of it.

“Ready to go?” She asked. “Or do you want to spar a little more?”

“No more, no more!” Spike nearly shouted in a sudden panicky feeling before he coughed and quickly regained his composure. “Um, no, no thank you, Eutropia. Let’s go to breakfast, I’m sure some food would do me some good right about now. That, or sitting down at a table and not moving at all for a bit; I wonder if they have any gems?”

Chrysalis shrugged as Asalah looped one of the dragon’s arms over her shoulder to help carry him. “Maybe, maybe not; it all depends on who’s running those kitchens.”

“I guess I’ll just have to ask,” Spike said as they left the ballroom behind. He was pretty sure there were bits of scales left in there somewhere from all those strike, but then again, that was probably just his imagination. It wasn’t like Eutropia was striking him hard enough to do any real damage... right?

Well, regardless of how handily she beat him, or how sore he was already feeling, Spike did feel like he’d already made some progress. If he could learn to take a beating, then he could learn to dish it out, probably tenfold. Sure, it stood to reason that it’d take longer for him to learn how to return the favor, but hey, they had time to spare; a good week in fact, and besides, she could help train him as they made their way to China.

Still, something occurred to him long ago, in Baghdad, but only just recently did he rediscover the train of thought. He’d have to pass through the realm of Persia, and, from there, move through the lands of the Marengols. Now, call him crazy, but he was sincerely hoping that he wouldn’t have to come across any armies while he was passing through, seeing as he’d been told that the empire was at war with countless rivals and smaller principalities. But his foremost concern was just getting to China, and then from there to Japan, where his family could rest and relax for the majority of the winter, while he continued on his way to India and back. The biggest thing was getting through the Marengolian realm without being imprisoned for some reason, or worse, forcefully invited to the court of the Khan.

In lieu with that last part, the absolutely last thing he needed while passing through there, was for an ultra-militaristic, highly-trained, and very mobile warrior nation to be hot on his heels, should the Khan’s daughter fall in love with him, or something, and he rejects her. He wasn’t even sure if such a scenario would happen, but given what already happened in his life so far, Spike wouldn’t put it past his fate to try and pull a stunt like that on him more than once. He’d gotten extremely lucky with Asalah, in more ways than one, but with that kind of scenario... it wasn’t likely to end well for anyone, himself included.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, and the aching feeling in his body that seemed to seep into his very bones, that Spike only now realized that he and the others had entered the dining hall, and across from his chair sat the Tsarina, her children nowhere to be seen. As if reading his surprised and inquiring expression, she simply smiled back at him.

“They have already eaten and are with their tutors for their morning lessons, though for tomorrow’s breakfast, they will likely be joining us,” she said. “Please, sit; make yourselves comfortable.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Asalah said as she gently lowered Spike into his chair, taking the seat next to him. “I must say, it all smells delicious.”

“Well, then you’ll have to thank the chef, sometime. She’s almost always spot-on with her dishes,” Alexandra said. “I say “almost” because you can’t please every guest all the time, but I have never had a dish of hers that I didn’t like, which is likely why she’s been on the staff for so long. It is usually customary to replace many of the staff whenever a new Tsar comes to power, but she was hand-picked by Nicholas’s grandfather, and rehired by his own father, so it stood to reason that she would be picked again when my husband came to power. At least, that’s how he put it: maybe it’s simply the fact that he’s known her for all of his life.”

“She sounds like quite the pony,” Chrysalis said as they ate.

“Oh, but she’s not a pony,” the Tsarina said with a smile. “She is, what I believe you call, a Diamond Dog?”

“She is?” Spike asked. “I wouldn’t have thought they’d live above ground.”

“Oh, most do, at least in realms where the soils make for poor subterranean dwellings,” she replied. “Come to think of it, she told me their history is more or less complicated with many disputes with surface dwellers, with dogs like her being more apt to mingle with the likes of us. I have heard from some that dogs dwelling underground are often distrusting of strangers and view many outsiders with suspicion. After all, I’ve always just assumed that those who live above ground are just easier to get along with, what with being in contact with non-dogs much more often.”

“Having met some underground ones many years ago, I’d like to think that’s a reasonable assumption,” Spike said, the memory bubbling to the surface of his mind. Yeah, they hadn’t been all that friendly, or clean, or well-spoken, or even that smart. Try as he might to think otherwise, Spike had always assumed, based off that experience, that all Diamond Dogs were like that. Rather bigoted of him, to be sure, but he’s had no reason to think otherwise... until now, at least.

“Well, then you’ll have to meet her, sometime,” Alexandra said. “I’m sure she’d love to meet a sky dragon such as yourself, even though I’m sure she’s met ice dragons before. She spends most of her time in the kitchens or in a small room to herself in the lower levels, but seeing as she is also in charge of the meals served to the Tsar and the members of the council, my guess is that she will be heading there after we are finished with breakfast. Or perhaps sooner; she really doesn’t keep much of a schedule other than when she is told to.”

“This council, I’d like to hear more about it,” Maria said. “It sounds like quite the endeavor, given how much I can tell your nation relies on tradition. My own country has many such time-honored practices, though from what I now see, many are far more recent developments, compared to yours.”

“Oh, it is indeed quite the change of pace, but personally, I find it a breath of fresh air,” the empress said. “The founding of the council and what will come with it will truly change things in Russia. It distributes more duties to the elected, making my husband’s life all the easier, which means he can spend more time with his family and meet with foreign dignitaries. That, and more importantly, it helps to bring to light issues that might have been overlooked in favor of other more important-seeming ones. This way, our country can begin to develop and progress towards a much better future, both for itself and for its citizens.”

“Do you have any examples?” Asalah asked.

“Well, for starters, you know that Nicholas’ grandfather abolished serfdom,” the empress replied. “True, our country had been built on it, but the rest of the world was leaving us behind, so he thought we should advance ourselves, if only to keep up. He became known as the “Great Emancipator”, as it was. Not having been alive when it was in place, I cannot understand it to its entirety, but from what Amber Faye has informed me, the lives of the lower classes under serfdom were basically like those of slaves. You are your master’s property, only instead of freely being bought and sold, you are tied to the land on which you reside, for better or for worse, with a large portion of all food you grow, metal you mine, or lumber you harvest being sold for your master’s gain.”

“That sounds... awful,” Chrysalis and Spike said in unison. Having both come from portions of the world where slavery had not only not existed for a very long time, but was viewed as outright evil, to think such things had existed in living memory in the house of their host was... chilling.

“From what Amber Faye has told me, it truly was,” Alexandra said with a sigh. “Some of the more... nostalgic nobility still treat those living on their lands like little more than property, though in subvert manners. The times have changed, so it is no longer considered to be good sport to simply beat a lower class citizen for getting in the way of your carriage, or to simply have your guards seize their crops in times of hardships. That was how many a revolt began in our nation’s history.”

“That’s despicable on so many levels,” Trixie said, scowling as the words seemed to play over in her head. “How could anypony live with themselves, doing such awful things? Why would anypony do that to begin with?”

“It was what they believed they could do, what they believed their power allowed,” the Tsarina said simply. “Thankfully, some of the old ways, like these ideas, are dying out, though not rapidly enough for my husband, you see. To him, if he could, he would sever all ties with the undesirable aspects of our nation’s history. Strange, too, considering that he was not always like that.”

“What do you mean?” Spike asked.

“Well, when he first took the reign of Tsar, he wanted to keep much of it the way it was,” Alexandra said simply. “A large, monarchic, autocratic government, ruling a vast lower class, as it had been for centuries. However, that dragon we told you about? The one who had advised both his father and grandfather? It was he who convinced Nicholas to examine his heart and look to the future, far past his own reign. Maybe it was then, one night in December I think, that he realized that Russia would have to change, or all would fall apart. Our kind have always needed to balance the power we yield and the riches we have with the needs of our citizens and the safety of all under our rule. That is why, I believe, the real thanks for what has been happening should go to that wise old dragon who showed us what could happen if we continued on Nicholas’s father’s original course.”

“Sounds like quite the far-sighted fellow,” Chrysalis said. “As for Nicholas, I take it he took the dragon’s teachings to heart, but how did he show you?”

“It was simple, really,” Alexandra replied. “He brought with him an old soothsayer. I’ve quite forgotten her name, as it was so many years ago, but she showed us in a great cloud of smoke what would befall us should we continue as we were going to. Suffice to say, it was... terrible. Shocked us to the core, really; I’ll spare you the details.”

“Sounds exactly like something I wouldn’t want to hear, if it could completely change the viewpoint and purpose of an emperor,” Eutropia said, speaking for the first time during the meal. “I mean, all that power at his disposal, with little to challenge him, and all it took was a vision of the future to change his mind? I’d say your husband has more common sense than most would in his position.” She didn’t need to add that those in such positions of power often become irreversibly corrupted by it, to the point where eventually all they seek is more power” her mother’s history lessons, while harsh, had been evidence enough of her own nation’s struggles with such powerful leaders.

“Yes, I’d like to think so,” the Tsarina said as they finished eating, servants springing out of the woodwork once more to take away their empty plates. “Now then, if you all would like to get yourselves ready, the schedule for today is rather light, but if you wish to meet Mrs. Faye, then I suggest you hurry, Sir Spike.”

“Just Spike is fine, your highness,” the dragon said with an admonishing wave. “I’m only technically a “sir” in Prance. You said that soon after breakfast she’d likely be headed to the council, yes?”

“Indeed. I believe she enjoys being there, if only for the conversation. You wouldn’t believe how much nobles will tell a little old diamond dog cook; they likely think she’s slow or something, which I believe to be the exact opposite of the truth.”

“Well, would you happen to know somepony who could take me there? Not as an escort, per se, but more as a guide? I’d hate to get lost in the city, especially if it’s far from the palace.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Alexandra replied. “I will send for one as soon as I can. In the meantime, I’ll see to the children and make sure they have been behaving themselves. Will any of you be joining Spike in his tour of the Council?”

“I’m surprised you’ll be going anywhere, what with the beating you took during our sparring session,” Eutropia said, her smirk as smug as could be.

“Hey, what can I say? It’s hard to keep a good dragon down,” Spike replied with a shrug, which he immediately regretted, the slowly-forming bruises underneath his scales sending tiny messages of “don’t do that again” from all over his body. Maybe a jaunt over to meet this Amber Faye would be good for him, or at least it’d be a good excuse from Eutropia possibly dragging him into another round of training. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to move for a few days if that happened.

“I’d like to, but, for now, I think I’d prefer to stay in our room,” Trixie said. “I just can’t help feel the urge to relaaaaax.”

“I can get behind that,” Chrysalis said. “Lounging about, doing nothing all day? Sounds great to me, after being on the move constantly for some time.”

“Me too,” Maria said. “What about you, Asalah?”

“I think I’d rather go over some things with Eutropia,” the zebra said. “Would you mind that, my dear?”

“Of course not,” the griffin said as the Tsarina stood up from the table. As if on cue, several servants seemingly materialized out of thin air behind her, and began to clear said table of the remnants of their breakfast.

“Then it is settled,” Alexandra said. “Spike, if you would be so kind as to get dressed for a walk, I will have Dimitri escort you. I believe you two have met, correct?”

The dragon wracked his brains for a moment, a rather jovial captain coming to mind. “Oh, yes, Dimitri,” he said. “We met him when we arrived with Ebony Blade.”

“Ah, indeed,” the Tsarina said. “Once you are ready, he will meet you at the main doors.”

Spike was annoyed as he made his way down the main hall to meet with the guard captain, who was patiently waiting for him. He was annoyed not because he was early, or that Dimitri was late: no, the fact that he had taken so long to get ready for just a quick jaunt over to the Council chambers just rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t want to make this guard think he was some lazy slob who took as long as he liked, but then again, Dimitri was undoubtedly used to such behavior from royalty and the Tsar’s visitors.

The dragon could only hope that he wouldn’t be lumped into such a category.

“Sir,” the captain said with a polite nod, his uniform as colorful and crisp as ever.

Spike wondered if the suit was enchanted to remain as crisp and clean as possible at all times, but surely not, seeing as he’d seen few unicorns since he arrived... right? “Thank you for waiting, sorry I was late,” the dragon mumbled, feeling embarrassed at how calm and polite Dimitri’s demeanor was. “I got caught up in some things.”

“It is neither my business nor my wish to know what happened, but with four wives and an ill-tempered tag-along, I am sure it was quite something,” the captain said.

Spike blinked in surprise. “How did you-,”

“My friend, there are eyes and ears everywhere in the palace, and despite what you and the griffin might have thought, you were being watched in the ballroom. Unintentionally, I assure you, and by no means as an act of espionage or skullduggery: simply somepony witnessing your little sparring match.”

The stallion motioned, and with mighty heaves, a pair of very large guards, burly as bears and likely as strong, opened the doors for them, and as a rush of cool air swept past them, Spike followed the captain out of the palace and into the city of Marescow.

“So, um... what did you hear, exactly?” The dragon asked as they walked, his mind drifting slightly as the streets they traversed seemed nothing like what he and his family had been down before. They were filled with all sorts of ponies and other species, but everyone seemed far less hurried than back in Istanbul, or even Baghdad. More smiles, more friendly waving, chatting groups clustered around buildings, more just... camaraderie, although Spike wasn’t sure that was the right word to use. It was like it was a good time to be alive for all, and given the way everyone was during the parade, and with what he had learned about the Tsar’s many reforms, this was perhaps a physical representation of the direction Russia was headed.

“Not much, but then again, from what I heard, your fight wasn’t much of one,” Dimitri said with a soft chuckle.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “I got my ass handed to me.”

“Oh, from what I heard, I think that’d be putting it lightly,” the captain said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Learning to fight is much like learning to swim for the first time: just jump right into it, with proper supervision, of course.”

“Yeah, but instead of being supported by someone until I get the hang of it, I get chewed up and spit out by a griffin with a cultural inclination towards not-liking dragons,” Spike replied, feeling no need to point out that “not liking” was probably giving Eutropia’s cultural heritage too much credit.

“Oh,” Dimitri replied. “Well, I always knew that those south of us had problems in the past with dragons, more so than our areas have. Perhaps it is the colder weather, no? Ice dragons prefer it as such, but other dragons, while it does not affect them as much, prefer warmer climates. It must be the dreariness of the long-lasting winter; only the fittest and most stubborn can eke out a livelihood in such a landscape.”

“How long does winter last, up here?” Spike asked as they passed what looked to be a church of sorts. The golden bulbous spires, interlaced with wondrously alternating colors, really made it stand out from the rest of the city. That, and all the statues and metalwork adorning seemingly every surface.

“Well, it really varies in temperature and the amount of snowfall, depending on where in Russia you happen to be,” the captain said. “Here in Marescow, for example, winter usually lasts from November to nearly April.”
“That’s nearly half the year! No wonder I saw so many farm fields on my way here,” the dragon replied. “You’d have to be crazy to try and feed this city and the surrounding territories if everything were just forest or open plains.

“Yes, and even then, we still have problems,” Dimitri said. “Some of our soils are the most fertile in the world, and other places are terrible for most foodstuffs. Add to the fact that some of our regions have growing seasons that last only about four months, it quickly becomes rather evident just how much the many poorer regions of our nation depend on imports. Thankfully, though, the Tsar has recently signed several agreements with neighboring countries, exchanging their excess food for much in the way of natural resources; iron, wood, wool, along with many others. It didn’t take the Council long to approve such measures, but, then again, much money is to be made from trade, and many have connections that can bring them great wealth with these new deals.”

“Sounds to me like Nicholas really wants this new vision of his empire to come to fruition,” Spike said. “By the way, at this Council... are there any unsavory characters that I should be aware of?”

“Why do you ask?” The captain questioned as a large group of youngsters, mostly composed of ponies, but a few griffins, and diamond dogs were here and there, passed them by, trailing after a rather haughty-looking minotauress, dressed in a strange collection of robes.

“I’ve been in several royal courts since I’ve left home, and while none of the ones I’ve been in have been outright bad, I’ve always felt there were parts of them that I haven’t been exposed to: the seedy underbelly of royalty and politics,” the dragon said as they passed by a pair of what Spike could only assume were Naga. Why these snake-beings were here in Russia, of all places, was beyond him, and the only reason he knew they were Naga was was because no other creature needed to carry that much fur on their bodies to stay warm. Then again, they were likely going off to brumate somewhere, likely in a basement of a friend’s house.

“Well, not really, seeing as the meeting might be over and done with by the time we get there,” Dimitri said, motioning to a large gray building not far from their current location. It was low to the ground but very wide, with an almost reinforced look to its uppermost dome, and had guards patrolled all around, with quick and efficient marching one might add. All in all, it really did look like a government building, but with a far more foreboding tone than Spike ever saw when he was in Canterlot. “The meetings sometime take only an hour, but there have been some that took well over three days to finish.”

“Well then, I guess we’d better hurry,” Spike said as the two of them slightly picked up the pace, the slight smile on the dragon’s face growing a bit more with every step. “It’s not every day that I get to look in on how an empire is run.”

Author's Note

Well, now this is getting good, indeed. Spike is off to properly meet a Diamond Dog for the first time, we see now why the Tsar is likely helping along all these reforms, and Eutropia shows she can kick some major ass.

All righty then: also, this chapter was going to be longer, but I realized that in order to give it the detail it deserved, and to properly introduce those that would be in it, I saw that I couldn't do that and all that I just did in one single chapter. So, I've split it, and the next one will detail what this one would have at the end.

A Promise for the Future

Chapter Sixty

A Promise for the Future

When the sun rose the next morning, the chill of the night refused to leave the streets of Marescow. It filtered through every crack, seemingly intent on giving every inhabitant of the land a case of the shivers. Even in the palace of the Tsar, there was coolness in the morning air, despite the bedpans and countless fireplaces throwing heat throughout the many rooms.

Eutropia didn’t feel the chill, though: she was sweating too much. “Excellent jab, but you need to tighten your steps when you throw a punch,” she said, hastily dodging another strike. “Otherwise you could trip over your own feet or overswing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Spike replied, using his elbow to block a side strike from the griffin. Morning training was a great way to work out, especially since today wasn’t going to be very different from others. The Tsar was busy with some meetings, private ones at that, and the Tsarina had invited his family to join her for a relaxing time in the royal gardens.

He didn’t know what they were going to talk about, but he felt like it wouldn’t be that bad if he wasn’t there. Besides, training with Eutropia was more important, or, at least, that was what his wives were telling him. Maybe they just wanted to talk about “women stuff” or something.

Spike dodged another blow and landed a glancing blow of his own on Eutropia’s shoulder. “Ha!”

“Nice,” she said with a smirk, before delivering a swift kick to one of his shins, knocking his leg out from under him.

Spike learned to counter this from before, and quickly balanced himself with his tail by using it as a third leg, allowing him to kick backwards with his raised foot, driving her back a pace or two before rebalancing on both of his feet.

Both of them were panting rather heavily, but that was because this bout was no simple run. Spike learned that rather quickly, much to Eutropia’s surprise and pride. It paid to have a good pupil, especially if they actually listened to you.

“Ready to give up?” She asked.

“Nah, just getting started. You?”

“No, was just thinking you’d want to spend some time with your family today.”

“Some space is good, if only for a while. Besides, I think they can handle themselves today. They’re going with the Tsarina for a while in the greenhouse before lunch is ready.”

“Asalah told me as much. Still, why? You love them, right?” The griffin asked, dodging a quick swipe from the dragon.

“Of course, more than anything. But we need space every now and then, or else things would get...”

“Stale?”

“Routine was more in line with what I was thinking, but both are wrong. More like... it’d get old. I’m in this for the long haul, being a dragon: till death do us part, and knowing how long any of us might live to be, I don’t want it to become the same old thing. I love them so much, I can’t bear the thought of them and I growing distant from one another. Day in, day out, moving across the world. I’d really like to just keep them safe somewhere, even if it meant having to part for a while.” He explained while dodging a series of quick strikes, only missing the last one, which sent him skidding backwards a good pace or two.

“Why?” Eutropia asked in not quite a casual tone, but one that seemed almost... genuinely curious.

“Being apart from them would hurt, yes, but it would also keep them safe,” Spike said. “I don’t want anything to happen to them, even if they are more than capable of defending themselves with their magic. I just... I don’t know, it must be the part of me that’s really possessive and protective, is all. Just wait until the foals are born, I’ll probably be the most overprotective father of all time.”

“Not a bad thing to be, as far as fathers go,” Eutropia said as she threw a haymaker, which the dragon narrowly avoided. “I bet you’d make a great dad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, before sending him flat on his ass with a sudden flurry of strikes. “Still got some ways to go before you can call yourself their protector, though. But not bad; it took a while for me to beat you today.”

“I’m getting better every time we spar,” Spike wheezed as he slowly pulled himself back up.

“True, but that’s only because we practice so much every day,” the griffin replied. “We’ll go again in a little while, be sure to stretch right this time. I don’t want to have to bend you out of that knot you somehow got yourself into last time.”

“You’re on,” he muttered in reply, rotating his arms.

Meanwhile…

“So, Chrysalis, tell me, what do you expect to do after the foals are born?” Tsarina Alexandra asked. The gardens were filled with the soft music of the flowering plants, and the blind Campanula gently walked this way and that, ensuring no cold from outside worked its way into the greenhouse. The children of the Tsar played over in a small area or were reading books, leaving the ladies to lounge around on chairs or couches.

“Well, I’m not sure,” the queen replied. “Other than either returning to my own realm or staying in Equestria, the future isn’t exactly clear. Besides, being a mother is new for me. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Yes,” Alexandra said. “I would recommend a wet nurse if you have them in your own homeland. Nursing in and of itself is very rewarding, but if you have to balance foal-rearing with both running the state and household, then it can become quite the hassle. Plus, how long it takes to wean them off can be considerably longer if they are nursed by you personally, and the sleep you’ll have it immeasurably beneficial in the long run.”

“Well, I think I’d like to nurse my own,” Maria said. “The bond between mother and children should remain strong, and from what my mother told me, that is one way to strengthen it in the very early years.” She paused, rubbing one of her tender breasts, her cup size having increased slightly from months before. “Besides, why waste all that milk?”

“A good point. The bond between a mare and her foals should be a strong one, though it does depend on how many foals you have,” the Tsarina replied. “After as many as myself, I could not see myself breastfeeding another one, if we were to have one. I do not think we will, however. Life and ruling is hectic enough that bringing another foal into the world would undoubtedly bring as much trouble and difficulty as it would joy, and both Nicholas and i are getting on in our years. Have you given thought to how many you would have?”

The four mares shook their heads. “I’d like a lot of foals, to be honest,” Maria said. “I love big families, and would like one of my own.”

“I’ve always thought one or two would be best, given my kind’s background,” Chrysalis said. “Besides, too many, and there’d be trouble of all kinds.”

“I’d like just a few, so I could focus on them more than if I had a lot,” Trixie said. “What about you, Asalah?”

The zebra was silent for a few moments. “Should I be blessed with foals, I would be happy with however many I have.”

“So, if you had just one, you’d be happy?”

“Of course. I had not expected to find love under my father’s care. I would have been practically sold off to the highest bidder, should one come calling, and likely not have been able to love our children as our husband would allow it. I am beyond glad I find myself married to someone who loves me.” She paused. “In time, I believe Spike and I will be blessed with a foal. I have waited this long, I can stand to be patient for a little while longer.”

“The sounds rather unfair,” Maria said. “I know that, where I’m from, mares of nobility are often simply used for alliances and political tools, but at least we do have a say in it. Being practically sold off… that’s just awful.”

“It is the way of my culture, though that doesn’t mean I like it,” Asalah replied. “I am just glad my own foals, especially if they are daughters, will not be subject to that sort of thing.”

“I’m pretty sure Spike would rather beat the living snot out of the first bachelor to propose buying any of our daughters,” Trixie said with a laugh.

“Assuming I didn’t beat him to it first,” Chrysalis said with a low chuckle of her own.

“Your husband seems intent on protecting you all from the dangers of this world,” Alexandra said with a slight sigh. “Such youthful spirit, he has. I do hope he will not lose it too soon, it’s a shame such passion for family withers in the later years.”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked. “Spike may be young, and by most standards, we all are, but what does that have to do with families withering?”

“Oh, it’s nothing really, it’s just… Nicholas and I are not the same as we once were,” the Tsarina said simply. “We love each other very much, but with the weight of our empire on our shoulders, as well as raising our children, and dealing with all manner of foreign and domestic issues that crop up far too often… it can get lonely at times. On the worst of nights, we often do not speak to one another out of sheer exhaustion.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Chrysalis said. “Spike usually talks with us, even when he’s been in sad or angry moods. Or is that just his “youthful spirit” coming into play?”

“I do not know, but I can tell you ladies this, do not let yourselves grow apart,” the Tsarina said. “It’s not always the big things that tear couples apart, it’s the little things here and there that build up to a terrible time. Not telling somepony “I love you” before going to bed every night, forgetting a birthday because you were so busy, even just calling you a pet name like “sweetheart” or “my love” instead of your real name… the little things can cut just as deep.”

“Is that-,”

“No, it’s not between myself and Nicholas, but… I’ve seen it happen before,” Alexandra said. “Between servants, between nobles, and even between my own parents. The little things count for far more than most would think.” She paused. “The same goes for parents and their children.”

“How so?” Asalah asked. She had only known her mother for a short time before her passing. Her father… well, she knew he loved her, but he had become withdrawn after her mother’s passing, that was certain.

“Parents are there to look after their children, to keep them safe, but also to guide them,” Alexandra said. “Knowing and maintaining boundaries, the right amount of aloofness and protectiveness, all the while trying to help them with their problems, but also helping them to grow up. It’s not an easy job, and it can feel hard or even impossible at times…”

“But?” Trixie asked.

“Seeing the love in their eyes, and hearing it in their voices, the way they hug you when they’re scared or happy… then, you know it is all worth it.” She smiled, looking over at little Alexei, who was busy reading a book. “I can’t tell you how many times I was worried over him.”

“Why is that?” Chrysalis asked.

“We almost lost him several times when he was younger,” the Tsarina said simply. “He was born with a genetic disorder, hemophilia, where his blood is thinner than others. Even a little cut can be life-threatening, and in his infancy, any kind of cut could have been fatal. So, naturally, Nicholas and I were extremely protective. Nowadays, though, we do sleep easier at night, knowing he is in good hands.”

“He is? I thought you said his condition was life threatening?” Maria asked.

“Oh, it is, but we’ve found a means of combating it. A monk from the remote regions of our empire came to us with a solution, a unicorn by the name of Raspy Hooftin. He possessed the means to thicken our son’s blood, a process developed to aid mares who suffered from blood loss during difficult births. So far, little Alexei hasn’t had a problem thanks to it, but it must be administered every week, much like a medicine.”

“Being heir to throne would certainly have it dangers, I just… I just didn’t know some of them could be from himself,” Maria said. “My father’s line has been a favorite of the people for many generations because of his firm but kind rule and penchant for putting them first in many decisions. I heard rumors some of my father’s more distant relatives suffered from maladies of the mind or body, but never something like this.”

“It is a sickness only mothers can pass to their children, so Alexei, should he have foals of his own in the future, will not give them such a cursed problem,” Alexandra said simply. “We do not know if any of his sisters have inherited it from me as well, but only time will tell. It can skip generations, or even not be passed on, in some cases.”

“Then I can only wish none of us possess some means of sickness that our children could inherit,” Chrysalis said to the others, who nodded in agreement.

“A good thing to hope for,” the Tsarina said with a nod. “Now, tell me, have any of you been giving any thought to names?”

“Well, we have discussed it before, but we’ve always thought that planning things out this early might backfire on us,” Trixie said. “For all we know, one of us could be carrying twins, so coming up with a colt name and delivering two fillies would make things a bit strange, or vice versa.”

“No doubt,” Maria said with a nod. “However, Spike told us naming would be a general tossup between him and us, depending on the gender of the foal and how much they look like either him or us. You wouldn’t want to name a dragon-pony foal “Firebrand” if he can’t even breathe fire and looks far more pony than dragon.”

“I suppose you are right,” Alexandra said, before retrieving a platter from the table beside her. “Tea?”

The four other mares thankfully accepted it, just as Campanula slowly walked into the room. “Your Majesty, I believe I have found a leak in the roof above our heads, I instructed a pair of servants to go and attempt to fix it, they should be almost done by now,” he said, as several thumps could be heard on the roof above. “It shouldn’t be too distracting, but if so, I can have the plants sing louder, should you wish.”

“Thank you, Campanula, that is very kind of you,” the Tsarina said with a smile. “You can go now, I am sure Miss Talon is waiting for you over by the stores.”

“She… I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“Just go, Campanula, we will be fine,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea. “Run along now, or at least, walk briskly.”

With a staggered bow, as if confused, he left them alone.

“So… is there something between the two of them?” Maria asked, the atmosphere going from serious business to girly gossip in almost an instant.
“I’ve suspected for some time now that Miss Talon has had a crush on a certain gardener,” Alexandra said. “Being blind must not be able to help either, or else he might have picked up on subtle clues before.”

“Is this common amongst staff?”

“Oh, occasionally, though they usually try and keep it as low-key as possible. However, seeing as Talon is not exactly staff, I am sure she is entirely unaware of how well-trained Campanula is. He does not let his emotions get the best of him, so it would take a rather brazen or outlandish act to get him to open up, I would assume. Part of that might be because of how we found him, after all.”

Just then, a small splash of water came down from the glass ceiling, drenching Asalah and the chair she sat upon. With a shriek of surprise, she dropped her teacup onto the chair and jumped up, clutching at herself as the cold water instantly seeped into her bones.

“Sorry!” a voice called from above, as a pair of faces patched up a sudden hole. “Bunch of water condensed in some tray up here, didn’t think anypony was down there.”

“It is quite all right, just make sure the repairs are in order,” the Tsarina called up, before turning back to the zebra. “My dear, are you alright?”

“N-n-n-no, I’m f-f-freezing,” she shuddered. “My k-k-k-kind aren’t-t-t-t built-t-t-t for the c-c-c-cold.” The thin dress she wore, while built for cooler palace temperatures, wasn't helping at all when soaking wet.

“Oh dear, then you should go to the guest bath house straight away to warm up,” Tsarina said. “Do you remember that large door we passed on the way here? It’s right in there, and no servant should be in there at this hour. Go now, before you catch a cold. I will have a servant send a set of replacement clothes as soon as you finish.”

Nodding in thanks, and with chattering teeth clicking away, Asalah stumbled as fast as she could out of the greenhouse, leaving her fellow wives to discuss other matters with Alexandra. Going down two large hallways, dripping cold water from her now-soaking mane and tail the entire way, she rushed up to the door in question and entered as fast as she could.

The rush of hot air hit her like another bucket of water, only this time very warm and soothing. Steam filled the lower half of the room, almost like a sauna, with a large shower system the current culprit.

Why was the shower running? “Hello?” she called out, teeth still chattering intermittently as she approached the large crystal door. She couldn’t totally see through it, but somepony was in there. “Who is there?”

The door slid open partially, and a familiar head stuck itself out. “Asalah? What are you doing here?”

“Spike!” Asalah said with a mixture of surprise and relief, wringing her hands in an attempt to get some blood flowing back into them. That water had been really, really cold, near freezing in fact. “What are y-y-you doing in there?”

“I’m taking a shower, working out and sparring with Eutropia was tough today, she already took hers and now it’s my turn,” he said, looking her up and down. “Why are you soaking wet and shivering?”

“I got d-d-drenched by some c-c-cold water in the greenhouse, the p-p-ponies fixing a hole in the roof accidentally d-d-dumped it on m-m-me.”

“Well, get out of those soaked clothes, you’ll catch a cold,” Spike said. “Here, I’m almost done, and I-,”

“Can I j-j-join you?” Asalah asked as she stripped out of the dress as fast as she could. She didn’t mean to sound slightly playful, but given how cold she was, getting into a nice, warm, steaming shower was the first thing on her mind.

There was a pause on the other side of the crystal. “Sure.”

Opening the door, the cold wet dress on the floor behind her, Asalah immediately relished in the warmth of the steam caressing her pelt and skin. However, before she could fully begin to enjoy it, she felt another heat against her.

“Mmm, you’re nice and warm,” she muttered as Spike pulled her close, the warmth of his chest a soothing feeling against her back. “Been in here long?”

“Sorta,” he replied. “You’re really cold, Asalah, and I don’t want to turn this shower up any hotter, or you might get scalded.”

“Then what do you propose we do? I’m getting warmer, but I still feel cold.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to warm you up as well,” Spike replied, his voice dropping an octave and taking on a rather husky tone.

Asalah shivered, but not from the cold this time, as something else rather warm was starting to slide up against her. “So you got all worked up from sparring with Eutropia, but don’t have an outlet?” she asked softly, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Nope, or at least, I didn’t until now,” he replied after they pulled apart. “Guess I’ll just have to solve both of our problems.”

“Two birds, one stone?”

“Something like that,” he replied, his hands beginning to roam over her body. “How long has it been?”

“Weeks, but it feels like months,” Asalah murmured, her heart beginning to race as her husband’s hands crept up to the swell of her large breasts.

“Feels even longer than that,” Spike said, his hot breath washing over her neck. “I think the last time any of us did anything was back in Saddle Arabia.”

“Yeah, Maria and you got stuck afterwards,” the zebra said with a slight giggle, the memory of the incident a favorite of hers. “After that she set the ground rules for no more sex if any of us were pregnant.”

“Yes, she did,” he muttered, pinching and rolled her sensitive nipples, the large areolas stretching taut under his not-so-gentle touch.

His wife let out a low moan, almost like a grunt. “Well, that rule should only apply to them,” she whispered back as the warm water cascaded over them both. “I’m not pregnant, so we can have all the fun we want.”

“My my, a little excited today, aren’t we?” Spike said, clutching and kneading the large mounds of flesh beneath his strong hands. “What gotten into you?”

“It’s not what’s gotten into me,” Asalah said, sliding her firm backside up and over his now-erect shaft. “It’s what’s going about to get into… mph!”

With a quick motion, Spike pulled her down, sending his warm, pulsing length deep inside Asalah’s now-soaked pussy, her muscles clenching as the very tip of her husband’s large cock kissed the very entrance to her womb, as it had many times before, and would hopefully do many, many more times in their lives. Moaning at the sudden fullness stretching her deliciously wide, the mare didn’t move, his ridges pressing at all the right places within her.

“Mmm, I missed this,” Spike whispered into her ear, his hands tweaking her nipples hard enough to make his wife squeak. “You have no idea just how much I missed this. This training, while good, has kept me busy, kept me away from you, from your body, from that tight little quim you so lovingly let me plunder. The little way you sway your hips from side to side when I’m inside you, the… guttural noises you make when I work you over. Your nipples, pert and puffy, begging to be teased and suckled, your beautiful butt, begging me to slap it, to caress it, to grab hold and use it as a handle as I batter your marehood insensate. I may be your husband, Asalah, but you are my mate, and sometimes, you don’t need a round of lovemaking, you need a good rutting, and today is that day!”

With that, he partially withdrew from her warm, sopping marehood, only to plunge back in with a sudden fervor that made Asalah cry out in surprise and ecstasy. His hands fully grabbing hold of the zebra’s large breasts, he mercilessly pounded her in an upright position, her gloriously muscled derriere making lewd smacking noises against his hard stomach. Fast and powerful, with his hips pressing fully against her own with every thrust, her insides squelching loudly around his throbbing cock.

“I love you, Spike!” Asalah called out, her body begging him to mark her, brand her as his, make it so that nothing else in the world could compare to their lovemaking. “Do it! Plow me like a field! Shove that meat deep inside me, I want it, I NEED it!”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it, all right,” he replied with a playful snarl. With one hand snaking from her tender breasts and down to her trim waist, the other pushed Asalah forward, to where she had to reach out and hold onto one of the shower’s railings for support, gripping it as tight as she could. The mare gasped as her husband continued his pounding, with his other free hand reaching up and twining her undone mane into a singular braid, before pulling on it.

Despite the slight wince from having her mane pulled, all Asalah felt was rapturous pleasure coursing through her veins. Tongue lolling out, with water splashing down on her, spread hooves and a massive cock plunging in and out of her… she was in heaven, or at least, she hoped heaven, if it were real, was something like this. She couldn’t even properly focus: all that mattered was her steady grip on that handle, and that magnificent hunk of meat probing her depths with utter abandon. This was no tender lovemaking, this was primal, bestial, a position of dominance of a male over his mate. It awoke a deep, inner pleasure that bordered on pure, animalistic need. The need to be dominated, the need to be protected, the need to be bred.

The thought of hot cum filling her, plastering her insides, filling her womb until bursting, so that she would undoubtedly quicken and carry her mate’s child, drove her wild. Her belly would swell, her thighs thicken, and breasts grow, full with milk, to be milked by her mate and child as an example of female fertility, become so by her husband’s large example of dragon virility.

Almost crying with happiness at the thought of such a fate, of her heat coming and ending with her filled with the child of her beloved husband, of a future filled with the love and lives of foals of her own, Asalah felt the hand on her waist move, and with sudden force, she felt it slam against the meatiest part of her thigh.

SMACK

“Ow!” she moaned, though for every little bit of it that stung, it multiplied her feelings of euphoric bliss. This was not something they had done before, but back in Maredagascar, when the orgy between her, Spike, Maria and Chrysalis had spun out of control, she’d reverted to a near-primal state, a state where she sought to be dominated by her mate. What better way than to show her who was boss in the bedroom, or in this case, the shower, where she could get dirty and clean at the same time?

SMACK

“You like that?” Spike asked, a snarl on his lips and his jaw clenched as he smacked his wife’s ass again. “You like it when I spank you, Asalah?”

SMACK

“Ow!” she cried out again, lust filling her voice. She had no idea she could have been so turned on by such physical lovemaking, having only really experienced tender, slow acts before. It was… exciting, to say the least. “Yes, yes! I love it when you spank my ass, Spike! Do it again!”

SMACK

“Again!” If this was how he’d make love to her when her heat came, then she was looking forward to it all the more.

SMACK

“Again!”

With every few pumps of his hips, the dragon would continuously slam his open palm against the side of his wife’s beautiful ass, watching in delight as the muscles rolled and jiggled in time with his own thrusts. Every few sets, he’d swap out hands, one pulling on her mane to keep her head up, and the other to slap her other ass cheek, the reddish hue of his handprints a subtle tone against her pelt.

“Call me daddy, Asalah, call me daddy.”

Asalah’s mental state, combined with such intense arousal, brought about a state of mind where any suggestion would serve to give her a greater state of pleasure. “Oh daddy!” she cried out, flexing her abdominals so her husband’s huge, ridged cock would grind against every facet of her insides. “Spank me, daddy, I’ve been a bad mare, spank me!”

Spike pulled her mane even harder, the thrusting making her firm ass bounce even wilder with every slap. “Daddy’s gotta punish you, sweetie, you’ve been a bad mare, getting all wet in your nice dress,” he said, his voice hoarse from the strain.

“Yes daddy, I’ve been so bad!” she cried out, water continuing to cascade all over the pair as steam continued to billow. “Put that cock deep inside me, punish me, fill me with your seed! Give me a baby daddy, I want one, I need one!”

It was all too much for the pair. Just then, as Spike dropped both hands to her waist and pushed extra deep into her, the very tip of his cockhead poking the entrance to her womb, Asalah screamed out in ecstasy and clamped down on him with all her might, shuddering as if having a seizure. Spike, in return, grunted, and held her close, as he felt his balls finally begin to tingle.

Yet, as the seconds and then minutes ticked by, he did not find release. As she loosened up around him, and stumbled away to a small built-in seat in the shower, Spike realized he had not achieved climax. Her breathing ragged, and her legs weak, Asalah looked up to see Spike’s raging hard-on staring her right in the face, bobbing slightly in time with his heavy breathing.

“S-S-Sorry,” she mumbled, stroking her mane in an almost childish manner. “I guess I finished a little too early, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, sounding a bit surprised. The two of them usually climaxed as near the same time, sometimes right before, or sometimes right after. He not finishing even close to her own time was, well, unusual. Maybe all that training with Eutropia had really increased his overall stamina. “That was… new.”

“I have no idea where that came from, I never thought I could enjoy such foul language. Yet, part of me… it… I liked it,” she said, as steam continued to billow around them. Her eyes were glued to his erection, a tad upset he hadn’t finished with her. It had been amazing, but she could not, would not rest, until he too finished. “Well… I don’t feel cold anymore, if that’s any consolation.”

“Glad to have helped,” Spike said, playfully making to turn away, but stopped as soon as he felt a soft hand wrap around his slowly-softening member.

“I think it’s time you earned yourself a reward,” the zebra said, kneeling on front of her husband and flicking the tip of his cock with her soft tongue. “A real reward, for helping a lady in need. Besides… I’m feeling a tad hungry after that.”

It throbbed suddenly in her hand, returning to full attention in an instant.

Meanwhile…

Eutropia moaned as she stripped out of her sweat-laden clothes, her bouts with Spike having earned her a fair number of bruises all over her body. She had to admit she was impressed at his progress, but kept herself on track, so as not to let her guard down. Eutropia knew Spike would need more training and guidance, especially in the more advanced stuff, though at this rate, he’d master that in a matter of months.

“Good thing too,” she muttered, stretching out a kink in her back. “Not looking forward to training him for five years.”

It had taken her nearly a year to reach where Spike was at, so as much as she was happy that her student was learning quickly, she was a bit upset that it came so easy to him. Dragons were known to be the fiercest of combatants, though their numbers had greatly dwindled from many ages ago, according to her mother. Personally, she didn’t find that a bad thing, but it wasn’t necessarily a good one.

“Mother,” she whispered, suddenly feeling tears in her eyes at the mention. Sniffling, she wiped them away, forcing herself to regain focus. No, she had been sent away for her own safety, she knew that, and despite the gaping hole in her life, she would have to move on.

“Madam, lunch is served,” a voice said from the doorway. A young servant, her mane done in a long, singular braid. She reminded Eutropia almost of a mouse, meek and very plain. “The others in your company have been informed as well.”

“Guess I’ll have to take my shower after,” the griffin muttered as she dressed in cleaner clothes. “Hope they don’t mind the smell of sweaty feathers.”

Meanwhile…

“Miss Talon, I am not entirely sure how this happened,” Campanula Monkshood said from his chair.

“What do you mean?” the large griffon asked, moving a disheveled feathers out of the way as she sat back down.

“I came in here for tea.”

“Yes?”

“After that, we began discussing our work, our schedules, and business.”

“Of course.”

“Then, out of the blue, we transition into talking about our feelings, our dreams, fears, hopes, and many other private things.”

“Yes…?”

“Then, out of the blue, I remark how I do not wish to be alone in my life, and that I find your company very soothing whenever I am feeling stressed, despite my condition keeping me from ever looking you in the eyes, and you just walk over-,”

“-and kiss you?”

The blind unicorn nodded. “I did not expect it at all.”

“Was… was it bad?” she asked. “I… I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“Myself even less, so I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “However… it was not unenjoyable.”

“Sorry, I just… I just don’t know what came over me,” Talon muttered, feeling embarrassed. “I can go if you want.”

“Why?”

“I… I just kissed you, like that,” she said, snapping a pair of her talons in emphasis. “No warning, I didn’t ask you, I just…”

“You made a simple mistake,” Campanula said simply. “It’s quite alright, Talon. Like I said, the kiss, while unexpected, wasn’t bad.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, content with simply trying to keep their focus on their tea. Off in the distance, the bell for lunch rang, and at that, the unicorn looked up.

“Miss Talon?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, Campy?”

He shook his head. “Fine, if you must call me that, then we’ll have to make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” she asked.

“From now on, if you are going to kiss me, or hug me, or anything of that nature, please, let me know first,” he said. “Also, from now on, when in private, I think I’ll call you… Tal.”

“Tal?” the griffon snorted. “What kind of nickname is that?”

“What kind of nickname is Campy?”

Unseen by him, she shrugged as she sipped her tea. “Touche, I guess.”

Later…

“Asalah?”

The zebra looked up from her plate. “Yes, Your Highness?”

The tsarina looked a tad concerned. “You’ve barely touched your meal, is everything alright? Do you feel sick?”

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” Asalah said. “I’m just… not that hungry right now, I guess.”

“May I ask why?”

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” she replied, before glancing over at Spike, who was trying his hardest not to grin. “I had a large snack after my shower, before lunch was served. I asked one of the servants for some hot soup to help warm me up.”

“Was it good?” Alexandra asked, completely oblivious to the dragon’s sudden wheeze.

Asalah nodded. “Thick and creamy, and my favorite flavor too, just the way I like it. There was a lot of it too, I’m surprised there was any room left for any of this lunch, I was just so hungry...”

Maria, Trixie and Chrysalis exchanged looks. “Was… was there any left?” Maria asked, sounding a tad hopeful.

“Mmm, I’m not sure,” the zebra said simply. “You might have to ask nicely.”

Author's Note

Good news: new chapter, new inspiration derived from reworking all I had planned for this story, and a lot of good stuff to come.

Bad news: technical problems, summer job, and lack of internet at future place of residence means any and all writing will have to be done without proofreaders. I am sorry to those who have helped with the story thus far, but I hope you understand.

Once More, A Peaceful Departure

Chapter Sixty One

Once More, a Peaceful Departure

The days that followed Spike’s introduction to the Tsar were ones of little worry and peaceful relaxation, much to the delight of his wives. For the first time in a long while, Spike was able to enjoy being with his family and not have to worry about them moving all the time. There were no worries about where he’d be able to find food for his family, no need to watch their backs for suspicious characters, and the unpleasant travels behind them seemed like a collection of bad dreams. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served promptly, but spread out to make room to talk, and for those with differing schedules. He often talked with the Tsarina and her foals about Equestria and being a dragon, and, often, he would just sit and read letters from Equestria, or send out a few of his own.

Sadly, it was not to last; all good things eventually come to an end, and this was no different. However, Spike didn't want to think about that, so the day before he was set to leave, he once again began to think of the future, and what it could bring once he returned home. Rooms for foals, where he’d sleep, which wife he’d sleep with, depending on the pregnancy or age of their foal...

“I still can’t believe I’m going to be a dad,” he muttered, glancing over at the roaring fireplace from his comfortable chair. His family was once again meeting with the Tsarina, though this time for possible trade rights between Russia and his family’s holdings, whoever had them, so, right now he was all alone, and he was okay with that.

Asalah’s time with him in the shower hadn’t been the the only time they had any action while they were there, either; they’d been going at it at one point or another for several days, including the night before, when she insisted on having some “fun” right as everyone else was sleeping. The pair did their best to be quiet, even Spike gone so far as to clamp her mouth shut during the act. The others hadn’t stirred, for which he was thankful, but it did serve to make him wonder why Asalah was acting like this, because, as far as he knew, it wasn’t like her, and after some thought, he believed she was entering heat very soon.

Whether or not she would become pregnant when they mated again, when her heat was in full force, was not a worry to him. He could only hope that any foal they conceive would be safe and healthy. He had been extremely lucky so far, with his family suffering none of the potential problems concerning their pregnancies. Spike once read, somewhere, that many first time pregnancies ended in a natural abortion, and while it would greatly sadden him, the loss wouldn't be a big surprise.

Still, he hoped against hope they'd remain safe, as would the foals.

“Spike?”

The dragon looked up from the letter he was reading. Turns out that Twilight and the others were set to go somewhere soon, at the bequest of Princess Celestia, but where and when, the parchment didn't say. “Yes?”

Trixie walked forward, her dress shimmering slightly over the bump on her stomach in the light of the fireplace. “When do you think we should leave, tomorrow?” She asked, standing between him and several large, open bags, with clothes strewn about haphazardly. None of them felt like packing, mostly because setting out again wasn’t going to be easy, but the Tsar told them not to worry, for the servants would take care of everything, and he already called for a known guide to bring them safely to their next destination.

“I think we should take the advice of our guide, whenever they get here,” Spike said with a shrug. “They’ll know when and where to travel at this time of year. The biggest worry I have is keeping all four of you warm when we have to go up from Persia, into the realm of the Marengols.”

“Not the Marengols, themselves?”

“I can defend you from others,” Spike said with a nod. “However, I can’t be there every waking moment to protect you from the winter’s bite. Besides, we can’t share one bed for too much longer, it’s going to be getting cramped for everypony.”

“I know, I’m surprised I’m not much bigger,” she replied, one hand gently rubbing her stomach. “Mom once said that she swore she was carrying twins when she was carrying me. I guess I was just a big foal, and ours will be, too.”

“Then I guess we’ll count ourselves lucky, I’m not sure how I’d handle twins on the first try,” Spike said with a laugh. The thought of having more than one foal born in a day was a bit scary to him. He’d go from expectant father to already having a couple, and soon enough, he’d have a veritable litter of them. Who was to say how many foals he'd have with his wives? Who was to say how many they'd want?

“I think we’ll have to use protection in the future,” Trixie said, easily reading his mood. “I don’t want to pump out babies every nine months, I need a breather from it all to get back into shape or help care for the ones we already have.”

“Isn’t that what wet nurses are for? Helping to take care of the babies?”

“Well, yes, but I want that mother-child bond, like what I had with my parents,” the unicorn said. “It’s not like I have to do everything for them, but some help would be nice.”

“Well, depending on what the others say, we’ll probably have to hire a lot of wet nurses, and then later, governesses or something,” he replied. “Say, do you think it’s weird how long we’ve been here?”

“Now that you mention it, yes, it does feel strange,” Trixie said. “It’s almost like we’ve been here many months, but I know we’ve only been here a little over a week.”

“I know, right? By now, we’d likely been through at least one other country, maybe two, with likely a companion or somepony in tow.”

“Given how long it’s been, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d added another woman to your family by now, under more normal circumstances,” Trixie said. “As long as we got along, I’d be fine, but I’m not so sure on the others. Sharing you can be hard sometimes, you know.”

“I have love to give to all of you, no matter how many there are,” Spike replied. “I don’t want a hundred wives, and I'll equally and eternally love all that I have. Besides, as of now, I think four is more than enough for a dragon like me.”

“But what if the situation arises where there are, indeed, more? The book mentioned that dragons grow to suit the sizes of their hoards,” Trixie said. “If you have any more wives, will you not grow to suit them, as well?”

“Unless you mean grow larger, I’m not entirely sure how else I would change,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe I’d get naturally stronger or something, but there’s not much else I can think of.”

The unicorn smiled as she carefully knelt in front of her husband, her hands skillfully moving up and down his thighs, as they had done many times before. “I can think of one thing...”

Seems she hadn’t been unaware of his nightly trysts with Asalah after all, and was feeling a tad left out. It was time to rectify that.

Later...

The winds picked up quickly in the early afternoon, just as the sun began its lazy descent towards the far horizon. An oncoming storm, complete with grey clouds travelling with the wind, brought the promise of a light snow storm, the likes of which were fairly common at this time of the year. Whether or not the snow would remain on the ground, or melt with a small warm snap, remained to be seen.

“Well, Spike, it pains me to say it, but it's time for you to leave my company,” Tsar Nicholas, resplendent in uniform with medals and all sorts of ribbons adorning his chest, said, shaking the dragon’s hand. “It was good to have guests from distant shores, it is not often I receive such well-mannered ones, as well.”

“We tried our best,” the dragon replied. “Thank you for your hospitality, your highness. It was very nice to rest and relax for a change.”

“So I would hope,” Tsarina Alexandra said with a smile. “Is your family ready to go?”

“All packed up,” Spike said. “Just waiting on this guide of yours.”

“Yes, yes, Hadhayosh has a bit of a wandering streak in her, so, thankfully, we managed to find her before she set out. I more or less told her to live in Marescow for the past year, to train some of our scouts, but she’s fairly rebellious if cooped up too long,” the Tsar said, turning from his guests to a small cadre of troops, a tall figure amongst them. “Ah, here she is now. Hello, Hadhayosh, I was wondering if you’d beat the snow here.”

“My apologies,” the figure said, standing to her full height. “The city streets were crowded, and I did not wish to trample anyone.”

“A good thing, I would think,” Nicholas said. “Spike, this is Hadhayosh, she will be your guide into the lands of the Persian king.”

“Hello,” she replied, the steel ring through her nostrils glinting in the sun’s light. For a minotaur, or minotauress, she was fairly tall, a good six inches taller than Spike, minus the horns. Even then, said horns were fairly short, with copper rings around the bases and tipped in white, almost as if they were painted. Her fur, a mixture of brown and white, contained numerous blue glyphs from what Spike and his family could see, their patterns and lettering fairly unique. They were likely significant to her homeland, wherever that was. The rest of her, bulky but in a fairly muscular way, was covered by a brown travelling cloak, within which Spike could just make out a few travelling satchels and pouches. She used a fairly large and robust-looking walking stick, with a strange iron cap on one end, and a hole running through the tip of it.

“Hello,” Spike said, offering his hand. “I’m Spike, and this is my family.”

“Hello to you all as well,” the minotauress replied with a handshake, her firm grip and slightly larger than Spike’s own. “Are we ready to set out?”

“Yes, our carriages should take us well into the Persian king’s territory,” Maria said.

“Carriages?” Hadhayosh asked. “Well, if you wish, you may travel in them. Are you, by chance, expecting?”

The three pregnant mares blinked. “How did you-,”

“Intuition, my dear little pony, and I’ve travelled long enough to know someone with foal when I see one,” she replied. “It is alright, I can manage without a carriage. Now then, we should get going, the snow will not wait much longer, and the storm could make finding the trail difficult if we are not careful.”

“How long do you think it will take us to get there?” Chrysalis asked.

“Oh, not too long, though if mountain passes are blocked by snow, it’ll take us a bit longer,” the minotauress said. “Come now, into your carriages, we will go as soon as you are safely inside.”

“I’ll ride with Asalah, I’m not exactly in any condition to be walking for too long,” Eutropia said, limping slightly as they moved along. Her bouts with Spike had already advanced to the point where he held his own, so much so that she had to exert a significant amount of effort to beat him, unlike before. She was proud of his progress, but also a bit wary of how quickly he caught on. She’d have to find him another sparring partner soon, or else he’d easily pass her, and then what? Where would she be? What would she do then?”

“I shall walk alongside your carriage, I wish to hear of your travels,” Hadhayosh said, looking down at the smaller griffin and zebra. “Do not worry of our travel speed, we will make good time before the night is through.”

Indeed, for soon after the party bid the city of Marescow farewell, and journeyed off through the rolling countryside, small snowflakes began to fall from the sky. Light and fluffy, they were as white as the fine marble of palaces they had visited, and while the winds remained at a constantly low intensity, it would not be long before such weather was comparably nice.

Spike was grateful that the Tsar and his wife managed to find them clothes suitable for mares journeying through a colder climate. It wasn't often that ponies would go as far as they were set to, and despite their objections, Spike told them that they weren't to use too much magic to keep themselves warm. Using certain types of magic were more draining than others, and while his family could be kept warm by a variety of spells, Spike didn't want them taxing themselves if the climate was still cold. Once it got cold enough, however, such a rule would have to be relaxed for safety reasons.

As such, they continued on for several days, often for many hours at a time, stopping only long enough to gather supplies or rest. Hadhayosh seemed almost limitless in her energy, whether it was splitting wood for a fire with her walking stick (the metal cap’s purpose, apparently being a place to fit an axe head), somehow keeping pace with the quick carriages without so much as breaking a sweat, or regaling with everypony with tales of her travels throughout the years.

“Thus, that is why it is unwise to travel into the far reaches of Siberia, especially in winter,” the minotaur finished, adding another log to the campfire. All around them, the forest was still in the very dim light of the setting sun, the warmth of the Tsar’s palace long gone these days. The small forest, perched on a hillside, overlooked a vast array of small towns, fields, and countless patches of wilderness, though they were hardly that anymore. The settlers had beaten back the wilds in these lands enough that little was wild, save for the mighty rivers that swept this way and that, or the wild storms that would flare up on occasion. “It is a most dangerous gambit, for even if the cold, animals, the lack of water, or the lack of food don’t somehow kill you, the Wolfen will.”

“I never heard of Wolfen before,” Spike said. “What are they like?”

“Few have ever seen them, and fewer still know anything about them,” Hadhayosh replied in a soft tone, snowflakes falling gently around them, the branches of the evergreen trees providing some shelter for the carriages. “It is said that they once roamed all over these lands, stretching from the lands of Spreign all the way to the lands of Kamchatka, in packs beyond counting. Long ago, very long ago, indeed, there were a great many wars between their kind and other species, be they minotaur, pony, griffin, or others. The Wolfen always wished to be left to themselves, but their lifestyle, their diet, and their views on other species caused them to be viewed as anathema to herbivores. So the wars were fought, and while the Wolfen were skilled in many ways, they could not sustain the losses that were inflicted upon them.”

She added another small log to the fire, the sparks drifting up into the night sky as the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared. “So, with war on their doorstep, many fought, and many more died. Some attempted to reach settlements with other species, but there had been too much blood spilled on each side for there to truly be peace. In the end, they did what they could; they fled, vanishing into the forests and mountains of the lands of Siberia. Few towns spring up in those areas, despite the territory belonging to Russia. No, many fear the cold, the ice, and what might be Wolfen, hiding in the trees. That fear, if they still live, is likely what keeps the Wolfen from becoming extinct.”

“How do you know this?” Chrysalis asked.

“In my travels, I have heard many tales of that taiga, stretching for countless miles in many directions. Becoming lost within it is far too easy, and surviving there is a day to day challenge for even the hardiest of folk. I would not go there unless I was truly desperate, in need of shelter from an enemy or a force far too strong for me to weather or overcome,” she paused. “There have also been stories of settlers seeking to tame those wild lands. Those that survive often return downtrodden, their pioneer spirit broken from the harshness of the land.”

“Sounds awful,” Maria said.

“Indeed, but therein lies the taiga’s true secret. It is a land of plenty and stark beauty for those who know how to use it, yet it seems that would remain solely in the realm of the Wolfen, should they still live, after all,” Hadhayosh said. “That, and any ice dragons that take up residence there in winter. I have heard tales of them coming down from the far north, into the hinterlands, sometimes farther than in other years. To them, the cold is nothing more than an annoyance at worst.”

“What about you?” Trixie asked. “Have you ever seen a Wolfen?”

“I am not sure,” the minotaur replied. “It may have been my imagination for all I know. I was once journeying with a large band of pioneers, attempting to settle a region along a river. At night, there was a guard duty, to keep watch, and I was one of them. I was tired from the travel, but off in the distance, in the darkness, I swore I saw eyes glowing in the dim light of the torches. Yet, I brushed it off, thinking it was perhaps just a normal wolf, or maybe a bear investigating. However...”

“Yes?” Asalah asked.

“When the full moon appeared from behind a cloud, off in the distance, I saw a figure, standing up on a rock ledge. As gray as the rock around it, it was as still as a statue, yet when a small cloud moved over the moon, it vanished without a sound. Naturally, I investigated the area before we headed out the next morning with a few others, but we found no trace of a visitor.” She smiled and exhaled, her hot breath mingling with the fire’s smoke. “Yet, as I said, I was tired, and perhaps it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I guess I’ll never know.”

“What happened to those pioneers?” Eutropia asked, her feathers bristling every now and then. She was not used to such cold, even with the nice winter clothes she wore, but she knew she would become used to it.

“They returned the following year, having just barely survived the winter,” Hadhayosh said. “Whatever houses they built are still likely out there, being taken back by the forest, slowly but surely.” She paused, looking out into the forest, her horns and steel nose ring glinting in the light of the fire. “We should get some rest, this snow will stay light, but my instincts are telling me a much larger storm is only a day or two away. We will do better in a larger town should that strike, and while many of the mountains may be behind us, there are still others to pass through.”

So it was, as before, they continued on, moving through the countryside, across rivers and mountains, through narrow valleys and wide open plains, amidst field, forest, marsh and the occasional scrubland or desert. Yet, throughout it all, they met many a friendly town, and there they could trade for supplies, either with what they had, or with Spike working for some of it. His family’s magic also helped in some cases, and wherever they went, they were given a warm sendoff. Truly, the residents of these lands, while cold to start, open up to strangers with all they have, and for that, the travelers were very grateful.

As the cold of the oncoming winter grew deeper, and the air began to dry with the loss of moisture, Spike felt that it'd been a good thing for them to leave the Tsar when they did. Too much longer without a care in the world, and surely they would have lost the edge they had so carefully built up in their distant travels. Yet, even now, the dragon wondered just what else lay in store for them, in the lands of Persia, the lands of the Marengols, and beyond. He still had months of travel to go, and he had a long time to think of how to explain his predicament with Chrysalis to the rest of Equestria.

Only, he’d have to make time to do so, because he was fairly preoccupied with the thought of all the conflicts in this region of the world, any of which could come upon them like a storm across the plains. There was no way of telling just what was going to happen when he encountered any Marengols, who always traveled in force, and likely cared little for diplomatic niceties with a representative of Equestria. Then there was the Persian king, who, according to Hadhayosh, was a tad strange, and thus an enigma for him to try and prepare for. The lands of China had seen enough conflict within the last generation or two to fill several books, so he had little inkling of what politics lay there for him. Beyond that, to the lands of Japan, India, Indonesia, and back to the continent Equestria dwelt upon, to the kingdoms of minotaurs, griffins, and dragons. It was strange he wasn’t visiting the realm of the Diamond Dogs, but Spike honestly thought that was for the best.

It went without saying that he had his work cut out for him. Would he make it back to Equestria in time for his foals to be born there? How would meeting Trixie’s parents work out? Would the castle additions Celestia told him about be completed in time?

There was so much to consider that he almost didn’t realize that the carriage had come to a stop. Peeking out the window, he soon saw the reason for it. A great host of ponies, along with a scattering of griffins and a few diamond dogs, were camped around the road. Judging from their distinct language, the fair number of spent supplies, and the strange armor and weapons, they were not Marengols, but, instead, likely fleeing the rule of the Maregols, or just seeking greener pastures elsewhere.

Many of them looked haggard and worn, with torn or filthy clothes, their eyes sunken slightly and always looking to the east, to the horizon, as if expecting something to arrive at a moment’s notice. The ones armed with weapons seemed intent on resting, though judging from how many women and children clustered around them, they were likely the only source of protection they had.

“Who are they?” Spike asked, turning to Hadhayosh, who, as always, was right outside the carriage window, keeping pace without even appearing winded.

“Refugees,” the minotauress replied. “They are what is left of a city that tries to resist the Marengols, or, at least, they are the ones who fled before the city was besieged. My guess is that they are of the steppes outside of the Marengol homelands, judging from their armaments. Or perhaps they are Persian? It is hard to tell where one stops and another begins, sometimes.”

“Refugees?” The dragon repeated. “Don’t they know that winter's coming?”

“Winter is already here, yet their flight is similar to that of others these days,” Hadhayosh replied. “I have seen this before, many times, in fact, where those that escape death and destruction wander aimlessly, seeking some place to call their own and to try and rebuild their lives. I am guessing what we see are the survivors of the original host that left whatever city or nation that fell under the wrath of the Khan, either splitting apart as it went along, or succumbing to starvation, disease, or exhaustion.”

Indeed, there were very few children amongst the gathered folk, and even fewer elderly. Whatever supplies they had were of a lighter variety, only what they could carry, and what few carts the refugees had were very worn down and hastily patched up with whatever must have been on hand.

“Where are they going to go? The nearest city is well over twenty miles ahead, but they don’t know that, and it’s only going to get colder the longer they stay here.”

Hadhayosh simply shrugged. “Wherever they stop is where they will likely stay. It is too far to go somewhere warm to survive the winter, so unless a nearby city has enough food stores to feed them, they will try and set up camp outside of one, working for food instead of coin. Yet, if not...”

“Isn’t there anything we can do for them?” Trixie asked, poking her head out from the other carriage alongside them.

“Unless you are willing to part with all of your food, as well as all of your coin, then I doubt so, for giving some would be almost as bad as giving none,” the minotauress said. “It would merely prolong their suffering, rather than alleviate it. Unless you possess the magic skill required to forge homes for them out of these forests, then we should be on our way.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Spike said, turning away from the refugees, who were just beginning to approach, with a fearful curiosity. “Maria, Trixie, Chrysalis, how good are you at spells?”

“Depends on the spell,” Chrysalis said. “Some are easier than others, and though I did summon that storm back off the African coast, I’m not so sure I’d be able to do something like that again. Transforming something from base materials into something else is a cinch, as would be splitting or cutting something.”

“We can do what we can, though nothing like that either,” Maria and Trixie replied. “Mend clothes or tools, maybe.”

Spike’s eyes lit up. “Here now, I’ve got an idea...”

Two days later...

“Well, dragon, color me impressed,” Hadhayosh said with a smile. I am sure tales will be told of you to these people’s children and their children’s children.” The leader of the troop, one of the few elders, a griffin with several bald patches amidst almost white feathers, nodded with great enthusiasm in agreement.

“It was the least we could do,” Spike replied as he set down several larger logs, having swelled to the proportions of a small giant. As it turns out, growing to a much larger size is very helpful when you build any sort of shelter. Styled in a longhouse fashion, with two main entrances like a barn and several side doors, it was fitted with countless interlocking logs, stick, and whatever stones had been fashioned into bolts. The sealants of moss from a nearby swamp were perfect for keeping out the cold, but the ground inside would take some time to compact into a dirt floor.

All in all, it was a start, and likely a good place to hold over for the winter, even if it didn’t look the best. Still, with the help of his family’s magic, in which they were able to turn several shields into axes, repair nearly all of the old wagons, and fix a countless number tattered clothes, the refugees would have the means to harvest enough wood to survive the winter. They would still need to venture to the nearest town to gather supplies and find work, but now, at least, they could rest and not worry about freezing to death.

Bidding the beyond-grateful refugees farewell, Spike, his family, and his travelling companions set out once more, traveling further south, through great open plains, wide expanses of woodland, and across mighty rivers that winded their way down into great lakes or even larger rivers. Off in the distance, snow-capped peaks of mountains barred travel, many of the passes likely closed or far too difficult to traverse now, but as they moved further to the east to avoid them, the party found themselves alongside the coast of a great inland sea. Here, they would, again, stop for supplies, though given how the temperature slowly climbed, it was difficult to say whether or not they would need their winter coats for much longer.

By now, their travels had significantly enhanced their endurance, to the point where, on warmer days, Spike’s wives would endeavor to walk, leaving the carriage filled with only trinkets, valuables, and whatever supplies that wouldn’t fit on the outsides. Granted, they did not move as fast these days, but in good weather, that was fine by them.

Hadhayosh continued to regale them with stories of her travels, from the great pyramids of Giza to the Great Wall of China, from the foothills of the Himarelayas to the great frozen north, even to where ice dragons were the only sapient life for many miles, and great cities of ice intermingled along the rocky coastline. She seemed particularly fascinated by why Spike would send things back to Equestria by way of his magic fire, though more out of wondering as to what whomever he sent it to was doing with it.

One of these nights, several miles from the border to the realm of Persia, they stopped at the base of an old watchtower, surrounded by ruins of what may have been an ancient castle keep. Given how nobody lived near here, they felt relatively safe, though Spike and Eutropia still offered to keep watch while Hadhayosh told stories.

Eutropia was glad for the loss of the cold, as she was more suited to warmer temperatures. Her kind had come from mountains, yes, but she preferred the Mediterrmanean climate. It suited her needs for most of the year, anyway, but she could tough it out; she knew she could.

“Anything?” Spike asked, walking in from his post. With no forests nearby, and the only trees a long-abandoned orchard under the base of the tower, it would be easy to spot anyone approaching.

“Only birds,” the griffin replied. “You?”

“Just a slight breeze,” the dragon said with a shrug. “What’s the minotaur’s story this time?”

“About her kids,” Eutropia said, looking down at the campfire, where the others sat, talking and laughing. “She’s had five since she was of age, though for a minotaur, that can be as early as thirteen. Guess her tribe was a stickler for having children early or something.”

“I see,” Spike said. “Eutropia, have you ever given thought to that?”

She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Maybe... someday... I don’t know,” she said, crossing her arms. “Why do you ask? This one of those “fatherly instincts” kicking in, like Hadhayosh thought they would?”

“Just the fact I’ll be a father is making me think of the future more than I used to,” he replied. “Or maybe I’m just curious.”

“Well, if I meet that right guy, then yes, I’d want to have kids,” the griffin said. “A clutch or two, depending on how many eggs. Push them to be the best they could be, supportive, a shoulder to lean on but a stickler for discipline, kinda like...” She hadn’t expected to pause, which surprised her, but she couldn’t help it.

“Like who?”

“Like my father was,” Eutropia said, after a moment. Strange, how talking with Spike about her father wasn’t making her cry. No, it felt... relieving to tell someone other than her mother. “He was important to my mother and me. I really miss him.”

“I’m sorry,” Spike said, leaning against one of the old orchard trees. “I lost my dad too, but before I hatched, and ended up being raised by Twilight’s family, who I guess you could say adopted me. I’ve heard good things about him. His name was Razor.”

“Mine was Deimos. I was lucky to have had one as good as him.”

“I just wish I could've met him. Growing up without a father just... it was hard, at times.”

“What about your mother?” Eutropia asked. The memory of her mother still stung, but she hid her face, not wanting Spike to see the single tear form in the corner of her eye. Why she wanted to hide that from him, she couldn’t quite understand. A sense of avoiding apparent vulnerability? Or was she trying to hide it so she couldn’t admit it, herself, about how much she missed her mother; about how much she wished she was here?

“I never met her either,” Spike said, looking out at the cloudless sky, a shooting star passing by a fairly slender crescent moon. “My mother, that is. I was in Princess Celestia’s care for a long time, and whenever I asked her or Luna, neither could tell me about her. That is, unless they didn’t wish too. Maybe they thought I couldn’t handle the truth, whatever it is.”

“It’s not the loss that hurts the most,” the griffin said as they locked eyes, yet again. “It’s the loss of certainty; not knowing; always wondering; the hope battling with foreboding, just trying to find answers in a world that doesn’t want to give them. It sucks,” she confessed, finding that opening up to Spike was far easier than she thought, though why she was, she couldn’t quite say.

“Don’t I know it,” the dragon said with a soft chuckle. “Well, I’m going to go check on the others again. I’ll be back in a bit, gonna stay at my post a bit longer before I switch with Hadhayosh. I swear, her stamina is as endless as the stars in the sky.”

“Not going to argue with that,” Eutropia said with a chuckle of her own. “Goodnight, Spike.”

“Goodnight, Eutropia.”

As he walked off, Eutropia couldn’t help but think back to his earlier question, a nagging little thought that she thought was long buried in the back of her mind, but apparently not. The subject of children had been a fairly touchy one, between her grandmother and mother, if only because her mother had refused to remarry after Eutropia’s father passed away. Why a successful, beautiful, and intelligent griffon like her mother had stayed single afterwards was still a mystery to Eutropia.

To her, it simply made sense to remarry if young enough, if only to try and have enough children to carry on your genes and pass on your legacy. She understood that if you loved the one you lost enough, that trying to move on could hurt almost as bad as losing them in the first place, almost as if you were trying to replace them.

Then again, if that same loved one loved you so much that being without them hurt you, it would indeed be difficult to move on, yourself. Love could very easily be one-sided, as she had seen with countless others of her age, but the love between her mother and father had been special. She recognized that, even at a young age, and now, as then, she could only hope to have that same love in her life.

Yet, therein lay another path in her mind, bringing it all full circle. Spike was not only going to be a father, but his life had been training him to be one. She knew he would be a good father, both thanks to her training, and all the obstacles he had overcome in his life so far. Being a good father wasn’t just about knowing when to say no, and to deliver punishments that fit the crimes, it was also about being supportive, to love unconditionally, even if it hurts. He already loved his family more than she thought one with a herd could, but given his heritage, it made sense.

Dragons had feelings far deeper and stronger than most other races, so of course those he loved would be loved far more, compared to anyone else. So, he had that going for him. But she sensed something else. His lack of knowing his father, and never having met his mother, betrayed something he might not have even realized yet.

He wanted the family he never had. Even though it was apparent that he adored his adoptive family, he's always wanted something he never had, and, thus, would give his own offspring something he lacked: a father.

Come hell or high water, Eutropia knew he would do anything he could; there would be no obstacle, no foe, nor any problem he wouldn't try to surmount for his family, be they his adoptive family, his wives, or his children.

It made her smile, both inside and out. There were thoughts she had, dreams of both night and day, which she kept to herself, never letting anyone know. Dreams of her in the sky, flying free, with a male griffin alongside her, their wings spread gracefully behind them. Their hands intertwined as they danced across the clouds, light shining from the sun as they pulled each other close.

Yet, these dreams, they always ended the same, her waking up just as he pulled her closer, his eyes meeting her own. However, now there was a new wrinkle in these dreams, where that faceless griffin had defined shape, a face, yet it was not that of a griffin, but of a dragon she had grown to know...

She chuckled softly to herself. She would allow herself to dream of this, if only because it was a pleasant fantasy, a little lie to tell herself to keep her spirits up. To be loved like Asalah and the others; to be loved unconditionally; to have a family to call her own... it was truly a good thing to dream of.

Eutropia only hoped, secretly, deep down, out of sight, but not entirely out of her heart, that perhaps, someday, it would not be just a dream. Maybe, just maybe, if she worked hard enough at it, wished for it with all her might on every first star of every night, maybe, with a good bit of luck... maybe it wouldn’t be a fantasy.

Maybe, someday, it would be reality. Maybe, someday... it would be the truth.

She sighed as the stars in the sky continued to twinkle on, unconcerned by her inner thoughts and those on the ground beneath it. As a gentle breeze continued to sweep over the plains, however, one shooting star seemed to hover for a split second, as if listening in on these deep, private thoughts. Then, in an instant, it flashed, disappearing from the mortal realm.

Author's Note

Well, I got into a writing mood, and just went crazy for writing for about three weeks straight after being gone for a fairly lengthy amount of time. So, as a sort of half-assed apology, as well as to get this story going again, here's the first of two chapters to be published on the same day. I also have to thank Drone of War for letting me use their other OC, Hadhayosh the minotaur(ess), who I hope I have written justly.

Enjoy!

Heating Up

Chapter 63

Heating Up

First light came early upon the empty city of Otrar, and with it, everyone who had not been on watch was roused from their sleep by a fairly anxious Lila. Getting underway was fairly simple, though the carriages had to move slower, both due to the added weight of extra supplies and because Lila was not able to walk as fast as the rest of them. She was not used to moving so rapidly, given that she lived in a city, and therefore had little reason to cover a large amount of distance in a short amount of time.

Still, Lila wasn’t the only one having problems.

“I can’t believe I’m feeling this way,” Asalah muttered as she, Eutropia, and Hadhayosh traveled together, her on the rear carriage and the other two walking alongside it at a brisk pace. “I’ve never been like this before, not even back in Africa.”

“It’s perfectly natural,” the minotaur replied as they crossed open countryside. “You must be coming into your season, it’s simply your biological clock telling you the best time for conceiving a foal will be upon you soon.”

“Yes, well, I can’t say I’m not happy for that,” the zebra replied. “I just can’t believe I’m having these urges to get Spike alone, and just... you know...”

“Of course, like I said, it’s perfectly natural,” Hadhayosh said. “However, doing so would definitely make our journey a bit more difficult, as we would then have to stop for some time, and the both of you needn’t use up more energy than you can spare. It’s not as if we have an unlimited amount of supplies to haul around.”

“What’s she supposed to do about it, then?” Eutropia asked. “It’s not like she can just use magic to suppress it, she already told me of the magical bleeding effect from when she was in Africa, and the zaniness that entailed.” Well, not all of the zaniness; Eutropia had made it clear she didn’t want to hear how long Spike and Asalah had been “romantically entangled”, even though she herself was a bit curious as to what he had done to make Asalah remember the event so vividly.

“No, but I do know of some herbal supplements that might be able to take the edge off of your “breeding crazy” mindset. At our next stop, I will whip you up a batch, but I must warn you, Asalah,” Hadhayosh said. “You must not take too many of these at once. They are not toxic by any means, but too many in your system will leave you feeling a bit empty. However, that is not the bad part, for once all of those supplements leave your system, you will be right back where you started, but with an even greater sense of mating urgency.”

“So, don’t take too many, or I’ll become unbearably frisky around Spike once they wear off,” the zebra said. “Got it. How far to our next stop, anyway?”

“The nearest town, according to Lila, isn’t much more than a few hours away,” Eutropia said. “By the way, what did she talk to you about last night, Hadhayosh?”

“Just some things on life and love, a little bit of our pasts,” the minotauress said. “However, I do not entirely believe she is being truthful with us.”

“What makes you say that?” Asalah asked.

“I believe she has more reason to be in the capital and see the king other than to just tell him of what happened to Otrar and petition for the fighting to come to an end. No, she strikes me as the kind of mare who is hiding something, maybe hiding many somethings. I don’t know, but keep your eyes and ears open for anything... suspicious. She might have the queen convinced, but I’ve traveled for many years, so trust isn’t something I give out freely.”

“But you trust us, right?” the zebra asked.

Hadhayosh smiled. “Of course. We’ve come this far together, I’ve come to know you all fairly well, given all the stories we have exchanged, and frankly, I’m still amazed at your husband’s insistence on helping those refugees all those weeks ago. Many others would have simply bid them goodwill and went on their way, or at the very least, simply directed them somewhere better than where they were.”

“That’s Spike for you,” Asalah said with a smile. “Always willing to help others, with his big heart, his big smile, and for some, with his really big di-,”

“Asalah!” Hadhayosh interjected, noticing the sudden blush on Eutropia’s face. “I don't think now is the best time to be so open about such a thing, present company being the reason," she said, giving a nod in Eutropia's direction. "I’ll be sure to give you that supplement as soon as we reach the capital and settle in, though there's no telling how long that will yet be.” There hadn't been any cities on the small map Lila carried between them and Persepolis, but then again, there were likely small towns somewhere in there, right?

Meanwhile, at the forefront carriage, Lila had long since fluttered up onto the roof and began to massage her hooves, the road conditions were fair, but the travelling was not what she had expected. When she told them “with all due haste,” she hadn’t thought they’d be going this fast.

“How are you holding up?” A voice asked, and from out the door, Chrysalis fluttered up onto the carriage roof, her wings struggling slightly to lift her increased weight. She hadn't flown much since she left Equestria with Spike, and now, as she entered near the middle of her pregnancy, it was becoming more and more difficult to do so. Eventually, near the very end, she'd likely be unable to fly altogether.

“Fine, I guess, but when you all decide to move, you really do move,” Lila said, wincing as she picked a small stone shard out from her hoof and tossed it away. “I just hope we can reach the capital soon, it’ll be better to tell the king sooner rather than later of what happened.” Going on the few roads that weren't torn up by the Marengols wasn't exactly quick, even with the self-propelling carriages. That, and they needed to keep an eye out, just in case anyone came their way will ill intentions.

“To Otrar?”

“Not just Otrar, but everything else,” she said. “He knows why this is happening, yet it doesn’t even seem that he’s trying to do something about it.”

“Why is it happening? Did the Marengols just declare total war for no reason?” The queen asked.

“They do not do so without some reason, despite what everyone else says of them,” Lila said. “No, the previous king did not wish to trade with the Khan’s lands, and instead simply executed most of the dignitaries, thinking of them as little more than illiterate herdponies. In response, the Khan himself met the king in battle, and slew him, along with a large portion of the kingdom’s army. After that, the current king, his younger brother, has tried to keep the kingdom and its armies together as best he can, but with the fall of Otrar now, and the burning of Samarkand so many weeks ago, it will be only a matter of time before a massive Marengol force marches on the capital city. Then, I’m afraid, all of Persia will fall.”

“Has he tried suing for peace?”

“He has not, from what I have heard. Perhaps he simply thinks he can outlast them? The Marengols are far from home, but they move as one unit, with their mares and foals alongside them as they travel, yet this is just one army, one small portion of the entire Marengol host, the whole of which I have heard is not at all that large. I can only hope the king will listen to the pleas of others, myself included, so that we can stop this before all we know and love is lost forever.”

“Sounds to me that the Khan’s anger was justified, though I don’t think how he’s handling it is in any way good,” the queen replied. “Seeking vengeance against one person is one thing, but an entire kingdom, like this... it’s insane.”

“It is the way things are,” Lila said angrily. “If not for the king’s older brother, none of this would have happened. We would trade with the Marengols, perhaps allow them passage through our lands, but no, now we are at war, and they will crush us unless a miracle happens.”

Meanwhile, in the other carriage, Maria was shuffling several sheets of parchment Spike had just burst into existence with a spout of green flame. The writing upon them, whilst not in Equestrian, were more than familiar to her, as they were from her family. It’d been so long since she’d even seen her native tongue in written form, that for a moment, she had believed Spike had received the wrong message.

“Let’s see, what do we have here?” she muttered, peering down at the first set of scribbles. “Ooh, Spike, good news!”

“What is it?” he asked, having decided that riding along with Trixie and Maria, instead of flying, was a good idea. No need to draw unwanted attention by making himself more visible to distant eyes.

“My brother’s been engaged!”

“Really? Which one?”

“My elder brother, Antonio! I knew father was in the process of setting up possible arrangements with other lords, but I didn’t think Antonio would go through with it so quickly. He was inordinately picky whenever we were at a ball when it came to dancing with a lady.” Her disbelief was evident as she continued to read.

Spike thought back to the family dinner and the unicorn he’d met; Antonio was a few years older than himself, if he recalled. Was it really all those months ago he’d arrived in Spreign and been a guest of Maria’s family? It felt like years since the night he’d married Maria, short and sweet, if only because he didn’t get to know her better before then.

How different would things have been had he not rushed into his first marriage with such haste? How his life would be now, if he had stayed with her family for some time, rather than marry a unicorn he’d barely known at the drop of a hat? He had no doubts it had worked out wonderfully, and he loved Maria dearly, but with the way things were now, there was no telling where he’d be now. Would Trixie have been unable to find him? Would he have not been taken captive by the Prench robber baron, or saved the king’s nephew? Would he and Asalah have ever met, or would Chrysalis have left him if he stayed in one place too long? The bandits in the Samarea desert, the warlord’s son and his pirate fleet, the troubles in Saddle Arabia, in Istanbull and Transylmania, the narrow avoidance of trouble in Russia… how would things be now?

The fact that all that had happened on this journey was either due to his own intervention or being in the right or wrong time and place made little difference to him. Come to think of it, given how long he’d been from home, what was his true purpose with this journey? He’d sent back countless artifacts and cultural pieces back to Equestria, but there had to be something more to this. Diplomacy was the biggest concern for him, trade being a close second, but other than that, what other purpose could there be? It vexed him to not know why Luna had truly sent him, everything she had told him was correct, but it wasn’t the whole story, he was sure of it…

“Spike?”

He blinked, realizing his silence must have been a bit strange. “Sorry,” he replied. “Got wrapped up in my head on something. What were you saying, Maria?”

“My brother Antonio has been engaged to the daughter of another Spreignish lord, those lands border my family’s,” his first wife replied. “Her name is Zorra, of the noble house of Trastamara. They are to be wed upon the end of the next month, and mother writes I am to send him a letter of congratulations, as well as a gift, should I find myself able to do so.”

Spike was silent for a moment. Her tone, the way her hands shook slightly while reading… “Maria?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a hint of… bitterness I hear?”

She sighed. “Was it that obvious?”

“Is there something wrong with this Zorra?”

“No, I’ve met her before, she’s actually quite nice,” his wife replied. “It is her brother that I have an issue with; Sancho is his name.” The way she practically spit his name nearly made Spike recoil; he’d heard anger in his wife’s voice before, but never with this much venom.

“I’m sensing a history there…”

“It is not something I like to talk about.”

“You can tell me,” he said, leaning forward and taking her left hand into his own, gently rubbing it as he did so. “We’re family, husband and wife, we don’t need to keep secrets like this from each other.”

“It’s not so much a secret as it is… shameful,” she replied.

“As shameful as me not telling you I was going to be a father before we were married?”

“That wasn’t by choice, that was just happenstance,” Maria said. “You also didn’t know, so I can’t really hold that against you, Trixie wouldn’t take kindly to that.”

Spike was glad trixie was riding on top of the carriage and somewhat out of earshot. This was a good time for some personal talk between himself and his first wife. It’d been so long since he’d had a good, deep talk with just one of them at a time. “Maria, whatever it is, I am sure I can handle it. If you’re still as strong and beautiful and smart as you are, even with this troubling you, I am sure I can handle it as well.”

Her lips curved upwards into a smile. “Okay, but promise you won’t laugh?”

Spike gave a smile of his own. “Now why would I laugh?”

“Promise?”

“I solemnly swear not to laugh at you.”

“I know Zorra is good because I met her family years ago at a ball. Father had insisted that I attend, as there were a few visiting dignitaries from Equestria as well, if I recall, and a daughter of good breeding was a surefire away to get the attention of men, or at the least, listen in on conversation. Father is a strongly honorable stallion, but he is no fool when it comes to politics like this.”

“As I recall, he was fairly surprised, but even more delighted, when I asked for his permission to marry you, let alone court you for such a short time,” Spike said.

“Indeed. At this ball, I was just a little less headstrong as the day we met. Remember that?”

“When you ran into me to escape your studies and little sisters, sending us both sprawling to the ground? Yes, I do, your red dress made it hard for you to get back up.”

She nodded. “Well, at this ball, I talked with Zorra for a while. While a tad snobbier than I am, though you might say otherwise, I found her to be a charming young mare. However, as we talked about the things young noblemares do, betrothals, dresses, family honor and news from near our realm, she introduced me to her brother.”

“Yes?”

“I was, I am sorry to say, starstruck by him. Tall, handsome, with a thick mane and an extremely well-tailored suit, he cut the picture of a noble extremely well. I could barely speak when he was near, and my younger sister Angelica thought I was having a fit, I was stuttering so much.”

“You had a crush on him?” Spike asked, wondering why he’d never heard this before. His own crush on Rarity had driven him to things like this, so he wasn’t surprised at his wife’s actions.

“Most definitely. I made it a point to see him whenever they visited, and to be frank, he was extremely charming for a young mare such as myself. Always whispering sweet nothings to me, going for walks in the garden, keeping himself as prim and proper and noble as any mare could ask for. I thought I was in love. Sometimes, when I was asleep, I thought I heard wedding bells, I was so swooned.”

“I’m sensing a “but then” coming up.”

“Indeed. One of those Equestrian nobles became a good friend of his. Some baron, I think, and if the rumors were to be believed, somewhat of a charmer himself. However, the more time I spent around Sancho, the more I saw the baron. I believe his name was Summersday. He too was a charmer, whispering sweet nothings as easily as one breathes. However, he seemed to avoid me in that regard. Perhaps he didn’t like being in a foreign place that much, or he simply thought of me as nothing more than spoken for, or not worth his time. I didn’t care, I thought I was in love with Sancho.”

“So, what happened?”

“I overheard the two of them talking, one night, when the rest of the guests were asleep. Their quarters were a level above mine, but the windows were open, and I could hear it plain as day. Sancho said I was a fine mare, but not the kind he was looking for. I was too… dangerous, he said. I had no idea what he meant at first, but then the baron asked about the maids Sancho was seeing.”

She shuddered slightly, a small fire erupting in her eyes. “Turns out the hijo de puta was seducing maids and other staff in his own realm, and had done so with more than one of ours. The baron then complimented him on not caring if any foals came from it, to which that culo simply said “they wouldn’t matter anyway” to him. His grandfather had sired bastards at his age until his marriage, “sowing his wild oats” as he called it, and while he thought me nice, I was too tempting a target. If he managed to seduce me, it’d ruin both him and me. He didn’t care about me, though, he only cared about himself, the gilipollas, and he certainly didn’t give a damn about those foals he’d knowingly put in the bellies of lowborn mares.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t even cry that night, I just stayed up, in shock, almost unable to process what I had heard. Only later, when I heard a visiting maid talking to another about how sick she felt in the morning, that I broke down and locked myself in my room. I couldn’t tell mother or father what was wrong, so I simply put it off as feeling stressed from all the balls and politics.”

Maria was silent for a moment. “That was about a year before I met you. I stopped seeing Sancho, simply putting it off that I “wasn’t feeling well” until he stopped coming around. Ended up engaged to some poor mare from southern Prance. That Summersday stallion left after the balls were done, and though I doubt he left any foals behind, he certainly left a few broken hearts.”

“Maria, I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Spike said softly.

“I’ve long since come to terms with that part of my life, emerging stronger still from it, even if I can still remember the night I heard him admit those things,” Maria said. “The worst part of it all, however, is that some of the infant foals you passed in the streets on the way to our fortress, I have no doubt, were his. I saw several of our maids leave to take care of them, and some that stayed were allowed to raise them in the palace, out of sight most of the time. I saw them, Spike, I saw some of the foals Sancho left behind, the mares he’d hurt and the ponies whose lives he’d changed forever. It just makes me hate him all the more.”

“So then, what about Zorra? Is she cut from the same cloth as her brother?”

“She’s nothing like that idiota, thankfully. I’m sure she and Antonio will be most happy together. I’ll write them when we reach the capital, wishing them the best of luck. Do you think there’s something the Persian king might have, should he receive us, that I could send them as a present, since I won’t be there myself?”

“I’m sure we’ll find something to send,” Spike replied. “Anything you think your brother would like?”

“Well, he does enjoy our collections of weapons, and liked patrolling the armory when he was younger. Perhaps a sword?”

The carriage came to a stop.

“What’s going on?” Maria asked.

“I’ll check it out,” Spike replied, opening the door and climbing out. He noticed the others were ahead of him, staring out over the crest of a hill. Walking over, he noticed none turned back to him. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.

“We’re here,” Lila replied. “We’ve reached the capital.”

“As has all of northern Persia,” Hadhayosh added.

Spike looked out across the hills and green plains before him. That was, across what little green he could see, for from the north came a veritable river of folk, of all shapes and sizes. Refugees, he realized, but the startling thing was not that there were refugees, but that there were this many. The massive path of them ventured beyond the horizon, with countless camps spread out across the open areas in front of the great city’s walls.

Built partially into the slope leading up to a mountain, Persepolis was indeed an ancient city, looking as if it had been merely carved from another mountain that no longer existed. A great terrace covered in massive buildings, glittering edifices of dark marble, with countless towers and spires meandering throughout the city. A vast, sprawling lower portion of the city, much like the plains surrounding the mountain it was built into, it spread out and was more than large enough to equal the upper portion several times over.

Upon the uppermost portion of the highest terrace sat a massive palace, similar to a castle but far more stylishly built, ideal for defense but also to impress anyone, be they friend or foe. The king would be in there, Spike surmised, but how to get there?

“I will get us an audience with the king,” Lila said, startling him. “Everyone, get in the carriages, and let me do the talking.”

Spike helped trixie down from the top of the carriage where she rode, her eyes never leaving the long trail of refugees. “There are so many,” she whispered as he helped her into the carriage, himself following shortly afterwards. “What are we getting ourselves into, Spike?”

“I don’t know,” Spike replied as he seated himself next to Maria. “I really, really don’t know. Princess Luna wanted me to go with the Marengols, to talk with them and learn what I could about them, and from them. I don’t think she expected me to have a family and three foals on the way when I did, though.”

“You’re not Persian, you have nothing to do with what happened or what is going on right now,” Maria said. “Surely they wouldn’t want to do something to you, or by extension, us?”

“You never know,” Spike said. “Wherever I go, trouble seems to follow.”

“I’ll call it convenience,” Lila said from the carriage window as she hopped up on top. “Life’s never boring if you’re never staying in one place for long, and it just so happens that wherever you go, something happens.”

“It’s not coincidence?”

“Most likely, no. Now sit tight, I’ll talk with the guards, they’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

Spike looked over at Trixie, and then over at Maria. He saw the fear in their eyes, but also the courage to keep going, and somehow, he knew Asalah and Chrysalis carried the same within them. Nodding softly, he held their hands in his own, and waited.

Lila sat in silence as the carriages moved, Hadhayosh for once sitting up beside her. “The guards will recognize you?” the minotauress asked.

“More or less, I’m betting one of the captains will,” the batpony replied. “I’ve been this way before, several times in fact, and even with all these others fleeing the Marengols, I doubt they’ll deny us initial entrance. Speaking to the king, however, will be a bit more difficult. He’s somewhat suspicious of outsiders, ever since what transpired between his brother and the Marengols. That, and he has embraced a fairly… peculiar form of mysticism.”

“Why do I feel this problem will be of little issue?”

“Because you’ve never met the king,” Lila said, as the crowds grew thicker around them. All around makeshift tents and carriages turned into small dwellings littered the open plains, many of them with small series of stakes around, as if to fend off the Marengols. Lila shook her head; the fools knew not the kind of the enemy that was marching upon them. “I have, long ago, and I’m sure he’ll remember me.”

“We’ll see,” the minotauress replied with a curious smile, the sounds of the others moving towards the city gates almost drowning her out.

Up ahead, under and through the massive gates that were the entrance into the city, lay a huge contingent of soldiers, many of them in rows serving as funnels to split the refugees into different groups. Some had their weapons drawn, expecting a fight to break out at any moment between the various scattered tribes harboring grudges within the safety of the walls. Others were busying themselves with what appeared to be a small army in and of itself of administrators, sorting and cataloguing everyone and everything they could. Everywhere, refugees sat in silence or amongst themselves, often conversing in hushed tones, fearfully glancing towards the horizon, as if expecting to see the approaching horde or hear its trumpet blasts.

Ahead, a small contingent of guards, their armor of brightly decorated robes strengthened with shining steel scales and face-shielding turbans, stood between the small entrance to the upper courtyard, and the teeming masses below. They were armed with short spears, swords, bows and arrows, and large shields, making them appear to be armed for almost anything that came their way, and fairly intimidating to boot. Parking the carriages in front of them, as one would always magically follow the other, the batpony dismounted and gave a bow.

“Greetings, I am Madame Lila, servant of the King,” she said with a rather pronounced flourish. “I wish to speak with your hazarapatish, I have important news that must reach the king.”

“I am he whom you seek. What of your guests?” one of the elite guards replied, stepping forward. The butt of his spear was not laden in silver, as were those of the others: his was gold. “Who are they, and why have they come to Persepolis?”

“A dragon and his family, with two companions, who were tasked to travel far and wide by the rulers of his native land,” she replied. "I believe they too seek an audience with the king."

“A dragon?” the lead guard repeated.

“Indeed.”

“Is this dragon, by chance, young, and heralding from across the great sea of the Barnlantic?”

“I do believe so, hazarapatish,” Lila said. “Is he expected?”

“Expected? The king has been waiting for him to arrive for some time now. Come, bring him and his family as quickly as you can, there is much the king wishes to discuss with him.”

Lila was more than a bit flabbergasted as the elite guards moved to the side, just wide enough for the carriages to pass through. “How special is the dragon to warrant such an immediate audience with the king? Is he royalty?”

“In a sense, yes,” the officer replied, motioning towards the carriage. “Escort them with all due haste. The Immortals will be needed elsewhere by the king shortly, and he is incredibly busy as it is, so if you wish to inform him of anything, I suggest you do it quick, Madame Lila. We will inform him of your arrival and that of your guests.”

Meanwhile…

The Khan was not one for taking insults lightly. As his army marched, he knew that the battle against his cousin would be brutal.. The winds of winter were upon them, and as such he needed to end this rival’s possible ambitions quickly, lest they tear the empire apart. He needed to be strong, as his father had been before his tragic death from his heart condition. As such, all due haste was made towards where the army of his cousin no doubt lay, unwilling to make the journey to the capital to fight over the succession. His other cousin was currently doing battle with raiders along the Chinese border, the peace deal so recently struck a source of frustration for the Khan. His father had deigned peace be better with an enemy on one side than to fight a war on all sides, but that was what his own father, the great conqueror, Khan of Khans, had done, had he not?

Though he had loved him and devoted himself to his decisions, the old Khan’s soft side and condition had made him weak, and as such, the current Khan knew that to be strong, he needed the same iron that had been instilled into his grandfather, the same iron that would bring the world under the heel of his armies, by the way of the bow, and the lance, and unrelenting push of the armies at his disposal.

The mountain passes through the desert were always treacherous, oftentimes the paths little more than the trails left behind by local goats and sheep. Sheers sides, high winds, occasional blasts of errant dust, and the bright glaring rays of the sun combatted all who moved through the area. The Khan himself was not immune to these dangers, nor way anypony in his army. The going was long and slow, with treacherous portions more than making up for the extremely scant sources of water.

“My Khan!” a voice called, rushing up from ahead, the rumbling of many hooves nearly drowning it out. One of the scouts he had sent earlier, no doubt. “I have news of the enemy!”

“What is it?” he asked, his bodyguards moving away to let the younger, smaller stallion through, but not too close. One couldn’t be too careful these days, after all.

“Over the next pass, they are gathered, down in a valley, their backs to a mountain stream,” he said. “There are no trees to mask our movement, but there is likely no way out of the valley, save for the way we can enter it.”

“Then we shall enter with all due haste, and make our way towards the enemy,” the Khan said, tasting blood on the air. The joy of battle was something he knew well, and even if going against his own gave him a foul aftertaste, it needed to be done. None could challenge him. “Show me your vantage, that I may direct the coming battle when it is time.”

The scout moved through rocks and around large clusters of dried shrubs, until he, the Khan and the elite bodyguards came to an outcropping of rocks overlooking the valley, the movement of so many soldiers behind making the very ground tremble. It was, as the scout said, an ideal place to attack. there was no way out of the valley save for the narrow pass that fed into it, and for all intents and purposes, the Khan’s cousin had made a terrible mistake in choosing this battlefield. Soon, the mountain stream would run red with the blood of Marengolians, but afterwards, once the Khan was victorious, the nation would emerge stronger for it. It would take a few days to reach the enemy, but they had time, and there was nowhere else for them to go.

“Excellent work,” the Khan replied, as the rumbling increased. “Marshal our forces with all due haste, and then we shall-,”

A loud crack split the air, and as a cry rose up, the Khan felt the ground move even more than before. However, this was not the work of his army, but of the rock itself. Another crack sounded, and the ground buckled under him, sending him sprawling into a large shrub. His mane and tail tangled in the branches, his armor wedging itself as well, he watched as the entire world seemed to spin suddenly. Struggling, he tried to pull himself free, but as he did so, the rock he was upon, along with the shrub, fell away, down from his army, his scout, his bodyguards, and down ito the gorge below.

He awoke to the sounds of hoofsteps over him, coughing. Blood, there was blood everywhere, why could he not feel his legs?

He opened his eyes and saw his bodyguards standing above him, their eyes betraying what he already suspected. “My back?” he asked, pain shooting up even as he spoke.

“There’s so much blood, you must have been pierced on something, your armor or sword, we cannot tell,” one spoke. “Your legs… they’ve been crushed as well, my Khan.”

“Then this is it,” the Khan replied, an odd feeling of relief and peace sweeping over him. “I have failed, yet also, succeeded. My time as Khan will pass, and so it seems, far sooner than I had anticipated.”

“What would you have us do, my Khan?”

“Send for my cousin, though I fear I will not live to see him,” he said, feeling his body go numb and his vision begin to blur. To think, only a short time ago he had been planning conquest and strengthening his nation, and now here he was, a broken stallion, dying to the most unfortunate of events. If he were to survive this, he'd scream in frustration, but no, there was no coming back from this. He'd seen what happened to those who were crushed, and no magic or potion was going to fix him soon enough, they didn't have access to it when on a campaign like this. “I confer onto him the right to decide who shall be the next Khan, with you as my witnesses to this order. I entrust you, my bodyguards, to remain loyal to him, and to avoid the bloodshed between his forces and our own that I had so recently been willing to commit. He will send for the others, the generals, to return to anoint the next leader of our kind. Help him with this to your fullest.”

“You can’t die,” one of the guards said, removing her helmet, a solitary tear streaming down her face. She was a tall and strong one of their kind, far more than others, but then again, with the father that had adopted her from the ruins of a raided caravan, was there ever any doubt she’d rise as she had? “You are our Khan, we would follow you until the sun no longer rose, and the grasses faded from our steppes.”

“Yes, I am your Khan, and I have no doubt you would. So as your Khan, I ask this last task of you,” he said, his voice growing fainter. “Do what is best for our nation, and for yourselves. Do not weep for my passing, nor for our people, for we are survivors, and will always live in our steppes. We will always be here, and... there will always… be a Khan.”

With that, his eyes closed, and as his bodyguards moved to lift his broken body from the ground, the Khan knew no more.

The last guard, replacing her helmet, turned to another guard, their eyes meeting, and a knowing nod shared between the two. “He shall be buried within the hall of his fathers,” she said, as they all carried the broken body of their leader out of the rubble that had become his downfall. “Just as he would have wished it.”

Meanwhile…

A whisper on the winter wind was all some needed to sense a change in the near future. In the city of Karakorum, his wounds still healing from his battles to the far north against the rabid volcanic tarragons, a figure sat in silence in his room. Incense burned from a small bowl to his right, and to his left, an unfinished painting of a pair of figures. To the untrained eye, they were simply figures, unfinished, but the artist who had created them so far did so with simple, single brush strokes, one for every day either of them were gone.

It was his way of coping with them no longer being home. So, as he sniffed the air, his ears perked up slightly, as with a soft groan, shifted in his seat.

“They will return soon,” he muttered, drawing the brush from the pot of ink. Lightly, with the delicateness of a falling flower petal, he moved the brush up, finishing the side of one figure. With another brush, he finished the outline of the other’s head. The two, facing away from one another, their poses as real in life as they were when home. Always together, but always apart; one against the other, but always nearby in case of trouble.

He had raised them the best he could, and now, as he smelled the oncoming change, he feared for them, as any father would. Why else would he ensure their safety, as he had so many other times?

The father sighed as he put away the ink and the brush. Another pair of strokes to save for tomorrow, it seemed. The sun long since set, the only light coming from the large braziers that kept his room warm, he slunk off to his bed. The news would reach the others soon enough, and soon the whole of Marengolia would be going through yet another change, so recently having come to terms with the passing of the last Khan.

Only, this time, the old father knew, this time, things would turn out differently. The smell of change on the air carried with it the scent of yet further change, emanating somewhere from the very borders of the empire. What it was exactly, he could not say, but he looked forward to it. Variety was the spice of life, and in his very long life, he had experienced much. He could only hope those whose painting he worked on every day could experience much of the same.

The Host, the War, and the Night

Chapter 64

The Host, the War, and the Night

There were many palaces in and around the city of Persepolis, remnants of other dynasties that had ruled the area since the commissioning and building of the capital proper. Despite some being newer than others, the oldest, and perhaps most unique, was the central palace, the Apadana. Built much in the style of a large, pillar-supported veranda, it was open to three sides, wherein the king of kings, as the Persian king was formerly known, received guests and their presents, and would return them in kind.

However, despite the magnificent carvings, statues and décor of the palace, Spike could tell the palace was lagging in the world. It seemed somewhat subdued, as if the color of the palace was fading before their eyes, but with the war against the Marengolians going so poorly, it was no surprise that the atmosphere would be so pitiful. Even the guards seemed both on edge and weary at the same time, as if expecting any day now to see the armies of the Marengols on the horizon.

Given the king was a spiritual successor to the Persians, and not a direct descendant from the line of kings ended by the conquering Alexbrander thousands of years before, the fact that he was sticking to this old palace was a sign he was Persian at heart, if not totally by blood. Then again, in this part of the world, the lines on maps had changed so much, and beings drifted around from area to area so often, what constituted one as “Persian” now was likely not the same as it had been when Persia had been founded.

As Spike, his family and their companions made their way past a group of Immortals, they came to a stop before a throne, flanked by many statues, tapestries and vases indicating great battles, moments of great historical worth, or the lineages of many a Persian king. Ornate in carvings and illustrations, gilded in rich finery and likely the product of the greatest metalworkers in all ancient Persia, the throne sat silent, empty, with only a crown seated upon the seat.

“Where is the king?” Asalah asked. One would think the ruler would be present in the throne room at nearly all times of the day, especially in troubled times like these.

“He is not here,” another hazarapatish replied, standing so still they might as well have been one of the many statues within the open palace. “He is within his solar, consulting the Dream-Keeper.”

“Dream-Keeper?”

“The one who told him of your arrival, Spike Dragul.” Without another word, the stallion made for them to follow, and left the throne room.

Spike caught only strange glances from his family and companions as they made their way along a long tunnel. “I think he means Princess Luna,” he said. “She did say she’d contact several of the rulers of the places I was set to visit beforehand, so I guess she contacted him through… his dreams? I’m not sure she ever told me just how she’d inform some of my hosts to my presence.”

Come to think of it, how many of them even knew he was coming? Had Luna personally spoken or managed to communicate with every single one, or had she simply attempted to do so with those Spike would have the best chance with? That would explain the problems in the horn of Africa and Transylmania, not to mention the utter debacle that had been Istanbull.

England had been a breeze, as had Portugal and Spreign; Prance had been a significant problem, though only because of the robber barons in the southern portion, and after that, it’d literally been smooth sailing all the way through Europe down into northern Africa, though their time with Asalah's father been a bit... unexpected. On top of the bandit attack in the desert, and then eastern Africa, with the warlord and his son, the rest of the journey into Maredagascar had only had the hitch of Chrysalis revealing her true self. Now, it seemed, things went wrong every other week, or at least, what felt like every few days.

Spike had to admit he’d never have believed he’d come as far as he had, that perhaps if the journey was to prove too difficult or dangerous that he would somehow turn around or arrive in Equestria with his family without having completed the circuit the princesses had created for him. Here, he had believed it’d not only be much smoother sailing than it had been, but to have come this far into the journey quite literally around the world, to find hope and fear and change and love and all manner of peoples, both friend and foe… it was changing him as well.

He’d been unsure of himself, deep down, when Luna and Celestia had thrust this task upon him. Or was it a burden? He’d never have thought that coming so far would bring out so much in him, change him and those around him as it had. He hadn't wanted to admit either, and still didn't, that at times, eh was scared, though rarely was it for himself. Now, more so, it was for his family.

He suspected the Persian king might have felt the same. He and his entire realm had been changed by war, a war foolishly started by his older, now-deceased brother, the king before him. Yet, unlike Spike, who was usually seeing the best in places, and peoples, the king was seeing the worst, especially in just one. How much longer could he maintain control until his people either revolted or simply fled the lands of their ancestors? How long until the armies of the Marengols marched upon their own cities, intent on extracting vengeance for the crimes of his predecessor?

Spike intended to find out, and, if possible, put a stop to it. After all, so far, he’d helped end the reign of an evil baron, take out a large camp of bandits, destroy an African warlord’s fleet, bring peace between two (now former) powerful rivals, and even escape a city at siege with itself. Surely, he could try and broker a peace between a king and the enemy at his front door… right?

Judging from the number of steps they had to climb, Spike suspected he and his family were now well above the city proper, likely in the realm of an old palace or additions. However, a sharp turn away from what might have been another entrance to a large hall brought them instead to a solid door, flanked by several more Immortals. Without a word, they opened it, and Spike stepped through with his family and companions.

The immediate interior to the solar wasn’t much of anything special, a large archway flanked by a pair of statues. Inside, however, it was something quite a bit different. A large, heavy stone table stood in the center, upon which sat a vast variety of scientific and possibly mystic instruments. Other wooden tables spread outwards towards the walls, where shelves upon shelves of more items stood tall. A vast array of books stretched high into the ceiling, vaulted much like a cathedral’s, and from several large windows, their glass thick yet incredibly clear, the mountains in which the city was nestled stood out on either side, like sentinels guarding this trove.

The last opening, another set of large glass windows, stood facing the city and open plains below. From this one, a large telescope jutted out, magicked to move through the glass as if it were nothing more than water. However, gold-trimmed as it was, the telescope was not what drew Spike’s attention.

It was the stallion standing beside it, hands clasped behind his back, that did.

The Persian king might have been a proud stallion once, for even subdued, his posture indicated he held himself aloft, with regality and power. Yet, despite what might have once been, it was clear he was not the same. His mane was flecked with streaks of grey where there once had likely been solid black, and his body, undoubtedly lean and strong before, seemed to sag, as if the strength was leaving him nothing more than a mere husk, slowly but surely.

“Mr. Dragul, I welcome you to my city, and my kingdom,” the king said, and his voice said it all; tired, strained, yet polite and firm, as befitting a host under the threat of such times. “I apologize for not greeting you in the throne room, I was… preoccupied.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Spike said.

“Strange, that you managed to arrive so soon, and not with having seen the armies of the Marengols,” the king said, stepping away from the glass. “I am gladdened to see you and your... family, was it? Yes, family, safe within my capital’s walls. She told me you would not come alone.”

“Princess Luna?” Trixie asked.

The king nodded, the trailing beard wiggling on his chin; this too was flecked with bits of grey. “The Dream-Keeper revealed much to me these past months, things that, if I had not believed, would never have come to pass. Thankfully, her guidance was of a greater service to me than I could have realized.” He cleared his throat, nodding to several Immortals standing within the room, near the bookshelves. “But of course, you and your family must be tired from your journey. I offer you safety within my palace, with food and rest at your leisure. Please accept these, for in the future they may not be so readily available.”

Somewhat confused by his riddles, if that is what they were, Spike bowed again. “Thank you, your highness, and indeed, we have traveled far and wide from the Tsar’s hospitality. It is nice to once again find such a gracious host to rest and recuperate.”

“Then do so, for I fear the journey ahead may be more treacherous,” the king said, a dark look passing over his features, before it vanished, and he smiled. “But where are my manners? Now is not the time to talk of such matters and futures. No, for now, travel to the halls of my family, and rest, eat, drink, and be merry. If you feel the need, you may ask for an escort, and learn what you wish. The Dream-Keeper told me you had an interest in history and collections of antiquity, and there are none better in the kingdom that up here, above the rest of the city.”

Asalah smiled. “Thank you, kind king. We have not had much to bless my… our husband’s home with, and I feel that those he calls friends and family will be eagerly awaiting some news. It has been so long since we spoke with them last.”

The king nodded. “Then by all means, feel free to do so. My home is yours.”

The king, Shahriyar be his name, waited until his guests had left before he let out a soft groan he’d been holding in. Not one of pain, though he’d felt more pain in these past years than he’d had his entire life. The loss of his first wife and unborn child when he was barely more than a boy, the deaths of his father and mother later in life, the loss of one son to treachery, and another to his own blade to answer for the crime…

The loss of his brother and nephews to a war he’d argued against from the beginning, his travels in his youth showing him the power of the steppe nomads who knew little but conflict and lived a life harder than most could dream. The loss of countless friends and advisors to a conflict that bled his country and brought it closer to ruin than any conflict in well over a millennium.

No, his groan was one he’d been holding because if he hadn’t, he’d never have made it through the meeting without losing his composure. He was the king, from a line that claimed a history that stretched back well before antiquity. Even if they had not been the original Persians, likely tribal chieftains serving as minor kings under an emperor, they too lay claim to the heritage, and embraced it as their own.

Yet, he did not turn from the door. “You are still here?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” She stood still, at attention, having bid her companions farewell for the time being.

“Good,” Shahriyar said. “Do they suspect you?”

“Of course not, my story is far too believable for them to mistrust,” his spy replied, tossing back her travelling hood. “Besides, it’s not lying if I’m telling most of the truth.”

“Even if they found out, I doubt they’d find themselves upset with you for long. You have done well to keep them safe, and to lead them to me.”

“Just as you tasked me,” Lila said. “However, I did not count on the loss of my base of operations, nor the need to hide myself amidst the rubble of a ruined city. Otrar has fallen, my king.”

Shahriyar would have been taken aback had this been news long ago. He’d have been angered in his youth, flying into a rage, demanding justice be done, and vengeance administered. Not now, not after all he had lost; all he could do was grimly accept this and attempt to steer away the well-being of the rest of his kingdom from such a grisly fate. Such was the task of a king raised to a throne, having never been meant for it.

“With the fall of this city, the army of that general is ever closer to here,” he said. “Others have told me of his movements, but none reported this, which… troubles me. Clearly the destruction of so important a city was a message that could not be ignored.”

His spies were far more numerous than those of his elder brother, Lila being living proof of that, but unlike others, he used them not for ill will. Oh, if he could, he would have, but he’d never live with himself if he did. Besides, if his spies were sent on one-way trips to kill his enemies, not only would their numbers dwindle, but the list of those who wanted his head would only increase.

He could not afford that. Not now, that an opportunity unlike anything he could have dreamed had literally came to his doorstep. Perhaps, now, finally, there was a chance…

“Lila, have I ever told you just how valuable you are to me, and by extent, this kingdom?”

Lila nodded. “You have, my king. On several occasions, if my memory is correct.”

“I would never doubt it to be otherwise.” He turned away from her, but he beckoned her to join him at his side.

Strange, that she never liked to fly when in the capital, or most cities for that matter, but in his solar, she crossed the room quickly, with only a few gentle wingbeats.

“She misses you, you know,” Shahriyar said. “Her mother has been pestering her again, and refuses to listen to what she has to say most of the time.”

“I take it, not out of spite?”

“Indeed. She just merely hopes to not be as lonely as she is, and our daughter is the one to provide that, now that Bahram has gone to India, to marry his new bride.” Sending him away was by far the smartest move to make, for if the king were to fall, his line would continue, even in exile.

“Bahram is gone? I didn’t think his engagement would come through so quickly.”

“Neither did we. The Raja of the north does not seem to mind that such a union might bring the wrath of the Marengols to his doorstep, if they see this as an attempted alliance.” He had to admit, Shahriyar did not know what went through the young Raja’s mind, but if the stories of his councilors were anything to go by, especially the wily Saber Marconus, then he had plans built on other plans, and plans to make plans if those first plans failed.

He’d hate to meet the stallion for a game of chess. He’d probably beat him in three moves.

“So, with Bahram gone, the queen has been pestering Afarim again? To… let me guess, bequeath her with grandfoals?”

“The same as always, yes,” the king said with a soft chuckle that didn’t reach the lines near his eyes. “Go to her before we all retire for the night, I suspect she’ll be waiting for you in the main library. She has taken to spending her time there, reading of stories of glory and adventure and… forbidden love.”

“What of Draco? Is he there as well?”

“Of course, my chief librarian remains at his post well after the library is off limits. You know how he likes to work late into the night. He’s been keeping my daughter company while you were away, helping her with her studies and nightly readings.”

Lila’s hands slowly formed into fists, but with a calming breath, she released the tension that had suddenly flared within her. Time to put the kibosh to that immediately. “Then by your leave, my king, I shall depart for the library.”

“Go then, with my blessing.”

Messengers across the vast expanses of steppe needed to be fast and incredibly loyal. The speed was needed for the haste of delivering a message, the waystations between settlements the only sign of any civilization over many miles of country so rough that permanent settlements were the rarity, even at a village level. These waystations, if used enough, would often become small forts, with small towns springing up around them to support them, but life in these lands was harsh, and often the inhabitants, save for the soldiers manning them, would migrate to greener pastures during the poorer seasons, packing up all they owned and moving elsewhere.

As for loyalty, well, one had to be loyal to the Khan to be entrusted with news that could shake the very foundations of any nearby nation. Whether war was to be declared or called off could be done on a whim, and such messages carried such importance that any who stalled a messenger was to be stripped of all they owned and sent off into the lands to die.

Such a life of importance was one marked with loneliness, as Turgen could attest to. His khan had not always been so, but now, after the death of the older brother, there was a new leader to be sworn in. This meant all generals, near and far, were to return with their armies to swear allegiance to their new master of the steppes.

Failure to do so was unthinkable.

Turgen was a messenger because he was fast and had the endurance to match his swiftness. He could run far past the point where others would have collapsed, and then run some more. Breaks were few, and the need for an escort was nonexistent in the lands his khan called his own.

Which was why, upon cresting a great hill, he did not even pause at the sight of a great host on the distant horizon. The army was still moving, and it would be several days before he caught up with them. Only then, after his message had been delivered, would he rest and find comfort in the arms of a camp mare.

If the general chose poorly, then he would leave at the first opportunity, more to save his own neck rather than deliver a message of refusal. There was no point in being loyal to the khan in a camp of his enemies when they would have you killed without a second thought. If the general chose to follow tradition, and return to swear allegiance, then these lands would once again see peace, for this war would be over.

Whether it resumed or not, Turgen did not know or care. He knew his duty, and as his legs carried him down the hill, he could smell the dust in the air from the great march far ahead of him. Rear scouts would likely report his arrival soon enough. Perhaps they would escort him, to appear faithful to the laws of their ancestors.

General Sukhbataar was silent as the camp settled around him. The maps dictated they were getting closer to the city, and the scouts confirmed this with the sheer number of abandoned villages, burned fields, and scattered refuse ahead of them. Any who knew the Marengols were coming was fleeing for their lives.

Good.

Let them flee before the unstoppable might of the steppes. Let them taste the most bitter fruit of coming doom, a doom that would swallow them all.

For a diamond dog, becoming a general for the khan had been the greatest achievement yet in his life. Years of servitude amongst a small pack, alongside his brother, fighting in abject slavery, only to be elevated to soldiers of the khan who broke the back of the kingdom that held them in bondage. His brother, cursed by the fighting and the devices implanted in his skull, had done little more than become a bloodied executioner, good only for terrorizing the enemies of the khan and brutally putting down revolts, retaining his simple name, for his mind was by now so simple it likely could not remember a new name if he were given one.

Sukhbataar, on the other hand, had taken a new name, from the culture of those that had freed him, and in turn, worked his way through the ranks, earning his way with his namesake, a great ax he used with determination and unbridled rage. Now, another kingdom, one with an ancient history of oppression upon his people, had gone to war with his khan, and he was here, the avenging angel of death, destroying them piece by piece. A bloody price to pay for the arrogance of one king, but such was the way of the world where those in power were born to it, not raised to it.

It brought no more joy to him than the knowledge that blood was repaid in more blood. It was an inevitable thing, but one he sought to unleash in its fullest state. The Persian king had long thought them weak, and was dead, by his own bloodied great ax.

“My general, scouts indicate Otrar was discovered by a small band of travelers not long after our forces departed from the area.”

His aide was an old dog like himself, gray and half-blind, but as fierce in combat as a pup half his age, and still as capable as ever.

“Was there any indication of who they were?”

“It is reasonable to suspect they came from the lands of the Tsar, judging from what little we could find of their tracks. The trail remembrancers indicated there was an odd mixing of several different kinds. Unicorns, a griffin, a minotauress, one that we could not recognize, and…”

“And what? Speak up, the camp is loud.” For indeed, it was no quiet task to set up a camp to house the army and its following caravans of goods and support. The creak of posts, the rustling of sheets, the stamp of hooves and the shouts all around formed a constant barrage of sound.

“A dragon, sir.”

A dragon? “How large?”

“Of a size similar to our own soldiers, but with how the tracks seemed to vary being amongst the group, and then gone, it is reasonable to assume it is capable of flying: a sky dragon.”

A sky dragon, heading to the Persian king’s capital? Well, this certainly threw a wrench into the works. Attacking the city now would likely draw the wrath of said dragon, and while Sukhbataar had met dragons before, a sky dragon was new to him. The advantage of attacking from the air was not lost on him, as his camps were highly flammable, and even a quick strike on their gathered supplies could spell doom for any army that marched on its stomach.

So it would seem that a siege would have to wait. As it were, the men were tired, and the camp was close enough to the city to be a direct threat as it was. Only a day or two of marching would bring them to the city’s gates as it were, so for now, regaining their strength and earning a good night’s sleep was what the men needed more than anything. They had been away from home for far too long and would be nearly at their limit as it was.

March an army for too long, even with nothing but victories under its belt, and it would eventually fall apart from any number of factors. Anyone with a family would miss them, and the glories of war often gave way to thoughts of playing with their children or feeling the soft warmth of their mate in their beds.

His own pups were likely running around the outskirts of the capital now, sometimes looking to the horizon, awaiting his return march, his mate in the kitchens of the khan, looking after supplies.

Sukhbataar sighed. How weak he became when he thought to that which brought him the greatest pleasure in the world, rather than keeping focused on the task of war. “Have the troops establish a defensive perimeter farther out from the camp, and make sure shifts are rotated constantly. I do not want anyone falling asleep, lest a surprise attack break our spirits, or our lines.”

“As you wish, general.”

Spike sat in silent contemplation as the night drew on. Maria and Trixie, their hooves sore from the travels through the palace, had graciously accepted his massages, their eyelids heavy even before he finished. Bidding them goodnight, as his mind was far too active to join them in bed just yet, he found himself on a balcony, overlooking a vast swath of the city below, as well as the plains that blended into the horizon a great ways away.

Out there were the Marengols, conquerors unlike any he’d come across yet. In Istanbull, he’d dealt with those with a long history of dealing with troublesome dragons, judging from how readily they’d dispensed with materials specifically designed to incapacitate him. Almost cripplingly so, as he remembered, and there was much he did not remember between arriving in that massive city, and leaving the lands of Transylmania.

Would his memories return to him in a more stark clarity, or would there always be those gaps, filled with what could have been true memories, or merely fragments of dreams so vivid that they imitated the real thing?

Would these Marengols have much in the same for dealing with his kind, should things take a turn for the worst?

“Spike?”

He glanced up to find Chrysalis hovering nearby. Well, not literally, it was far more taxing for her to try and fly while pregnant, and while she could do so, the exhaustion that claimed her took far longer to recover from than he was comfortable with.

“Yes?”

“What ails you?” she asked softly, her night robe doing little to hide the outline of her figure, but instead of arousal, Spike felt a peculiar sense of protectiveness. How could he not? This beautiful, well-meaning, tragic and reformed mare was carrying a child of his. He would do anything to keep her and the rest of his family safe, even if it meant taking on an army he was not sure he could succeed against.

“Just thinking,” he muttered, steepling his hands. “Should we have come this far, I wonder?”

“Well, turning back has always been an option, but there’s more to it than just the thought of us, isn’t there?” she asked, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Turning back would be safer, yes, if we were to go a different route. But would it be worth it? The princesses gave me the task of rediscovering the world through the eyes of one who is going to attain power he never dreamed of. I mean, I’m going to basically have a hand in charting the future of Equestria for the foreseeable future, and I’ve already done that with several of the places we’ve gone through. There is no telling just what else is out there for us to uncover, to experience, to witness.”

“Yet you’re worried.”

He nodded. “Is this trip worth the risk you are all taking coming with me? It would put my mind at ease if you were all safe and sound elsewhere, taking it easy rather than trekking across potentially dangerous terrain, in lands far from home, where we don’t know what could be around the next bend.”

Chrysalis sighed. “I know the risks, Spike, we all do. Does that change anything, really? We are your family, Spike, and family sticks together.”

“Yes we do,” he said with a smile, kissing the top of her head. “I just wish this journey wasn’t so long. I want you home, with me, somewhere safe and warm, where we can enjoy our lives together. We’ve come so far as it is, but there’s still so much more out there to see and experience, that I just… I can’t help but worry what the future will bring.”

“Whatever it brings, we’ll face it by your side, Spike,” she whispered. “All of us, friends and family alike.” She paused, her gaze drifting out towards the dark horizon. “The Marengols are out there.”

“I know.”

“We are going to have to pass through them at some point.”

“I know.”

“My censcorpions would likely not be able to fight them after how quickly they responded in Istanbull. Even now, if they have returned and fallen asleep, rising them on such short notice would no doubt tax me far more than I am willing to risk, especially if we are to be in danger faster than they can appear.”

“I’d rather not fight my way through an entire army and piss off an entire nation. There has to be a diplomatic means of moving through their lands without them believing us to be spies or taking us as hostages.” Would they, though? Spike and his family were clearly not from here, but outsiders may not be so welcomed as they were in other lands. If only he’d been given information ahead of his journey.

“Surviving the trek through such lands would likely be far more difficult for us than for you, even if our magic makes us stronger than many others,” Chrysalis replied. She was right, in a sense, as any race that had magical properties, especially the tangible sort, could use it to empower themselves, and endure far more than others. That might have been the reason they had had so little trouble with the journey compared to, say, Asalah, and even she was experiencing occasional magical feedback from being in such close proximity. “We are not on a true schedule yet but returning to home before we give birth will eventually become paramount. None of your people yet know I am your wife, and you, my king consort.”

“Nor do many of them know just how big my family is going to be in less than a year’s time.”

“Nor do we. For all we know, there’s more females out there, like Maria and Asalah and I, just waiting for a dashing dragon to sweep them off their feet and take them into his growing family.”

Spike chuckled. “Suppose you are right. What am I to do about that? I’m am so blessed to have a herd that loves and supports one another. I can’t imagine any of you letting another into our circle without screening them for disruptive tendencies.”

“Well, as you should recall, we weren’t so friendly with Asalah in the beginning.”

“But you warmed up to her eventually.” Yeah, after an orgy alongside an oasis, and later on, surviving the attack by the warlord’s son.

“Oh yes, we did, and I am forever glad for it. She’s an amazing mare, you know, far better than her father ever likely gave her credit for. Speaking of which…”

“Her father, or her?”

“She’s been looking to tour the garden, high in the Star Dome.”

“The magical botanical gardens, in one of the larger towers? Isn’t she tired?”

Chrysalis shook her head. “She’s waiting for you there. Eutropia told me she’s been having trouble sleeping, and we’re so close to the tower, it’d only be a short jaunt for you to reach her.”

“What of the others? Lila and Hadhayosh?”

“The minotauress is asleep in her own quarters, and Lila’s gone off somewhere else. If you ask me, she’s in league with some powerful ponies in this city, so leaving ourselves out of whatever business she might be in is going to be in our best interests.”

“Eutropia?”

“What about her?”

“Is she asleep too, or up in the gardens with Asalah?” The thought of a family member being alone, even in a city they were supposedly safe in, did not sit well with Spike. Just think of what could happen if he wasn’t there to-, no, wait, that was the overprotectiveness flaring up again. He needed to tone that down or else his family would start to find him overbearing.

He didn’t want to go down that road, the shadow of greed and all that.

“Off in her quarters as well, I should think.” Chrysalis yawned, her tongue flicking out slightly. “As I should be. Go to her, she’s been wanting to talk with you during our ride through the steppes, but we’ve just been either busy planning or discussing other things.”

“About what?”

“That’s between you and her,” the queen said as she rose to her hooves, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, love, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Chrysalis,” he replied, blowing a kiss her way.

She playfully caught it and tucked it against her generous chest with a wink before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

Asalah wished to speak with him? Well, perhaps something of this place reminded her of home, and she wished to share it with him, as she had done before? There was always more to find out about his wives, and with a slight twitch in his eyes from lack of sleep, he followed the path to the base of the tower.

It was one of the widest towers in this capital portion of the city, nowhere near as tall as others he’d seen in the great number of countries he’d passed through, but all the same, it was grandiose in its own way. Yet, for its splendor, from the bright marble and frescoes across its surface, it carried a more concrete sense of permanence, as if it had survived what other cities and indeed kingdoms had not.

As he climbed it, the air around him, for a better word, shifted. Gone was the cool drying wind rolling from the uplands, instead replaced by a gentle heat that swelled with humidity and moisture. Indeed, the stones around him appeared slick, as if unable to dry, yet no water dripped. Either the stone’s magic was absorbing the water and redirecting it back up into the top of the tower, or it was just an illusion, the water evaporating faster than it could fully condense.

Such thoughts left Spike’s mind once he reached the precipice of the tower’s large stairs, and found himself in a garden. Nay, not a garden, but an oasis in the sky. A small stream flowed in and around clumps of shrubs, the top of the dome more than large enough to shelter the full-sized trees that dotted the area. From them hung an assortment of unripe fruits, some he recognized, others that were a complete mystery to him. The stream moved from pool to pool, small tufts of reed growing at the water’s edge, and water rounding the circuit back onto itself.

The air was warm, though thankfully not terribly hot, and the humidity was a pleasant feel after the drying heat of the surrounding lands during the oppressive daylight hours. Here and there, scattered, were small reclining couches, the likes of which one might use to rest after a long day’s work.

Upon one of which sat Asalah, staring into a pool of water.

“Asalah?”

She turned. “Yes, Spike?”

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, sitting beside her.

“Yes, I did, though the reason behind it was not one I wanted Chrysalis to know.”

“What is it?”

“I’m… I’m worried, Spike. About the journey, about the what lies ahead of us, about us…”

Spike was confused. “Us? Why are you worried about us?”

She pulled his hands into her own. “Spike, I feel my heat upon me, but I don’t know if I’ve already fallen pregnant. The others told me that a dragon can impregnate a partner even if they had sex before the heat began. Of course, there is a chance this is just a false heat, but the way I feel, what I want more than anything…”

“Is a family,” Spike finished for her. “Asalah, are you afraid we won’t be your family if you don’t have foals of your own? Trixie and the others will always be your family, as will I, no matter what happens.”

“I know that, Spike, but… to have children of my own, with the stallion, or in our case, the dragon I love, would mean more to me than all the jewels in the world. It’s something I’ve come to crave more than food or water, and at times, it is all I can do not to think of it all the time.”

“So, is that why you wanted me up here, with just the two of us?” he asked, noticing a small, coy smile forming on her lips. “To get started on your part of the family?”

“If you’d be so kind?” she asked, giving him a pleading look that was flushed with arousal as he’d ever seen before. Maybe even more, given their history.

“If my lady so wishes, then I will gladly oblige,” he replied with a throaty chuckle, before sealing their lips with a kiss.

Author's Note

Was this chapter long overdue? Yes. I had this a quarter written for nearly a year before I sat down and hammered out the rest in under three days. With life finally back under some semblance of control, I aim to put out a new chapter every two to three weeks, barring setbacks or a radical change in my lifestyle. If I manage to pump out a new chapter sooner, then all the better. If not, then that's the way it is.

As such, so as to avoid the complacency on my part, as it so woefully pops up all the time, I will not be submitting this to any proofreaders. I already go over a chapter a time or five before I publish said chapter, and really, if I'm taking too much time, I'm not getting it done as I should. When you are passionate about something, you can blitz it out faster than when you feel obligated to finish it, and often with a greater amount of quality and thought in the final product. Is this always the case? No, but for me it tends to be.

Was this story long overdue with an update? Definitely. This was my first big story in my entire writing career as of yet, but I got greedy as time went on, and now realize I was trying to make it too big, too grandiose in scope, and was losing track of the story of Spike, the peoples he meets, and those that become part of his family. That was the focus of the story, and that is what it shall return to being.

So, to all those who submitted OCs, fret not, they shall still be featured, but they will be on the sidelines, smaller stories scattered across the main one, supporting characters for the growing cast of main ones. By trying to write so many, without writing that much at all, I lost track of what I had set out to do, and as a result, the story suffered tremendously, on both a quality aspect (my personal opinion) and on an updating schedule (EVERYONE'S opinion), the likes of which I aim to return to post haste.

in time, when (not if) I finish this story, I'll likely publish a little companion story, something along the lines of "ADJ: The Lost Chapters", detailing a few things here or there that would have been unnecessary clutter in the main story, but serve as a great expansion when told separately. Minor character arcs, behind the scenes stuff of supporting characters, even a few adult scenes that would need a chapter of their own to make it all the better.

So, until then, thanks to all my readers for their unending patience, and yes, I read all those comments urging me to finish, or asking me to continue. I may not be as involved in the fandom as I was (hell, I don't think I've watched an episode after season 3 or 4, life dragged me away from that), and I really want to bring about the end of it in the best way I can.

I mean, I started this over five years ago!

I intend to finish it, perhaps even by this time next year.

Scald and Soothe

Scald and Soothe

When you’re busy, time tends to be a funny thing. It can either go by in a flash, as if someone decided to speed things along to get to something else, or take seemingly ages to pass by. Whichever was more enjoyable an experience tended to dictate how long something seemed to last in comparison to how long it actually did.

Spike and Asalah’s kiss, or kissing, given that they needed to draw apart every so often for a breath, could have been going on for a good hour, for all they cared. In all likelihood, it had not, but hey, they were enjoying the moment, so why rush by and waste a good thing?

“Spike,” Asalah whispered, as they pulled apart once again. A part of her was upset with that, but they were married, and they could do that again. Right now, she needed something on an entirely different level. “You’re my husband.”

“I know,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “Is there anything else obvious I’ve missed?”

“Maybe later, but now, I want to fulfill one of my duties to you, as a wife, as has been dictated by ages past throughout the world’s history,” she whispered back, gazing deep into his eyes. Some might find a mindset like that offensive, but historically, it was nothing but true. Besides, Spike didn't make anything seem laborious for her. He encouraged her to be herself, to make her own path, and this was a route she wanted to take. “But for that to happen, you need to fulfill one of your duties as my husband, as my mate, a duty as ancient and primal as life itself.”

“I need to breed you.” A simple enough statement, but with such profound importance and meaning that it the both of them tremble. Despite Spike having already successfully impregnated Trixie, Maria and Chrysalis, Asalah was the odd one out, and in a family as interconnected and loved as theirs, it was something they both sought to rectify.

Especially given on how badly Asalah wanted foals. “Exactly. There will be foals in our future, strong and handsome and courageous like their father.”

“Or beautiful and kind and unerringly wise, like their mother,” he countered, the pair rising from the bench. “Most of the Tsar's books I’ve read say mixed dragon descendants often take after their scaly parent in looks, but I can’t imagine there wouldn’t be traits or temperament carried over by their mate.”

“What do think? A colt or a filly?”

“Well, given the others,the chance of either is alright by me,” the dragon replied, kissing her again. “Whichever we have, you’ll be a great mother to them, I know it. All of my foals are going to have wonderful, caring, loving mothers to look after them.” What would the term be for Asalah to the other foals, anyway? Stepmother? Herd mother?

Asalah smiled as she stepped out of his arms. Shedding her dress as if it were merely smoke, the fabric pooling beneath her full figure, the zebra kneeled onto the soft grass. Her body growing ever more aroused by their simple talk, as well as the sight of her husband’s smoldering eyes, her fingers undid his own clothes, exposing what she’d long desired since that time in the showers of the Tsar. There was always time to suckle his length, lap from base to tip, but not now, not tonight. No, the pleasure they sought, which she craved, would not come from the foreplay, but from the act itself.

From the events that would arise from their coupling.

Her cherished duty, as self-imposed as it was socially expected, finally coming into its own. Conceiving Spike’s offspring, a foal, a show of their union and love. Coming from two different worlds, strangers made spouses by circumstance and chance, yet uniting in purpose and care.

It truly was a tale older than the sands of her homeland, older than the tales of distant, illustrious ancestors. Their deeds may have helped to shape the world around them, bring about her family’s long line, and bring about her very own existence, but in a way, that was all lesser. Let her continue their line, their tradition, by giving rise to the next generation of their descendants.

Let her line and Spike’s own mingle and become bound together, as equal parts of an ever-growing tree of interconnected destinies and lives.

To say that she was becoming so aroused just by the sight of her husband’s hardening cock and all that they were going to do with it was an understatement worthy of song. As the pair stared in silent lust, she lay back and let her legs open wide, her hands hooking under her knees to spread as fully as she could. Her already-glistening marehood, spread for her husband, was as swollen as it had ever been inviting him in as easily as could be. No sense in letting him need to do more of the work, they had all night and she was going to make it easy for him.

Maybe some other time she’d make things difficult. Not now.

“See something you like?” she asked, taking on a faux-innocent tone, batting her eyes playfully.

“Always,” Spike replied, his mutter more of a deep, throaty growl that sent shivers up her spine. His own clothes, either pooling beneath his feet or being cast aside, were the only other source of sound other than the magical babbling brook beside them.

“Well?”

“Well what, Asalah?”

“Have you given any thought to a name?”

He kneeled down in front of her, positioning himself above her gorgeous frame. “A little early for that, don’t you think?”

“Well, I want us to plan this out,” she replied as he hooked her legs under his arms, her knees sliding into the crooks of his elbows. “There’s no telling how many foals we’ll have, Spike, and I don’t want us rushing to find a name days before they’re set to arrive.”

“Names will come later,” Spike muttered as he leaned forward, bracing his legs beneath so that he rose slightly above his herd wife.

“But-,”

“As will I,” he continued, and with a cheeky grin, began pushing himself into her.

Rather easily, at that. He hadn’t needed to get her ready, but then again, she’d gotten as ready as she needed before they’d stopped kissing. It wasn’t like she was loose or anything from him cramming himself into her depths so many times since their marriage, no sir.

“Gah!” she cried out at the position, which to her seemed like he was trying to squat literally into her. As it was, the more his length sunk in, the deeper it reached inside, and she could have sworn that, somehow, he was reaching deeper than before. Almost dangerously so, if those medical diagrams she’d found in the Tsar’s library were anything to go by.

“Speaking of names,” Spike said as he finally bottomed out inside of her, the tip of his flared cock brushing against what felt like a tiny, suckling mouth deep within. “This is called the mating press.”

His cock feeling like it was trying to escape through her sternum, all Asalah could do at first was attempt to catch her breath, as rapid and shallow as it suddenly was. “H-H-How did y-y-you find this one?”

“I read about it… in a book.”

With that, he started moving, and Asalah’s sudden urge to neigh in delightful shock was choked by a need to whinny and whimper. By the holy oases of the deserts of her homeland, why hadn’t they tried this position before! It was like having his entire engorged length crammed into her and pressing itself against every nook and cranny of her being, on top of him more or less dragging it against her insides like he was trying to clean them! She’d never felt his length rub against near this many creases and folds, some of which she never knew existed!

She’d have to tell Chrysalis and the others about this. Something for them to look forward to once the foals were born and they could safely have sex again.

“So?” he asked, watching her reaction intently. “Do you like this position?”

“Oh FUCK yes!” Asalah cried, her arms snaking up around his neck, pressing him as close to her chest as she could, her large breasts cradling his face, her puffy nipples just begging to be flicked and rubbed. “Oh, fuck Spike! Fuck me deep! Just like that!”

Not being one to need encouraging from a gorgeous zebra begging for a dicking, Spike picked up his pace slightly, just enough to ram harder into her, yet not try and go deeper. How could he, after all? She’d swallowed him up right to the base with every stroke, and unless he could magically increase the size of his cock, there was no means of going any deeper!

Besides, that might hurt her, and he didn’t want that, not now, not ever.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days,” he replied, arching his back enough so his legs supported him better. With every down stroke, he could feel his groin make contact with her, their legs spread enough to give each other as much access as physically possible. His tongue snaked out every now and then, tasting the tip of her tender nipples, and with every squeak from his wife, it only encouraged him to do so more and more.

“Are you going to have to punish me again?” she retorted, a playful smirk somehow forming despite her heavy breathing. “Is daddy going to have to spank me?”

She never knew she could feel such a rush talking dirty. It was like there was another side to her, one that she’d only just discovered back in Marescow, and-,

“Rah!” Spike called out, slamming into her faster than before, his squatting becoming a blur to her as his tail supported his weight.

All thoughts of continuing to egg him of were cut off by a veritable explosion deep within her. It felt… it felt like an orgasm, but no, this was different. Was her body innately responding to his mating? Or was the magic buildup she so frequently accumulated beginning to make itself known?

It was hard to tell when her husband was seemingly trying to fuck her right into the ground. An act the zebra wholeheartedly approved of, and hoped he would never tire of.

Minutes ticked by as he continued to pound into her, his tongue continuing to snake out between her breasts, mercilessly tickling those sensitive, erect nubs. Asalah’s moans and whinnies mixed with his grunts and groans into a cacophony of lovemaking, the sounds echoing throughout the room as the trees stood in silent vigil over them, and the brook babbled unceasingly.

Then, her body, unbidden, clenched hard on his member as it plunged back in, and with a loud grunt, she felt his seed spill into her. It was hard to describe just how she knew, but this seed, it felt… different. Thicker, lesser, yet still the same amount of virility only a dragon could possess. Was it, perhaps their attempt at conceiving changing things, rather than just the two of them having sex? Was it possible that a dragon’s reproductive success could have something to do with their mindset, whether intended or innate?

A question for later that, hopefully, would be answered. Moaning, she felt him pull out, rolling off to the side as a trickle of his seed leaked from her. Catching her breath as best she could, it was all she could do right then and there to not immediately roll on top of him and begin the act all over again.

Such a laborious mating was nowhere near as long as their previous couplings had been, but then again, they’d drawn those out, seeking to make them last as long as possible. Not now: they had a goal in mind, and giving it all they could was far more taxing than either must have anticipated.

“Spike?” she whispered, as their blood cooled slightly and their breathing returned to relatively calm levels.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“That was… intense.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that little before, yet I feel like that was a whole two loads from when we normally have sex.”

“I could tell. Much thicker than I remember, and while there’s not as much, I don’t think there’ll be much room left in me for more than another batch or two at this rate.”

“Again?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, leaning up and over him. “Only this time, I get to be on top.”

He smiled as he lifted and slightly parted his legs, his tail balancing him as she slipped onto his length once more.

“You see,” she said, her voice catching as she slipped further and further down his cock. “You weren’t the only one reading up on sexual positions.”

“When did you have the time to research that? I doubt the Tsar had any books in his possession available.”

“Oh, it wasn’t from the Tsar, it was from his wife,” the zebra replied, settling as the last vestiges of his cock were swallowed by her depths. “She had a small book originating from east of here, deep within the realms of the Raja, and while it looked a bit dog-eared and worn, inside was a true treasure trove of ideas.”

“Such as this position?” the dragon asked, exhaling softly as he became nestled within her once more. “Can’t say this one ever crossed my mind, even though it feels… familiar.”

“It is a play on what we just did, dear husband,” the zebra replied, planting her hooves solidly on the ground beside them, assuming a squatting stance as she did so. “There are many names for it, just as there were for yours, but there was one name that I liked more than most.”

“What was that?”

“They call this the Amarezon mating press.”

Eyes watched the mating pair from behind a copse of trees nearest the steps, the sounds of the brook and the pair’s active rutting masking their already-silent approach. Fitting, given just how long the pair of them had been going at it.

Watching such an act was far different from reading about it, or even hearing about it second-hand. Many of the other youngsters who fashioned themselves old enough to at least peep in on such displays often ran their mouths incessantly as to what acts they may or may not have witnessed. Such places for couples to engage in such lewd acts were common throughout the world, ranging from grand courtesan manses to the upper rooms of many a tavern or inn.

Eutropia had never herself witnessed an act before, despite the goading from many of her female friends. Nor had she ever partaken in the act itself, for her mother had told her time and time again that running the risk of becoming laden with eggs was far too likely than not. Even with precautions taken, a heat of the moment choice could change her life forever.

Come to think of it, her mother’s orthodox ways were likely the reason she was here to begin with. She hadn’t feared the dragon despite knowing him and his family for so short a time, and yet was willing to trust him with the safekeeping of her daughter, knowing full well that remaining in Istanbull was a death sentence at worst, or imprisonment at best.

“Mother,” she whispered to herself, the words so quietly leaving her mouth that barely a breath followed them. “Why didn’t you want me to know?”

Keeping her cloistered and unaware of sex was as much to protect Eutropia as it was to maintain some form of control over her daughter’s life, and in the end, the young griffin couldn’t help but feel thankful for that. How many of her friends that she had known, some of them a near decade older, had wound up laying eggs because they took one too many chances? How many had died in childbirth, or been rendered sickly from complications with the egg carrying or laying? How many had she just stopped seeing and grew afraid to look for whenever their former flings showed their faces?

The city of Istanbul was not a place for the commoner to find success simply by becoming the object of desire of a rich or noble person. There were tales of nobles who would seduce young pretty women, of any race, to then either dispose of them once the fun had worn off, to be used as pawns in great games of intrigue, or to be spirited away to quaint but isolated cottage homes, to sire bastard heirs to slight rivals or just because they could. It did not matter who, it only mattered why.

Eutropia had been blessed with intellect as well as her griffinic beauty, even if she lacked the curves so many other women seemed to carry with such grace and ease. Spike’s family was no exception, with each having curves from just slightly more than hers to incredibly above what she could ever hope to achieve. Her mind, as well as her body, was her weapon, and with both working tandem, she was hard pressed to find a warrior she could not match, given enough time. She had honed what she had until she was a dense core of muscle and endurance, made to run and fly and fight with the best of them. She’d certainly used this to her advantage in training Spike to fight more than just “dragon smash” his way through everything. After all, a skilled opponent could outdo a stronger opponent most of the time.

This intellect also allowed her to see things for what they were, moving through deception and illusions with surprising accuracy. She saw Spike and his family as an actual family, not as one hopelessly naive drake gathering hopeless mares to his side through simple deeds or just by being friendly, but by changing their lives for the better, and changing with them. She saw their love, deep and primal, and seemingly growing by the day. Yet, now, as she watched Spike and Asalah rut each other’s brains out in the tower-top oasis, she began to feel something else creep in beside that genius, pushing away her assertions that Spike truly was a dragon of character, and not just blind luck. Something else nestling its way into her brain, an infection of the most natural kind that never before she had experienced.

Desire.

Not for Asalah, nor for Spike, as far as she could tell, but desire nonetheless. To have what these two had, what Spike and his family had.

Not just lots and lots of sex. That was always there, though her reservations, alongside her mother’s many warnings, were always at war with that. She had been told by countless friends that sex was great, felt good, especially if both parties were in love. Her mother had only told her sex was best for making children and a family, nothing more. Whether her mother had simply been uncomfortable with the idea for sex outside of reproduction, or because she had never seen it that way herself, she’d never know.

Eutropia wanted to know now, more than ever, what all this sex “business” was all about. Clearly, from their frenzied movements and passionate moans, Spike and his zebra were enjoying themselves. They’d switched positions, what, three times now, only doing so whenever he’d finished inside her? She had no doubt his dragon virility and stamina were behind this, seeing as most others she knew of never had a partner last like this before.

Yet not only did she desire sex, she desired the love she could almost feel radiating off Spike and his family. Love from conflicts overcome together, internal and external, of tragedies overcome, of nights of deep exploration of each other’s souls and from countless acts of acceptance and forgiveness. She did not know the full story, and barring something extraordinary, likely never would, but what she could piece together was something incredible.

Not only was Spike building a family, a harem the likes of which any harem member could only wish would be the case, one of untold love and equal care, but he was creating a posse that brought change, minute and great, wherever they went. She’d already seen with her own eyes him and his family’s assistant with the settling of refugees fleeing from the Marengol’s rampage, of his time with the Tsar and Tsarina giving them an insight into tried and true governance from his own lands, of the peoples he’d shown favor to and those he had overcome with diplomacy as much as tooth and claw.

She’d also heard of the stories of the bandit gangs of the deserts, of African warlords and pirates, of royal feuds leading to new unions and of evil lords being toppled from their perches. Of riches and rewards being doled out, of kindness changing nations, of destruction overturning old, rotten governments, aiding in monsters slain, and whose mere presence could change the future of an empire.

She’d only just joined their little group, becoming a part of something greater long after it had already become great in its own right, and already, she desired to be a part of it from now, until they returned home.

Home.

Istanbull was gone to her now, of that she was certain. Wherever her heart took her, Eutropia knew she would settle far from the city, from the lands she had once known.

Yet, as she retreated from the tower, the magical masonry around her eventually swallowing up the sounds of the couple’s frantic mating, she couldn’t help but wonder, just where would she end up? The world was a big place, after all, and with how far yet Spike and his family had left to travel, there was no telling where she might see them off.

Yet, as she crawled into bed, and drifted off to sleep, her dreams, as before, began to change once more. No more was she simply flying with a faceless, yet familiar stranger, a name always at the tip of her tongue, but never being able to speak it. No, now she was held close, in his strong arms, their bodies entangled in clouds and silken sheets and warm water, high above all else. Then, when they kissed…

All was relatively quiet within the great tent, the barest of breezes flitting along the flaps of the entrance. Heavily armed guards stood within and without, like statues of stone, keeping watch. Even in the safety of being a general surrounded by his army, one could never be too careful.

General Sukhbataar rested his great ax against his pile of cushions. His chair would normally suffice, but the aged wood was beginning to rot, and it was off being replaced. Personally, he preferred the cushions, they were far more comfortable.

His war map lay spread across the assembled table, and peering in the light of the lit braziers, he gazed upon the other realms. To the west lay Baghdad, the great city of scholars and science, nestled between the two greatest rivers at the convergence of the world. Emirates and sultanates lay hither and yonder, some allied, others rivaled against each other. The great city of Istanbull lay deep within the peninsula that separated the two great continents, with the third not much further south.

His mission was to trade or conquer all of this. If these rulers were wise, they would acknowledge Marengol might, and seek trade and nonaggression deals, if not outright tribute. Becoming established as a satrap was no worse than being a vassal elsewhere, save for the freedoms that would exist afterwards. After all, the Khan neither cared for what one worshiped, nor who hated who, so long as tribute flowed, and peace was kept. At worst, they would spit in his face and vehemently oppose his offerings, and receive the same death knell that so many others had experienced before them.

Would they unite against him? With so many scattered kingdoms, an alliance of sorts would undoubtedly attempt to arise, but would it? While many were still disunited for many varying reasons, there were others that stood unified, and indeed could lead such a coalition. The Rus were not to be trifled with, not after the initial conquest several generations ago, which they had long since overthrown. Now, they ruled themselves, and a mighty empire they had become indeed, learning from the mistakes of the Kiev and Novgorod. To assail them would take more than one army, and with the numerous others scattered across different fronts, Sukhbataar had no doubt such a feat would not happen within his lifetime.

As it were, however, these lands, they were ripe for the taking, provided his mission remained. Yet, he felt this campaign would be his last. He was no longer as young as he used to be, and he’d long known that his army was growing tired. Many had wives and children awaiting their return, and every day they were gone was another day that something might happen. More than one soldier had returned from war to find his family dead of plague, or for surviving families to lose their loved ones on a war march.

Yet it was something that was as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun, as the tides and the storms, as life and death and all cycles of renewal.

There was a noise from the tent flaps, and a trio of guards strode in, escorting a figure.

“A messenger,” the front said, a captain from the look of his rank.

“From the Khan?”

“From Karakorum,” the messenger replied.

“Are they not one and the same?” Sukhbataar replied. “Your name, son?”

“Turgen, my lord.”

“I am a mere general, messenger Turgen, no titles other than those bestowed for my courage and skill. Let’s see this message.”

From his small pouch, Turgen retrieved a roll and handed it over. Unfurling, and stepping closer to the light of a brazier, Sukhbataar gave them a wave of dismissal. “See to it that he is fed and watered, he is undoubtedly in need of rest.”

With them gone, the general continued to read. Events and decisions took time to be distributed from the capital, as few of the unicorns within the Marengol service were capable of teleporting scrolls, and even then, those that could were often were reserved for diplomatic needs. The necessities of armies marching upon enemies had been determined to be too straightforward an order to require a scroll-binder unless the circumstances were most dire. As it was, the scroll-binder in his employ was only ever sending and receiving the words of whatever realms they made deals with or subjugated, being the only line of communication directly between the Khan and said rulers.

Bongheet, or whatever his name was, as Sukhbataar couldn’t bother to remember, had a great taste for many of the substances that were grown in this region of the world. Whether he merely liked to partake in them for the narcotic high they produced, or if they “totally helped his connection with magic, man” as he would so ostentatiously put it, the general neither knew, nor cared. So long as his performance did not suffer, he was left to his own devices.

The scroll’s message, however, was one that he thankfully did not have to receive in person, else he might have fallen into a fit of rage. It was easier to be angry at a direct messenger rather than the message itself.

He had marched all this way… only for his task, his sworn duty, to be yanked out from under him so unceremoniously.

In his controlled anger, all he could do was roll the scroll back up and set it on the table. His commandants would need to read this as well. Simply telling them would do them no good, for some might question it. No, a true message from the capital was needed to spur them into action once more.

The scroll-binder’s talents would be needed on the morrow, it seemed. Sukhbataar hoped that, for his sake, he did not decide to overly indulge in the various substances he kept with him this night. It would be an early morning march for all of them.

Another pair of brush strokes finished, another day gone by, and with that, the painting was nearly complere. As a father to two of the most highly esteemed bodyguards of the previous Khan, Tsakhiagiin Tsokhikh, as he was known by many, was afforded one of the better homes within the central portion of Karakorum. He had earned it on his own, of course, and even now, with the wounds of the rabid tarragons almost healed, he would be once again within the grand halls of Karakorum’s palace, as would his children.

They were set to return any day now. He, as one of the few hereditary officials within the entirety of Marengolia, had received word of the death of the old Khan, and the arrival of the new. The generals and their armies would have to return to swear loyalty, and with that, would come a new age for the Marengolian way of life. Only, would it continue to be one of war, or become one of peace?

There was a knock at his sturdy door. Clambering over to it, wincing slightly at the old wounds of years gone by, the low light of his candles casting the only light that dark night, he opened it to find a pair of tall soldiers awaiting him. While certainly not the most unusual visitors for him to have, being such an integral part of the Marengolian history and foreseeable future, soldiers coming to one’s door usually meant trouble. Then again…

These were soldiers he knew with all his heart.

“Father!” one cried, throwing their arms around him as they all stepped further inside. The second joined, wordless, as they usually were these days. Being a soldier tended to do that to you in Marengolia, making you as hard and unforgiving as the steppes themselves could be.

“Narantsetseg! Sarantsatsral! When did you return?”

“Only a few hours ago, father, though we needed to attend a meeting before we could come home. The… former Khan’s remains needed to be attended to by ceremony, and we had to be a part of his funeral guard.” Narantsetseg smiled, a bundle of energy and joy, like a sunflower, but only for their father, and even then it was a rare thing these days. Being a soldier, especially so high ranking as the two of them, was important and serious work, and letting these emotions out now was likely a great source of relief.

“I trust he is not yet interred?” While never a great believer of the former Khan, Tsokhikh had been a faithful servant of him and his family now for… how many generations? Three? Or had it been four already? Being older than the line of Khans was difficult to put into a timeline when you spent long stretches in contemplative meditation, or out in the wilderness battling vicious foes.

“No, the official ceremony will be in several days’ time, when more have arrived. The swearing in of the new Khan will not begin until all of the necessary generals have arrived with their hosts.” Sarantsatsral was no smiles, and offered no hug, but a deep, respectful bow, as cool and collected a clear night’s moonlight. The far more serious of the two, even in the presence of their father.

“Come, sit with me, we have much to discuss,” Tsokhikh said, shutting the door behind them. “I’ve been waiting to hear from both of you. Naran, Saran, my boys, would either of you like some tea?”

The pair nodded, both resisting the urge to roll their eyes at their nicknames. A journey as long and tiresome as theirs never allowed for luxuries, even if they were guards to a Khan, and they would gladly take time with their father to enjoy some tea, even if some of his… eccentricities shined through.

Silver Lining often roamed the halls of the palace at night when she could not sleep. Oh, yes, there were plenty of guards to make sure she was safe, and really, need she fear anything else? Her husband ruled a mighty and ancient land, and while they had not loved one another in the beginning, in time, their love had become a true and deep one, like those of the stories she had listened to in her younger days. Yet despite that, she fretted, and lost sleep over a great many things.

How could she not? Despite all of the war and death, her family remained strong around her, but that was supposed to change. Her last daughter was growing older by the day, her little filly now a young mare in her own right, and yet she had not caught the eye of someone of note, despite all of the royal invitations and the sizeable dowry to her name. Come to think of it, Afarim seemed more inclined to spend time in the royal library than in whatever political gatherings were able to be mustered.

Hence why she strode into the library, pushing the great doors open. The library was a more public one than the king's personal, private one, but it was no less filled with splendor and knowledge. The spells that kept so many books intact and safe from the elements were some of the same that had saved so many from the capitol's burning thousands of years ago. Indeed, what few had survived were more precious to many a scholar than some entire libraries.

Within sat her daughter behind one of the largest desks, the woodwork detailing a great number of battles from antiquity.

“Afarim?” she asked, smiling as a mother would. “Still up so late?”

Her daughter, to her credit, gave her only a slight look of surprise, but nodded fervently. Ah, she must have snuck out past her guards to read again.

“Yes, mother, I was just… just getting in some more studying of the Raja’s ancestors. With Bahram gone there, I thought it pertinent to study up on the cultural history of his lands, as well as some of their traditions. If I wished to send a gift to my new sister-in-law, I would want it to be a heartfelt and non-insulting one, now wouldn’t I?”

“Indeed,” Silver Lining chuckled. “Be sure not to stay up too late, Afarim, your father will be upset if you fall asleep midway through morning breakfast again.”

The princess rolled her eyes, shivering slightly.

“Oh, are you cold?”

“No, mother, I am fine,” she replied, a tad more forcefully than the queen anticipated. My, she must really be beginning to value her privacy. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Afarim.” With that, the queen left, the large door swinging shut behind her.

Afarim leaned back in her chair and sighed, looking down. “You almost got us caught!” she hissed quietly, glaring daggers down under the desk.

Underneath the sturdy furniture, in front of her sopping, exposed marehood, a pair of tongues retreated. “Well, I couldn’t help myself, you just looked so inviting,” Lila replied, her face bunched up against another.

“Yeah, and Lila shoved me in!” the librarian replied.

“Oh come now, Draco, you know you like eating princess pussy.”

“Dammit Lila, I told you, this was the very first time I’ve done this! Afarim and I have never done anything more than heavy petting and some subtle groping. We still haven’t moved beyond that, and that’s because I know her father will have my head on a pike if he finds out!”

“As if, he wants his daughter safe and happy more than he wants more grandfoals. Besides, at that rate she’s going to get your cock in twenty years.”

“Lila, that’s not nice,” Afarim said. “Draco has been a very welcome relief to my busy days and lonely nights, especially since you haven’t been here.”

“I was on a mission from your father.”

“Well I can’t have the mare I love arguing with the stallion I love any more than I can stand not having either of you near,” the princess hissed. “So, after you two finish me off, and I lock that damn door, you’re going to finish each other, and I’m going to watch!”

“What?” the two asked, blinking in surprise.

“You heard me,” Afarim replied with a smirk.

“But, but your highness!” he spluttered.

“Draco Nightstalker, are you defying a royal order?”

The unicorn lowered his gaze, which just so happened to be right in the direction of her swollen pussy. For a newcomer to this game, his tongue was as talented down there as it was teaching her new languages. A very good “cunt linguist” as Lila had put it one night; maybe those two skills were related?

“No,” he whimpered, like a stallion who had realized he’d fallen right into a trap of his own making.

“As for you, Lila,” Afarim added. “I’ll be hearing nothing but moans coming from you once he’s inside you, you hear?”

“I would never defy an order, even from you, princess, but… but it’s been so long since I’ve been with a stallion!” the batpony whined. "How will I know if I'm doing this right?"

“Batponies never forget to how to fly, and you won't forget this either. Now, no more buts, or else he’ll be in yours! Now, both of you, get up on that table, and don’t worry, Draco, Lila’s a little rusty, but she has experience to make up for it.”

“Never thought I’d have sex with you by way of a royal demand,” the librarian muttered as he stripped his clothes.

“Never thought so either,” Lila said.

“I mean, I always thought you were hot,” the librarian continued, slipping onto the table. “But you always seemed so out of my league, and, well, when the princess first told me of the two of you…”

“Gods Afarim, you told him?” the batpony groaned, shedding her own clothes.

Locking the door, Afarim chuckled. “Of course! How else was I supposed to get him interested in the first place? I won’t be putting in the work to seduce somepony I love if there aren’t any feelings already there, you know. It’s taken me this long just to get Draco here comfortable with some fondling and kissing, not like you, you little minx.”

“Wow, this is weird,” Draco muttered.

“On that, we’re agreed.”

“Okay, new rule,” the princess added as Lila, also now naked, climbed atop the table. “First one to finish loses, and the winner gets to make love to me next! Oh, and the loser has to watch!”

The two opponents glared at one another, sparks almost literally flying as they sized each other up. “No way am I losing to some bookworm, even if he’s way more chiseled than he should be,” Lila muttered.

“I will not allow my professional integrity to be challenged by a mere spy,” Draco replied, looking as determined as he was aroused. “This is a one-off thing, by the way, Lila. As hot as you are, and as much as it pains me to say this, there’s no way I’m going to fuck you after this, so enjoy taking my virginity while you can.”

“On that, I can agree,” Lila replied, seating herself enough for him to begin to penetrate her. “No way are we doing this again, no matter how long it takes.” With that, they were as one, and as the princess watched with lustful glee, her fingers already knuckle-deep within her marehood, her two lovers began to rut.

As it turned out, that night, it was determined by the princess that their declaration was perhaps the biggest lie to come out of Persepolis in several thousand years.

Author's Note

(This took about three days to write.)

Just like the last one (though nowhere near as much), this chapter was long overdue. Job interviews, a hectic bout of winter storms (I think we had, like, 4 or 5 between this chapter and the last one), a serious addiction to computer games and listening to podcasts at the same time whenever I'm not working, and a horrendous case of writer's block really stuck this chapter in development hell for weeks. I mean, while I've never stopped writing it, nor stories with similar scenes, it's been, what, almost 3 years between this lemony, cloppy chapter and the last one?

I felt my skills had transitioned into a different sort from the very old, original "put penis in vagina, have sex, cum, repeat lololol" with some erotica added. Now I think more in terms of what they do and why, rather than just them doing it. Instead of being direct, I'm becoming somewhat of a fan of letting the reader imagine it, as I also don't want to fall into the rut of writing sex the same way each and every time. Does that make sense to anyone else?

On top of that, I still have several of the previously-published chapters on here to transfer over to Fanfiction, so both sets can be caught up. Yay for formatting changes.

As it were, the passing of this roadblock has, in the meantime, meant that this chapter is going to give rise to a very, very interesting, and dare I say important, upcoming chapter arc. Fan OC's will be introduced, lots of stuff will happen, the most action in a long time will rear its head, and a lot of readers will likely be surprised! Hopefully I can still pull fast-ones on my longtime readers and give them a gasp or two, or maybe even an ear-to-ear grin?

Also, if you've made it this far, I did publish another story the same time as I did the previous chapter. It didn't receive the attention I anticipated it would, likely because I'd been gone for so long, and I attempted to write this one in a slightly different manner than previous stories. I can't actually link it, I think, because it's technically NSFW on this site.

It's a Braeburn and Little Strongheart story, by the way, if that interest anyone, titled "Lightning and Thunder".

These Complications

These Complications

An early morning had seen a grand, if subdued, breakfast for Spike. The king has personally come to see him that morning and invited him to dine in the upper halls of the palace. The others had been invited by way of messenger by the queen, just as Spike was leaving, to attend a separate breakfast with her and the princess. His travelling companions were, in the case of Lila, nowhere to be found, and in the case of Hadhayosh, down perusing the market with a pair of guards.

The king’s breakfast was rather simple for the two of them, even if it was presented as ostentatiously as if Spike were the visiting prince of a neighboring country, and not some sorta-noble from a distant kingdom that had never really made contact before. Distances and limited means of travel were often the greatest reasons why Equestria didn’t trade or engage in some sort of diplomatic communication with a huge portion of the world. Persia was by far no exception to his rule.

His sore muscles, well earned from the night before, eased as he sedately ate his food, though more out of politeness than lack of hunger. In reality, he was famished, but seeing as he was in a kingdom under siege, where availability of food was going to become scarcer, better to act as if nothing were different.

The king clearly knew otherwise, and their conversation the night before was still running through his mind as they sat in comfortable silence. The troubles ahead were likely going to be difficult for his family to travel through. Princess Luna had told him to travel through the lands of the Marengols, but with an army between them and their goal, perhaps he could reroute through India? Perhaps he should send a letter? It had been some time since his last correspondence with his friends and teachers.

The door to the main dining hall slammed open, interrupting his line of thought. A weathered-looking stallion, flecks of bright grey in his mane and short beard, hurried in with as much professional grace as he could muster. The king turned to him, as suddenly weary as he was wary.

“News?”

“A messenger came with dawn,” the stallion said, holding out a scroll. “The front gates nearly raised the alarm when the banners were seen.”

“Marengols?”

“Indeed, though the group was reported as being far smaller than usual for terms of surrender.”

The king took the scroll, giving a nod of thanks. The weathered stallion beat a hasty retreat as the king unfurled the parchment, his eyes darting over the scribbles.

Spike sat in silence, watching the king carefully. His expression was rather unreadable, but his body language, his scent, were changing. The king was scared, clearly, Spike could smell fear on anyone these days with how often he came into contact with the fearful. Yet, the fear was giving way to something else. The king’s grip loosened, relaxed if you will, as if the news for once wasn’t bad. How that was possible with a hostile force marching on your cities, likely headed for your capital?

The king set the scroll aside, sighing as he did so. In defeat?

“What is it?” Spike asked. “Asking for your surrender?”

“No, for once, it is not as I feared,” the king muttered softly. “A call for negotiations of a different sort. There have been events occurring far from here, deep within the Marengol’s territory, and the general marching within my lands has extended an olive branch I have never heard of before. I am to send a delegation to the approaching general seeking the terms for a ceasefire.”

“Really?”

“It’s an offer I can’t possibly refuse, unlike so many of the others. I have a chance,” the king muttered, pinching his fingers to merely a hair’s breadth apart, “this much of a chance to bring peace to my kingdom and expel these invaders without needing to slaughter my people or theirs. It is a chance I must take, but only with your counsel on the matter.”

“My counsel? Why me?”

“In all your journeys, Spike Dragul, I am most certain you have seen countless acts of diplomacy, and from the letters of the Princess of Dreams, have personally engaged in a few of those yourself.”

“I am on a mission to travel through their lands as it is, but I don’t know if it’s safe enough for me to risk my family,” Spike replied. “With all we’ve already been through, the deserts, pirates, Istanbull… putting them at such risk is not something I can just decide on. I would need their input, else we’ll detour through into India.”

“Would not Luna be against such an action? I was informed that you would be stopping in my lands before continuing on to the Marengol capital. A treacherous journey, yes, if only because of the harshness of the lands you would travel through,” the king said. “With a chance for peace, your trip to the heart of Marengol territory would likely be one escorted as dignitaries, both mine and that of Equestria. Surely they would not seek to harm visitors of such a notably rich and generous nation?”

“There’s no telling how the Marengols might treat Equestrians. From what I remember, we’ve never traded with them before, and anything of ours that found its way to them was likely sold to them at ten times the price from whoever purchased it from us in the first place. To be a world away must make them think we’re either too distant to bother with or too fantastical to be real.”

A good portion of the world likely thought the same of his homeland, as the “New World” was far out of reach for a vast majority of the world’s varied races and nations. Distances, cultural and language barriers, climate changes that some species were not used to, and the sheer cost of moving there for whatever reason one might have were the greatest obstacles for Equestria’s contact with the rest of the world. Spike was beginning to feel his mission was primarily becoming the establishment of greater amounts of diplomatic and economic connections, especially since he was technically married into noble families of two countries and the ruling family of another. Cultural flow between the nations was a close second, of course, and an important one for both recipients, but words and ideas could not flow if coin and goodwill did not do so first. After all, there were plenty of export and import opportunities for Equestria and whoever they established contact with, but making those connections often meant dealing with nobility, or those who wielded similar power. Only a guest of equal or greater standing would likely result in success.

Spike was beginning to suspect that the princesses had planned far more for him than they had originally let on.

“Ah, but you are not merely of Equestrian origin,” the king replied, steepling his hands. “You are a dragon, one of noble blood, and without a doubt a very interesting character for the Khan to meet. It would be foolish of me to simply give you away into their hands with their armies so close to my doorstep, and doubly foolish to attempt to coerce you to fight off such an army when a bloodless option has been presented me and my people.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I will officially appoint you as a designated envoy, of your lands and my own, to go with my scribes and diplomats. This will give you a better excuse to be on such a journey, as well as provide you with political capital for negotiations. Your natural senses will aid you in stepping around any potential situations that would cast an unfavorable light on your lands, and with your assistance, as well as your mere presence, I do not doubt a ceasefire, perhaps even peace, will be well within reach.” The king reached for his cup and took a drink, his crestfallen expression brightening slightly. “It has been far too long for such an option to have been granted to me.”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t help, but what about my family? I wouldn’t want to put them in harm’s way, even with your kingdom’s future at stake.”

“I can entirely agree with that sentiment, though I could not do the same in your position, as I am not in it in the first place. I have my duties, as do you, and while I do not know the travel restrictions upon those carrying foals, I do know that the Marengolian general would dare not attack a city your family was in. Yet I am not as desperate nor stupid as to hold an honored guest’s family hostage, I wager your princess of the night would have my head if she ever heard of such an idea.”

“Or I would,” Spike returned with a slight growl. He doubted the king ever could do such a dishonorable thing, but hey, stranger and more terrible things had happened…

“Be that as it may, your family will undoubtedly want to travel with you to the Khan, so I will provide the best means of securely transporting them to Karakorum in the midst of this Marengolian army. Your carriage will be encountering far less favorable terrain than before, I assure you, so the best wagoneers in my employ will impose as many additional spells and magicks on it as they can to aid you in your travels. Seeing as it will be getting cold fairly soon, especially at night, sleeping in your carriage will be far safer than being outside for anyone, including yourself, I’d wager.”

“Thank you,” the dragon replied, fully meaning it. “However, I do have a boon to ask for the carriage itself. It’s getting a bit cramped in there, and my family like to stretch their hooves every now and then. Is there any way your wagoneers would be able to help with that without them needing to leave the safety of the carriage?”

The king nodded, smiling. “I do believe we have a way around your problem.”

Silver Lining stood silently next to her king as the gathered diplomats, scribes and escort soldiers gathered in the apadana, with their guests yet to arrive. Spike had brought the news of her husband’s plans to his family, and their agreement to such a plan was the only holdup.

The diplomats were among the most senior and respected within the kingdom, their knowledge of surrounding cultures and histories unparalleled. They knew all manner of etiquette, even that of the more barbaric tribes further north and east, and would surely commit no faux pas when dealing with the Marengolian Khan.

The scribes were young and studios, able to listen and transcribe anything and everything they heard with incredible clarity and accuracy. As the aides to the diplomats, they would see into writing the upcoming accords, and hopefully, write up the ensuing peace treaty. For far too long had there not been quiet in their lands, and every single one of them knew that the very future of their people rested on them.

The soldiers that would accompany them were of the king’s personal guard, the Immortals. Far more heavily armed and armored than their ancestral namesake, they were trained from mere colts into shining examples of servility, duty, and lethality. In a personal engagement, they likely knew no better foe for many leagues, and even then would be hard pressed to lose against all but the most skilled of adversaries. A small number could fend off a much larger foe, save for those that wielded arms as powerful and terrible as the Marengols.

Yet the assembled weighed heavily on her heart, and amidst the mild chatter between the gathered hosts, the king his usual silent self, she leaned over.

“This is a risk long in the making, my king, but an opportunity we never expected to have.”

He nodded. “Indeed, my queen, but though it is a slim chance, it is one we must take. There is no telling how this Khan will be compared to the previous one. Will he be a war-happy stallion eager for bloody conquest, or will he be of the more distant relations sort, who favors diplomacy and the security of his own realm? His own people will crave peace if war has been too long, but they will crave war if threatened or insulted. A curious dichotomy, similar to any other we have seen, yet far more effective with these steppe peoples.”

“And if this is to fail?” Silver Lining hoped against hope this would succeed, as the stories of what had happened to the ruling families of other cities, other nations, chilled her blood. To think of what could happen to her, to her husband, to her daughter…

“Then the final solution will be our only one,” the king muttered, his face flashing a grim frown. “Alamut still stands, but rumors of their activities discredit others who lay blame at their feet. Gardens and libraries are their passion, not cloak and dagger. As it is, however, Masyaf…”

“They will answer the call?” Rumors circulated far and wide of the mysterious assassini, many of whom likely did not exist. Even if they did, how often the blame was laid at their feet indicated their nature was a far more fantastical one, and likely the scapegoat to draw eyes away from the actual conspirators, whoever they might have been.

Yet there was a grain of truth with every wild tale, so, perhaps…

“A few will, I am sure of it,” the king replied, before readjusting himself upon his throne. “But let us peak of something less dire, for our need for them will hopefully never come to pass.”

“The safety of our daughter, should the worst come to pass. Have plan been made?”

“Smuggled out of the capital, with a group of trusted aides and troops, to the lands further to the east. Moving east faster than the Marengols would prove immensely difficult, but to the east, to the court of her brother, that would be much safer.”

“His own kingdom would likely fall under the enemy’s scrutiny if they do not establish a lasting peace first,” Silver Lining muttered. “How well would the armies of his lands be able to march to reclaim his birthright, should we fall, and the crown passes to him?”

“Difficult to say, though their numbers would be very near to that of a full strength Marengolian host, if not greater. That is no guarantee that they would accomplish any more than the armies before them.”

“Fostering our son in the lands of his betrothed, as well as maintain that he stay there, was likely the smartest thing your brother ever did.” It was often unkind to speak ill of the dead, but in the case of her former brother-by-law, the queen knew if it weren’t for him, their lands would not be under siege as they were.

The king growled. “My brother made many mistakes, the last of which is costing us our kingdom, but I do not doubt for a second that this was done with the best of intentions. Our son-,”

“-has been raised far from home by those we do not know, surrounded by a culture dissimilar to our own, and will return, in the eyes of many of our subjects, not as a native ruler but a foreign puppet.” How she had been torn by the decision! Yes, it was safest for her son to leave, especially with such an enemy on the horizon so early in the war, but now, after all that had happened, she wanted her little colt back. Gods, how would he look now? Would he still speak as she remembered, or would a foreign tongue greet her upon a hopeful reunion?

“Yet he was not the first to do so,” the king replied. “Do not forget, Silver, that my own grandfather was fostered with the Caliph of Saddle Arabia many years before, and his grandfather many years before that in the lands of the Ottomares. Expanding the knowledge and cultural influence of our kingdom has done wonders for our people. It was only folly that my brother paid attention to those that sought glory through conquest, rather than glory through diplomacy.”

“Then we can only be so hopeful in that, even if the dragon as his family do not succeed, we will at least have been bought enough breathing room to act,” Silver Lining said as the aforementioned guests appeared from a side entrance.

“I have no doubt they will succeed, any more than our daughter will in finally declaring her love for our librarian and my spy.” He looked up at his wife, her expression one of suppressed shock. “What? Did you not think I knew?”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I may be king, but there are even some things that are outside of my jurisdiction,” he replied with a soft chuckle, before turning to Spike and his family. All were dressed for travel, as this was the time before winter truly began to settle in these lands, and where they were destined was going to be far, far more inhospitable.

“Lila won’t be going with us,” Asalah said, bowing slightly. “Our discussion ended with a fond farewell, but she is under no obligation to join us.”

“Indeed, but it warms my heart that you so readily accepted her into your group, even if for a short while,” the king said. “Hadhayosh?”

“The minotauress declared she will be journeying on without us, given our accompanying escort,” Maria replied. “She will be moving through the south and taking a boat back towards the lands of Saddle Arabia, across the Straits of Hornuz.”

“Before I bid you farewell, I received word from my wagoneers,” the king said, rising from his throne and approaching them. “The spells they have crafted onto your carriage will ensure your safe arrival into the hands of the Marengol host, as well as the journey to their lands and hopefully beyond. The interior has been enchanted to be far larger than it appears, almost like that of a house, whilst retaining its exterior size.”

“Wish we could have had that sooner, I’ve been craving a good bed for months,” Trixie muttered, just loud enough to earn a few chuckles from the others.

“As it were, the wheels are also capable of traversing most terrain with ease, road or not,” the king continued, before arriving in front of Spike. “If there is anything else?”

“Other than the supplies we will be carrying with us, everything has been set,” Spike said with a bow.

“Good, then as per part of our earlier discussion, I shall send copies of some of our most maintained scripts to your princesses, as well as opening the plans for trading from our most southerly ports,” the king said, placing a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “With that, I bid you farewell, Sir Dragul, and wish you and yours the best of luck.”

With ceremony out of the way, the group departed.

The journey from the capital had been a quiet one that morning. The inside of the carriage was taking some getting used to, given how spacious it had become, and as such, the journey was a quick one. The scribes, diplomats, and accompanying soldiers said little amongst themselves, their determination as resolute as the knowledge of their potential deaths.

Once the capital was out of sight, the mountain valleys twisted and turned, with mountain streams and copses of trees and shrubs the most common thing breaking their lines of sight. Eventually, when the sun began to sink lower towards the horizon, and the shadows grew longer, they came before a stretch of valley, whereupon Spike was greeted by the very first army he had seen in all his travels. The soldiers of the Prench robber baron, desert bandits, the armed forces of the Ottomares, the guards of the Transylmanian princess, they all paled before this host, like candles to a great roaring bonfire.

It was not as large as he had imagined, but the Marengols, according to the king, had almost always marched with armies far smaller than their opponents, in some cases, being outnumbered by wide margins. Yet these same armies were the ones that felled kingdoms, shattered high walls and crushed army after army, like an unstoppable tide or crumbling mountain. Those that survived the crucible were the ones that capitulated early; there had been no known record to date of one defeating them for good that did not entreat them to total destruction later on.

The cold winds whipped around them, as dry as the deserts that stretched out to the far north, as they made their way down the winding slopes. They were not accosted, though they had likely been spotted soon after leaving the capital. The spies and eyes of the Marengols were likely legion, inconspicuous and ranging far in all directions, with scouts as swift as the wind and as hardy as the few plants that grew alongside grass in their lands. A nation born in some of the harshest terrain in the world could thrive where others oft struggled.

Still, as they approached the outskirts of the great encampment, the soldiers outside began to make way for them, all strangely silent as they watched this procession. None seemed to take any special note of Spike, atop his carriage, for anything more than a passing gaze, something that unnerved the dragon just a bit. Were there dragons amongst their number? Did this explain their unmatched success despite incredible, and dare he say, seemingly impossible odds?

A few jeers here or there were the only noises along the entire way into the encampment, but those were soon silenced by apparent officers, if their slightly different manner of dress indicated anything.

Spike wasn’t sure what to think. None of these Marengols seemed to share much of any distinct differences between them. Here or there, some were taller, some wider, with differing shades of brown or black manes, and eyes that ranged from gold to red. Yet, here and there, he saw those that were not Earth ponies, as most seemed to be, but other races as well. The rare unicorn or two, all amongst the officers, but elsewhere there were a few pegasi, a small cohort of minotaurs, griffins, diamond dogs, even a few naga, batponies, and other species he had yet to encounter. A few in the distance even seemed to be… catlike, with mottled grey fur peeking out from under the armor they wore.

Perhaps the Khan and his court would be a source of answers to this, and other questions. Were these conquered beings, serving to protect their homelands through a tithe? Were they freed slaves, serving their chainbreakers out of loyalty or gratitude? Conquered foes forced to serve or face execution? Mercenaries, being paid to bring devastation to the enemies of the Khan? Or others, for their own reasons?

Soon, the troupe found themselves at the center of the army, most of the soldiers going back to their own duties, but more than a few continuing to stare at them. Spike was suddenly very glad his family and Eutropia were in the carriage, and not making their presence known. Surrounded by an army of males who likely hadn’t seen a mare or even a female of any species since they’d decimated Otrar, or from leaving Marengolian lands…

Within the middle of the camp lay a great series of tents, many of them scattered radially around a singular, far larger one, whose flap suddenly opened. Out stepped a trio of stallions, two Earth ponies, and one a unicorn.

“Sup, dudes?” the unicorn asked.

Reality seemed to freeze for a second as Spike attempted to process exactly what this stallion had just said. Words he hadn’t heard since Equestria were suddenly in his ears and working their way through his brain, but the resulting reply was far from what he wanted.

“Huh?”

“Oh, right, dignitaries,” the unicorn said. “Well, man, the name’s Bong Hit, but you can just call me Hit, nopony else here seems to want to call me anything else, so we’ll go with that. The general’s been waiting for you inside, man, so let’s like not keep him waiting any more, okay?”

Spike didn’t manage to reply to that before the stallion turned and retreated back into the tent.

“What the fuck,” the dragon muttered as he, the equally confused-looking scribes and diplomats, as well as half their escort, followed his lead, with the rest of the soldiers tang up a defensive position around the carriage.

Entering, Spike found himself before a rather unimpressive in material, but very intimidating nonetheless throne set in the center of the large tent. Off to the side sat a large map table, with guards lining the interior and armed to the teeth. Upon the throne, amidst a pile of furs sat what must have been the Marengolian general, a massive axe by his side and a sword rest against his leg.

A diamond dog, to be precise.

“A dragon?” the dog mused, spinning his sword on the edge of a stone jutting through the floor. “The Persian king sends a dragon to negotiate, how unusual. Or are you here to ensure his diplomats do not suffer the fate of their predecessors, a mercenary?”

“We have arrived as per your instructions, general,” the lead diplomat, an aged unicorn replied with a bow, the rest, Spike included, following suit. “We are here to discuss the terms you wish to make.”

“Terms? Such an impatient little pony,” was the reply, followed by a short growl. “I would have the dragon’s name first, for any dragon in my presence is more important a guest than a diplomat.”

“Should I give mine, would it be impolite to ask for yours in return?” Spike countered.

The general merely shrugged, a small smile tugging at his dour face.

“Spike, Spike Dragul.”

“I am General Sukhbataar,” was the reply. “For ease of your likely ill-attempts to repeat it, dragon, you may refer to me as Sukh. I am in charge of this army, and as such, your escort until we reach our destination.”

“Destination?” another diplomat parroted.

“Indeed, pony,” the diamond dog replied. “News has reached us of the death of the old Khan, and the upcoming coronation of the new. So, unless you wish to return to your master empty handed, I suggest you follow along with your dragon companion. We will be making for Karakorum in the morning, so I do suggest you find yourself somewhere to sleep for the night. That will be all.”

He gave them a dismissive wave, and with many either confused or fuming, they left.

“Spike, a moment?”

The dragon turned, as the dog general beckoned him back.

“Yes?”

“Where are you from, perchance?”

“I’m from Equestria.”

“Really? Has the land of the sun and moon mares decided to throw their lot in with a doomed kingdom?”

“No, I was just passing through.”

Sukhbataar made a scoffing noise. “I sincerely doubt it is as simple as that, dragon, but out of respect for your country, as well as whatever mission you are clearly on, so long as it does not endanger my soldiers or myself, I will not press. Still, if you are to come with us, I should very well warn you. The soldiers under my command are well trained, obedient, and without a shred of mercy when I tell them to be. So, keep your family in your carriage until we reach Karakorum, and they shall come to no harm, of that I can promise.”

Spike’s eyes imperceiptibly widened. “How did you-,”

“I could smell them on you as you entered my tent, and as much as my own soldiers lack the strength of smell I possess, it would not be good for them to find a group of females in their midst.”

“If anything happens to them...” Spike softly growled.

“Do you think me foolish enough to warn you for the sake of your wives? This is for the welfare of my soldiers, dragon. I have no intention of returning to my new Khan with barely an army left after you would go berserk upon them.” The general leaned back in his throne. “We march in the morning, and while you may be with us, we are not your escort. You will use your own supplies, you will keep to yourselves, and if you wish to speak to anyone, it will be me or my officers if I am otherwise engaged. Do we have an agreement?”

Spike was silent for a few moments. “Yes,” he replied, another growl escaping his lips. “But if any of your dog soldiers sniff around that carriage…”

“Then they will be resigned to whatever fate you deign for them, this I will let them know soon enough,” Sukhbataar replied. “Now go back to your family, before I change my mind.”

Spike left without another word.

“Cheer up bro, the gen dog’s not that bad once you get to know him,” Bong Hit said as Spike sat atop his carriage, the cold winds whipping through the valley. Whatever fires burned were surrounded by soldiers, keeping themselves warm from the encroaching winter’s teeth, and most gave Spike and his gathered group a wide berth.

“Where are you from, Hit?”

“Oh, dude, I let Equestria years ago, man,” the stallion replied with a weird sort of coughing giggle. “Been going all over the world for some of the best stuff around. From the best opium in the dens of southern China to the Griffin kingdom’s Mare-y Jane, to whatever hashish those assassini guys smoke up in their forts, it’s been a trip man. Came to the Khan’s capital one day man, and like, partook in some totally righteous stuff that almost killed everypony else who tried it. Khan-dude asked if I wanted a job, and thought, ‘yeah, sure’ or something, man.”

Spike wasn’t sure what to make of this stallion, so he decided to stay silent as Bong Hit began regaling stories of subsequent drug usage he hadn’t asked to hear. How was this stallion still alive?

Karakorum was never a quiet city, despite the vast majority of it being a sea of tents stretching out as far as could be seen. What buildings were made were often of great importance, or belonged to those of similar rank, and as such day and most of the night was filled with all manner of activity and hurry, save for only the deepest parts of night.

For the Khan-to-be, that meant preparing the upcoming ceremonial crowning. He was already Khan to anyone else around him, had been since the death of rival by chance of fate, and now, with his army returned from that valley, he was to secure the rest of his territory. Swearing fealty to the Khan was no different than it was for any other kingdom with nobility, but the paradigm shift from noble inheritance to promotion by merit was one of contention and extreme difference between his people and others. Anyone in his kingdom, born Marengolian or not, could become rise through the ranks to general if they worked hard enough and had the skill.

Regardless of age, race, and in the rare exception, gender, any of those that swore fealty to the Khan and showed an aptitude for it would rise. Those that did not, but still showed proficiency, would be placed in the roles that fit them the best. Captains, messengers, the expanding bureaucrats, or even within his personal guard.

Two approached him, siblings, as did their father. His throne, soon to become the center at which his power would be solidified, was silent, save for the flickering of torchlight as the vestiges of night drew ever deeper.

“Speak, Tsokhikh,” the stallion said.

“Your guards have informed me of the need for my counsel, my Khan.”

“Indeed. Before we begin, how goes your recovery?”

“The tarragons will not trouble our scouts nor settlers for years to come, I should think, mor then enough time to establish a hoofhold in such regions,” was his reply. “My wounds will heal shortly, as did all the ones before. This is not my first recovery from such conflict, my old student.”

“Forgive a stallion for misremembering his lessons, as there have been other matters at hand to take his mind off of the musings of his old mentor,” the Khan said with a genuine smile.

“What is it you need of me, my Khan?” Tsokhik was indeed as reliable as he was smart, but that was primarily because of how much he had invested in the Marengolians. It had been a long time since he had felt affection for a peoples as he had for them, not since…

“I am in need of your counsel on the upcoming coronation. Each Khan is remembered for how they are brought into this world as ruler of the Marengols, and I would like myself to be remembered as one that did not break up the families of his people, that sent his armies off at once to continue the wants and desires of the previous Khan. Rather, I wish to give them rest, a chance to recuperate their strength, to see loved ones and friends not seen for months or even years. Yet to do so could be seen as weakness amongst my enemies as well as my allies. What say you, my most wise mentor?”

Tsokhik was silent for a few moments, a wealth of memories returning to him in an instant. The martial traditions of the Marengols were well and truly tied to their strength and unity as a people, the foundations for which had allowed their first Khan to unite a disparate number of tribes into a fearsome fighting force. To channel that yet keep his people from setting off to war once more, it would take a delicate balancing act to accomplish both.

“A series of tournaments, testing the numerous skills available across all walks of Marengol life,” was his reply. “Archery, wrestling, sprinting, drinking, tracking, dueling, anything taking a large amount of skill. Yet we should focus on not just that worthy of soldiers, but also of those who support them, the chances of letting those who smith and craft and enchant enter for a chance to prove themselves. With such a vast array of competitions and honors, it would draw the attention of the nation for weeks, with any seeking their fortune or skill at such arriving. Besides, it would most likely coincide with the return of even the most distant armies, giving the returning soldiers rest and the chance to experience something other than long marches and war.”

“Hmm, an excellent idea, though we shall have to determine the prizes per competition,” the Khan said. “Our coffers are filled to the brim, and will likely grow only larger with the returning conquests, but we mustn’t give out more than we can afford to. I am thinking the top five in each competition will be the ones to earn some gold?”

“An excellent idea, it will appear to be fairer than the standard competitions where only the top three contestants are awarded. With so many likely to arrive and spend their own gold, even if they do not compete, the resulting windfall should more than likely make up for whatever is doled out to winners.”

“If there is anything else I require of you, Tsokhik, I will ask. However, as you said, your wounds are still healing, and I would never deprive as good a friend as you the time amongst kin and comfort. Return to your home until further notice, and sleep well tonight, my old friend. As for you two,” the Khan said, looking to his mentor’s escorts, “you are dismissed as well. I will expect your presence once the generals and their armies begin returning, but for the meantime, enjoy time with your father.”

With a bow, Tsokhik and his offspring bowed and left the palace.

“A competition? I wouldn’t have thought such balanced wisdom from you, father,” Naran said as the tea kettle was passed around. Of all the things to have picked up on from their previous wars and current trade with the realm of Qin, tea was one that all three were glad to have made it this far into Marengol territory. “Usually you tend to pick one extreme over another.”

“I can be full of surprises young one, you would do well to remember that,” Tsokhik replied with a knowing smile. “Besides, it will play well into all of our hands that such a series of competitions be held in winter. None will wish to range far and wide during such adverse conditions, and this way, the armies will stay closer to and receive the attention of their new Khan, all the while previous conflicts are either put by the wayside or peace is reached.”

“Peace would be preferable, if only because there is no telling how long before our strings of successes are thrown back in our face,” Naran continued. “Eventually a power will be angered with the might at their back to defeat our armies, or barring that, destroy our people from the inside out. I pray a night that dark shall never come.”

“It will not, for you two at least, if you enter and win a tournament or two.”

The two looked between each other and then at their father. “What?” Saran asked, the first word they had said all night.

“Good to see I at least have your attention,” Tsokhik chuckled. “To be perfectly honest, the two of you are wasted here. You are still young and full of life, and, well, to be perfectly honest, it has been a long time coming to tell you that both of you have far outgrown the boundaries you have placed upon yourselves.”

“We would never leave you, father, nor disrespect our Khan,” was Naran’s rebuttal.

“You will never leave me, remember? So long as one is in the other’s heart and mind, they will never be forgotten. I would think by now the both of you would remember your lessons with the Khan at least better than he does.”

“Yet even if we did wish to leave, how could we with honor? We are a part of the Khan’s bodyguards, among the best of the best. To be dismissed would bring shame upon us and you-,”

“Shame is something I have far outgrown the need the fret over, and in time, so will both of you,” their father replied. “If you win a competition, especially a more prestigious one, then you will likely be able to trade in the offer of gold for a boon from the Khan himself. With that, you could ask of him anything, and he would grant it, without any sense of dishonor or hostility. After all, he owes me much, and he is the kind to graciously grant a wish, within reason of course.”

“Then, if we do wish for something, he will grant it?”

Tsokhik simply nodded. “Of course. He is wiser than he lets on and far more compassionate than many previous Khans have been. Whether it was my influence or just the natural way things progress, it will remain to be seen. So, when the time comes, think of what you want, and be sure to put your best effort into winning. I will not think less of you, no matter what you ask for, as you two are my children, and I will always love you.”

He growled, his thoughts jumbled as they always, were when away from conflict. It made little sense to dwell on things such as that, for he would likely be called soon. Murder in the capital of a high ranking official was nothing to be scoffed at, and as such it would fall to him to see justice carried out.

The blade was thirsty, the roar of the crowds long since silent.

Blood was as drink, nourishing his brain and driving the pain away.

Bones were his food, those of the fallen, by his blade they were made undone.

He partook in the essence of others, seeing into their souls as their lifeblood was drained by his weapon.

Peace was weakness, a lie to be purged alongside those who did not fight.

His name… his name was like smoke, there, but ready to disappear in a light breeze of concentration.

Could he remember his brother, their battles… no, a brother yes, but only a face.

There was no name not his own. The Khan saved him, the Khan gave him what he wanted.

The others beneath him were, and would always be. They lacked the hunger, the thirst.

It was his alone, his to have. They would not take that from him. It was his, won, his victory.

Victory, the fight, both mattered, but only one sustained him. Gave him new life, gave him strength.

Let all challengers come, these games would be his domain. None would stop him.

His was the way, the way of blood, of sport, of feasting on the sweetest drink, of victory.

“Rex, you are called,” a voice said. A guard, an emissary, some in the Khan’s service, it mattered not. Lifting the great sword that he called his own, its twin resting until the bray of blood-hungry crowds called out to it, he moved from his darkened, incense-filled tent.

The cowering fool, even as his neck was placed on the block, said nothing worth remembering. None would remember them, and as Rex raised the sword, he only wished the murderer would try to fight for his life. Then, perhaps, the diamond dog would get a chance to enjoy the rush of the kill.

The sword fell, and so too did the murderer’s head.

Author's Note

Comments and reviews are my lifeblood, especially when they are questions I can answer or discussions with myself and my readers.

Well, it's been longer, far longer than I anticipate between the previous chapter and this one. Problems in life, new job, writer's block, anxiety, and a whole slew of other things tend to combine in pretty terrible ways.

As it is, I am now shooting for a new chapter every month, as my new job doesn't suck my will to live or write and gives me far more time to actually sit down and write. If I manage to get more done, hey, swell.

Under Watchful Eyes

ADJ Chapter 67

Under Watchful Eyes

Dawn came early every day, with much of the army already packing up its supplies by the time it had started its leisurely trek through the sky. Spike was amazed how used to it he was becoming. Perhaps it was an innate adaptability of dragons to get used to new places and schedules, what with how often he was used to sleeping on the move for long stretches of time, or experiencing a lack of accommodations like at home. Or maybe it was the simple establishment of an actual schedule for once, where timetables needed to be regularly and the pace was a measurable march of progress.

His family, for the most part, was not so enthused with the early departures. Granted, the interior of their carriage-turned-house was not subject to the rocking of the carriage as it clambered over often difficult or dangerous terrain. It was, however, not as fully furnished as what the lot of them had experienced at the palaces of their numerous hosts. That, and the ever-present chill of the coming winter nights seemed to seep easily into the interior, requiring multiple layers when asleep.

Spike felt the cold more readily than he wanted to admit, but only because he hadn’t experienced it much yet in his journeys. So far, only the early winters of Marescow had given him any sort of chill, and even then, he had dealt with it as best he could.

Here, now, was going to be different. This was going to be winter, well and truly, and even in some of the hottest and driest places in the world, the sting of ice was still known. For a dragon like him, he could adapt to it, get used to the cold as if it were nothing more than a slight breeze.

Yet that would take time, and clad in the warmest clothes he had, he marched along the carriage, towards the very center of the Marengol army. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, as he had not the slightest inkling of how things worked around here, the general and his overall command were also towards the center.

Sukhbataar was either incredibly busy after their initial meeting, or else he’d been purposefully avoiding Spike for a good while now. The delays had been minimal, and as such, moving back towards the heart of Marengol territory, to their ancestral homelands, was at a pace the dragon would have found rather surprising, given the terrain involved. From rocky windswept mountain slopes to dunes of sand reaching as far as the eye could see; plains of dust and jutted stone to chilled rivers fed from the snows at higher elevations. Grassy hills mingled with minutely wooded forests here or there, usually at the mouths of rivers or the base of the great mountains that ranged all along the horizon. Truly, it was a different world, a much harder one than he had known at home.

Home. Equestria was so far away, like a distant memory one needed to focus on simply to remember in passing. He had only been gone months now, yet it seemed like years.

A captain approached him through the throngs of marching soldiers. “The general wishes to speak with you,” he said rather curtly, and before Spike could reply, retreated to whence he came.

That was apparently all the warning he was to receive before Sukhbataar was by his side, marching as steadfastly as his soldiers, looking none the worse for wear from a species that was not as well designed for long distance travelling as a pony was.

“Dragon,” the dog said, thumping his chest in some kind of salute.

“General,” Spike replied, inclining his head. “You wished to speak with me?”

“Indeed. It has been some time now since we last spoke. As you are aware, the lives of those under my command take preference over the wellbeing and social interactions with outsiders, especially when we are setting out towards home at a pace we were not familiar with. It is all I can do to keep the ranks as orderly and alert as I can without having to worry about them running off, to get home as soon as possible. Many have been gone for years from their families.”

“That you care is admirable,” Spike said. “What is it you wished to talk about?”

“The Khan, once fully proclaimed, will no doubt wish to speak with you of Equestria, of trade deals and diplomats and all manner of politics a soldier like me does not care for. Others in his court would no doubt like to hear of its magic and creations, of culture and history and all manner of topics that interest so many, when I find them nothing more than passable curiosities. No, dragon, I wished to speak with you of the Equestria as you have lived it, as others have lived it.”

“Such as?”

“What is the stance of your homeland on slavery?”

“It has been declared illegal in all forms. The princesses told me it was abhorred by the very founders of Equestria, of the tribes that settled the lands and skies.”

“A good land then,” Suukhbataar replied. “Where I come from, it was not so.”

“Slavery is tolerated by the Khans?”

“In some form, yes, such as selling oneself for a set number of years to pay for a great debt. Some previous Khans, however, have issued proclamations seeking to curb such a practice, though others pay it little mind. In other places, however, it is not merely a facet of society, but a near integral part of it, an institution you might say. I have heard tales of it being such around the world.”

Spike frowned, trying to call back to the various lands he had seen, not recalling any signs of such practices. He’d seen servants aplenty all over, but had he merely looked over the presence of slaves, or had they been out of sight from the get-go? “As far as I can tell, many places I have passed through mirror the debtor slavery. I take it your homeland was different? You do not strike me as a natural born Marengolian.”

The dog chuckled, bitterly at that. “In that, you would be right, dragon. I am Marengolian by culture and adoption, not by blood, but in that lies the strength of the Khans. They can and will take those who others see as useless, barbaric, and primitive, and forge them into something that makes cities tremble and kings shit themselves in fear.”

He paused for a few moments, as if reliving such an experience. “I was born in a poor village, like many in most regions we will approach. We lived in the shadowed foothills of mountains, in small valleys barely fertile enough to grow the crops we depended on. Our main source of income was from trade with our neighbors, of the mines we ran and the various mineral wealth we would harvest. Iron, gems, copper and tin, as well as whatever our blacksmiths could forge. We have plenty of tools, but too many mouths to feed.”

It honestly sounded like a wide variety of mining towns in Equestria, though the earth pony magic helped them grow more food with less soil, along with the local weather teams ensuring good supplies of rain. Diamond dogs had no such access to magic, nor did they have cooperative weather guidance. It was hard to imagine such vast swaths of the world outside of Equestria had to endure weather as wild and untamed as the Everfree Forest, living on the whims of seemingly random weather patterns and simply hoping for good conditions.

“I take it you were one of those?” Spike asked.

“Aye, I was. Runts of the litter, my brother and I, and times were harder than usual. Normally the family would have gotten by with what little food we had, and when we were big enough, would go off to work in mines to earn coin from traders. But that year, it was worse, worse than usual by far. A drought hit, worst in a century some said, and there was not enough food to go around for our little shack.”

“So my parents sold my brother and I to a passing caravan bound for the capital.”

Spike’s stomach felt as hollow as an ancient cave. “They sold you?”

“Aye, they did.” The palpable anger was tinged with more than a bit of grief. “Their own sons, sent to do whatever the traders in the caravan decided they’d best be suited for.”

“Which was?”

“Another time, perhaps,” Sukhbataar replied with grim finality, silence resuming for a few moments. “More of Equestria, I should like to know. Of those that dwell there, what race are they?”

“Primarily ponies,” Spike said, mentally filing away the questions building from their suddenly aborted line of conversation. There was far more to this general than met the eye, and the Marengols in general. “Earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns, for the most part. There are bison in the drier parts, as well as crystal ponies to the north, in the Crystal Empire, and more than a few griffins, minotaurs and others scattered throughout the lands.”

“A fairly uniform place, then, without the variability of the Silk Road or the lands elsewhere. Are there dragons there?”

“I’m one of the only in the lands of Equestria, far as I can tell. Most live in the Dragon Lands, with some living elsewhere in neighboring kingdoms or regions.”

The general was silent for a few moments, as if puzzled by this revelation. “Have you, by chance, encountered other dragons during your journey?”

“As of yet, no. Should I expect some?”

“Well, much like your lands, they tend to keep to themselves. Even in regions where they are common, they tend to stick together in small enclaves, or prefer a solitary life away from the trappings of most civilization. Tribes may form around a singular dragon, and eventually all claim to be descended from them, true or not.”

“That would definitely explain why so many of my hosts have treated me with such respect. I take it you’ve met dragons before?”

“A few times, here and there. There are some that tend to stick closer to the Marengolian lands than others, and some just seem to wander. This is, of course, simply referring to the more common dragon races. I take it you have never met a kirin?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“A wyrm?”

“Didn’t know those were a thing.”

“Magma serpent?”

Spike shook his head.

“What about a Longma?”

“No.”

“Ice dragon? Shade dragon? Ice wyrm?”

“Have you met all these kinds of dragons?” Spike had never even heard of half of these before. What was the difference between a wyrm an ice wyrm, anyway?

“No, but I know those that have, and I merely wish to know if you have encountered them within your travels. You have been from one end of the world to this one so far, you must have met and seen much I and others like me have not.”

“Well, no dragons, but plenty of other things.”

“Such as?”

“I encountered naga within the walls of Baghdad and again in the streets of Istanbull. I’d never met one in Equestria, nor most of the places I’ve yet been through.”

“Ah, yes, well the snake-kin are more recently beginning to expand out from their jungle homes within the jungles, terribly reclusive at times. I take it much of who you saw were merchants?”

Spike nodded. “I’ve met diamond dogs before as well, though clearly a different sort than yourself.”

“Yes, our kind is most scattered,” Sukhbataar replied. “Ever since the downfall of our ancestral kingdom thousands of years ago, we’ve been scattered to the four winds, our kingdoms either small but lasting or great but fleeting. Even so, many of our kind care only to establish communities no larger than towns of sorts, content with being under the yoke of others so long as we are treated well enough.”

“Where was this kingdom of yours?”

The dog shrugged. “As far as we can tell, early ancestors of our race migrated through the steppes of Marengolia from the vast realms of Siberia, settling into the Indus River valley. We were likely one of the very first races to inhabit that region in the numbers we did, and eventually we grew so large that when whatever disaster that fell upon our kingdom occurred, it drove us to scatter to the four winds, rather than merely shrinking our borders. There are very little records surviving from that time to tell us exactly what happened, and the Chinese are very secretive about their more ancient records. That will change, of course, should war come to their doorstep.”

“Will my family be travelling through a warzone?”

Again, the dog shrugged. “There is no true way of knowing something will occur until it does, Spike the dragon. Predicting the events of the future is no more than blind luck or extremely advanced magic, and even then it can change in an instant. I tend not to believe in such foretelling, else my freedom and rise through the ranks of the Marengols would not have been so thoroughly embraced by yours truly.”

“But there may still be war.”

“Perhaps the new Khan will be one of war and conquest, yes. Many have been and many more will be, it is in our blood as a nation to be bloody, a culture that has lived and struggled for countless generations out in the steppes. Or perhaps the Khan will wish to foster trade and good relations with countries, seeking to establish diplomatic ties with neighbors and conquer through the pen, and not the sword.”

“Quite the swing there on the scale of things.”

“The Marengols are not a very populous race, seeing as we are more a culture than anything else. The lifestyle of their ancestors did not allow for much settling in one place, so they tended to be very nomadic. Only now are we beginning to settle in some areas, but even then, we are spread apart from one another often, so as to secure our borders but also maintain our cultural heritage.” Sukhbataar paused for a few moments, as a flag signaled something from the far side of the group. “I believe you will be an important piece of the new Khan’s decision for peace or war, though I do not know how. I must go, though we shall speak again soon enough. Farewell.”

The general moved off once again, and as Spike found himself alone beside the carriage once more, lost in thought as the army moved on, he couldn’t help but ponder this new information. What would the Khan be like, if the previous one had clearly had no issue with waging war for years? Would the winter deepen enough for safe passage to be rendered impossible?

Enough delays could see him and his family basically stranded for weeks, time he did not have. His foals should be born in Equestria, in what would become their home, not out on the road far from help in case of complications. Equestria boasted some of the best medical facilities he knew, in both practical and magical matters. He would not put the risk of complications on his wives, and would see them home in time for their foals to be born, even if he had to cut his trip short and rush home.

He could handle the heat the princesses might throw his way. They’d sent him on such a quest with marrying in mind, they’d surely understand if he put the priority of said family over the trip itself. He’d already been tempted half a hundred times to have them be sent to Equestria ahead of him, to continue the journey on his own, and would only continue to do so as their pregnancies progressed and the journey went on, but knew in his heart that sending them off would not work as he wished.

What if he went through another trial or cultural event as he had with Asalah becoming a part of his family? What if he needed their magic to help in case he were incapacitated, like in Istanbull? What if his lackluster genteel diplomatic skills got him into a sticky situation he’d have otherwise avoided with their help?

No. They would stay with him unless a portion proved far too treacherous. Until then, together they would be, into this great unknown.

Eutropia was silent as she tended to the dishes within the kitchenette, cleaning up after yet another rather quiet luncheon. Most of them were quiet these days, given how long most of them had been together. The others always had stories to tell, either from Equestria or from their journeys since Spike had taken them into his fold.

She had few stories to tell, nothing to the grand and adventurous as what the others had experienced, nor did she feel she should share the stories of her relative youth to the others just yet. It did not diminish her in the eyes of the others, and she felt no need for it to hold such sway over her. Her life, with the troubles it had had, was not one for the history books, true, but it had been her own, and its own story was one she was continuing to write with every passing day.

Yet, her life had changed, ever since her mother had bid her to leave Istanbull with the dragon and his family. There could be no doubt of that. The frightful apparition of a monster turning into a splendid host, while the true monster lay out in the wilds of Transylmania. A touring of history of disparate beings as downtrodden as hers, linked to wild whims of history, but ones who had risen above and made of themselves a great nation. Lands so ancient their bones could tell stories of empires come and gone long before her own city had been a mere trading outpost on the ancient shores of her homeland.

Life was never constant. Indeed, permanence was anathema to life, always changing, always struggling against and overcoming odds at all turns. She had gone from an egg to a young hatchling, and from there, onwards into a young adult, ready in body but not spirit to take the next plunge into adulthood. She’d still lived with her mother, after all, a fledgling growing far too big for their nest but not yet ready to set out on their own.

Her abrupt departure from Istanbull had more or less been her true fledging, and now she was a part of a flock of her own, albeit at first rather unwillingly and rather separately. However, as the weeks and leagues had gone by, she’d grown closer to them, getting to know them as well as they were learning of her.

Drying and filing away the last of the plates, she sat down at the table, a cup of now-cool tea resting between her talons. She’d picked up drinking it more often these past few weeks, as this journey through lands the Marengols had either conquered or intermittently controlled was beginning to stress her out, just as it was everyone else. The tea was soothing, sort of like liquid meditation, something to keep her calm when the stress of being unable to spread her wings or even just walk outside proved too much to bear.

Even with the danger of being outside known to them, other than Spike, none had been outside since they’d left the Persian king’s capital. Spike was afforded the ability to be out as he wished, though he never strayed far from the carriage for very long, and often preferred walking alongside it, regardless of terrain. Even if he returned to his family every night, Eutropia could tell he was not taking their captivity any better than they were. Perhaps he saw it as him being a warden of prisoners?

The others were taking to this isolation in their own, often subtle ways.

Maria had busied herself with writing letters and poofing them away, usually utilizing Spike’s magical breath to do so. From what she had gleamed from their discussions, Maria was corresponding with her family on a more regular basis, usually on personal matters with few political dealings scattered throughout. With how often they were responding, the mare was clearly setting things up for her eventual arrival in Equestria, likely arranging lodgings for when her relatives came to visit. She wasn’t getting as much sleep as she had been, and it showed with how often she needed a pick-me-up during different times of the day.

Chrysalis was busying herself with some strange sort of mental communication with her race, often muttering in her sleep while her eyes dimly glowed. Most of the words made sense to the others, and the news of a new palace being built in their underhives was certainly something to speculate. However, the queen was becoming increasingly sensitive about the subject, and either tended to start deflecting probing questions, or become a tad snappy if one pressed too much. Secrecy was clearly becoming important for such matters.

Trixie was busy with letters as well, though nowhere near to the extent of Maria. Instead of just her family, who tended to rarely respond and often ask questions hard to answer at this point, she was also regularly speaking with Spike’s plethora of family and friends in Equestria. As it turned out, there was quite a bit of history between the unicorn and those who had seen Spike off. Most of it dealt with the new quarters being built within Canterlot, but there was also the news of happenings back at home. However, while she still slept more than Maria did, Trixie was beginning to have what equated to potential nightmares, or at least restless dreams. She refused to tell anyone else about their contents, but seemed to fall into a temporary stupor of sorts when babies were mentioned before perking up and making small talk about other related things.

Now, Asalah, she was restless, pacing all the time, as she did not feel the need to correspond with her family, nor write to others. However, she was practically glowing, smiling all the time, and filled with a rather chipper mood that both relaxed and annoyed the others. Three of the dragon’s wives were clearly pregnant, and as far as anyone knew, Asalah was not. Yet her chipper attitude, radiant smile and the sheer amount of help she was providing meant something was up.

Speaking of which, the zebra mare sat down at the table, a small book in her hands, one of many the mares had gathered over the course of their travels. Thankfully, they were weightless when placed in one of the travel bags, or else the small library within each might have crushed any carriage beneath them.

The title in a language Eutropia could not read, likely that of Asalah’s native lands, the griffin watched as the zebra bookmarked a page and closed it.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked, folding her hands.

Eutropia nodded. She’d asked for a rather clandestine meeting with the zebra, well, her friend really. She’d become fairly close with the others, but undoubtedly the closest with Asalah. Exactly why, she couldn’t quite say, but she felt this sort of talk would be best with one most likely to understand her conundrum.

“I wasn’t sure who else to bring this to, seeing as it pertains to me,” Eutropia began. “The others, I know them, but I don’t know them like you do, and I don’t think they know me like you do. We’ve only been together for a few months now, right?”

“I’d wager so, feels like longer,” Asalah said, leaning forward slightly. “What’s this all about?”

“Well, it mostly pertains to me,” the griffin said with a sip of her tea. “I’ve been having dreams these past few weeks, ones I’m not entirely sure of. Dreams can be as random as anything else, or they can be an insight into one’s soul, or according to some, prophetic. I’m not really sure where these lie in that regard, but I needed to talk with somepony about it.”

“Are they nightmares?”

She shook her head. “No, no, far from it actually. They are often very nice, calm dreams, though occasionally, they can become a bit more… confusing.”

“Confusing how?”

“They show me things I don’t think I’ve ever seen, or maybe imagined at some point. Sometimes it appears from my own perspective, at others times, from the sidelines, as if I were watching this happen to someone else.”

“What are they?”

At this, the griffin felt a slight blush creep onto her face. “Well, they always involve me, but recently, they involved a male. Sometimes it was in fun or exciting situations, like exploring an ancient city or temple complex, or visiting news lands, or fighting bandits. Others became more… intimate.”

“It’s Spike now, isn’t it?”

Eutropia was at a loss for words at the zebra’s guess. “H-How-?”

“The others told me what they’ve seen, and frankly, Eutropia, I’m only surprised that I didn’t see it sooner,” Asalah said with a smile that could only be defined as “smug incarnate”. “Though I am glad you came to me with this, I’d wager I was one of the more understanding of the four, if only by a little.”

“You… you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why would I ever be mad?”

“It’s your husband, their husband, Spike! Why wouldn’t someone admitting to having dreams about them like that make you upset?”

“Dreams are one thing, acting on those is another. You haven’t acted upon them, my dear, and trust me, we’d all know if you’d tried.”

“What do you mean?” Eutropia wasn’t one to be scared easily, but the casual nature air of this conversation was starting to get to her. What was going on?

“We’ve known for some time that you like Spike, though I guess we only recently found out just how much that was,” Asalah replied with a shrug. “It’s not like we’d hold that against you either, Spike is a very likable drake, for many reasons I’m sure you can guess, but he’s also an ideal partner. Kind, considerate, considerably affectionate, and highly likely to be able to not only care for his family’s well being, but to also keep them safe. Doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome, influential, and has a great wealth of friends and family to bring to the table. Any mare or lady would fall head over heels for him were it not for his assignment and his herdwives stealing the spotlight.”

“So… you’re not mad for my… attraction to Spike?”

“Of course not! Provided it’s for the right reasons, of course.”

“What?”

“Spike is my husband, yes, as he is the others, but we’ve all married him for differing reasons,” the zebra said, listing them off with her fingers. “Maria married him as part of a deal with her parents over political ties and diplomatic necessities. Chrysalis married him under the pretense of control but later as a means of providing an heir for her kingdom, as well as an ally for her realm. Trixie because she fell pregnant with his foal and sought to give them a good life, as well as to not exclude him from their lives. I was married to him due to the cultural disparity dictating courtship and intent to marry, as well as my father wishing to see me off with one who could care for and protect me.”

Asalah paused. “Yet those being the reasons for our unions was not why we love him. Maria fell in love with Spike because he was the ideal partner from the stories she’d read growing up, even if she had been beginning to resign herself to the acceptance that such fantasies of such love were likely extremely rare. Chrysalis fell in love with Spike from their shared adventures, the guilt of attempting to seduce and beguile him under a cloud of lies, and because he was genuinely such a good and kind drake that she felt powerless not to. Trixie fell in love with Spike due to the ability of him to not only provide for their eventual family, but also because of his gallantry and willingness to take her into his fold even if their union was the result of an unforeseen, but preventable, liaison earlier in his journey. As for myself, Spike is able to take me away from a home I was growing to detest, has shown me a love deeper than I thought possible for a male, will do anything in his power to keep me safe and happy, and has been giving me nothing but love and attention so deeply that it’ be hard to imagine anyone else doing the same.”

“So you all have your reasons, both as to why you are married and to why you love him so…”

“So what are your reasons, Eutropia? Why do you feel this attraction to our husband?”

The griffin sighed as she took another sip of tea. “Besides the obvious good looks, kind heart, and willingness to listen without much complaint or disrespect?”

“Clearly.”

“He makes me feel… strange inside.”

Asalah arched an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

“When I’m near him, I feel… different than I used to. I was always so guarded, my mother saw to that, but for good reason. No reason to fall head over heels for someone who may not feel the same about you, or may wander before that kind of relationship can strengthen into a great one. Spike… my insides get all tingly when I’m near him, butterflies and all that.”

“I see…”

“Not only that,” Eutropia continued, pushing her tea aside. “It’s these little things that I just don’t understand. When I sit near him, like around a fire or in the carriage, his aura just seems to envelope me like a warm blanket, shielding me from doubt and worry. He smells like strength and determination, bravery and honor, but there’s this presence in his eyes that I can’t grasp. He sees right through me, I swear it, right down to the real me, and he doesn’t judge for what I’ve done, or what I could have done. He doesn’t see some potential griffin orphan from a country that wronged him greatly and hurt him in ways he’s never been hurt, he sees me, Eutropia Aeraktos, for who I am, faults and all.”

“I think I’m starting to understand…”

“On top of that, I can’t stand being around him half the time, if only because I don’t understand why this happens!” she cried, standing up. “My head feels dizzy when he brushes past me, when we talk I can’t seem to string most words together unless I really concentrate, and his smile makes my knees go weak! I can’t eat in front of him because I’m worried I’ll make a mess, I train him harder than any other would be just so I’m not slacking off for his sake, and I feel upset whenever someone else outside of his family looks at him! I’m not a possessive or jealous bird, Asalah, but that’s exactly what I felt when he would talk with Lila, or Hadhayosh, or even the Persian Queen. That can’t be normal, it just can’t be!”

The griffin collapsed back into her chair with a huff, cupping her face with her talons. “What is wrong with me?” she muttered through her clenched beak.

“You’re in love.”

The griffin’s startled squawk brought a great big smile to Asalah’s face. “I, I don’t-,”

“You’re in love, Eutropia, best as I can tell. There’s no doubting it now. I’ll admit, I was pretty certain this was the case when it was brought up by the others, but now I’m sure of it.”

“Brought up?”

“Did some of this start when you caught Spike and I rutting up in the gardens?”

The griffin’s face grew redder than a tomato. “How did you-,”

“Know? Spike said he thought he smelled you when we left, but I knew I caught something move out of the corner of my eye near the stairs when we changed positions the first time,” the zebra said, smiling as the memory flitted through her mind. “Not that I mind it now, I’d have thought a peeper on such a private act would anger me, but given that my first with Spike was in the middle of the Samarea Desert with his other three wives watching, and participating immediately afterwards, I guess I was inoculated against such prejudice early on.”

“So I’m in love with a married dragon,” Eutropia muttered. “Just great.”

“It is.”

The griffin’s nonplussed look must have been evidence enough of the need to clarify.

“Spike could use a woman like you,” Asalah said. “You’re no soft mare like the rest of us, even with the magics of three of them being potentially potent, or in the case of Chrysalis, incredible. No, you’re mentally and physically fit, with training and skills all of us lack, and to be frank, your attraction to him is not merely the last remnants of teenage lust. What you feel for him, it’s been bothering you for some time now, hasn’t it?”

“I… yes, it has, but I thought nothing of it then,” she replied. “Why now, why now of all times did it choose to escalate like this?”

“Personally, I think it’s a combination of things, most recently your witnessing of our private moment.”

Eutropia’s blush remained as the zebra continued.

“Firstly, Spike is attractive, but the reasons for that, as we’ve discussed, are very variable. Your attraction to him has literally nothing to do with his status, or his looks, or his political ties or even his draconic heritage. You’re attracted to him by both his kind, generous nature and his willingness to listen to you, to have you participate instead of remaining an outsider. You’ve become a friend to us all, willingly, without any expectations for us on your part. Eutropia, you’re already practically family, and personally, I would be honored and overjoyed to call you a fellow herdwife.”

Eutropia felt her heart clench at the same time as she stifled a gasp. “You… you would?”

“Of course! You are not only attracted to Spike for those highly commendable qualities, but you are afraid to act on them because you are worried about not fitting in. I felt the same way before our first night together, it’s something I would not take lightly otherwise. If you feel this way about Spike, then it’s likely he may feel the same way about you, only he may not yet realize it. You’ve noticed how scatterbrained he can be at times, or how focused he might remain for such a long time as to ignore less important matters within him.”

“I… I have noticed, but… what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

“Oh, I’m sure he will, once we’ve all talked with him,” Asalah said, rubbing her hands together with ill-disguised glee. “Oh, a new herdwife! Here I’d thought he might be done, but no, I couldn’t ask for a better one among those we’ve met than you, Eutropia. What do you say? Want to join our family?”

Family. It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d had one. Eutropia knew she’d have had to leave the nest someday, to either strike out on her own or find someone to love and raise her own brood with. Yet, in those fleeting moments between sleep and awake, she’d doubted she’d find something as special as what her parents had had. She’d worried, if only for precious moments, that life would pass her by, and she’d find herself old and alone, flightless and feeble, while the world went by, vast and uncaring.

Yet now she had the chance she’d believed beyond her reach, the chance to be a part of a family. An unusual and rather unique one, true, but one she’d already come to admire and respect, for the love and familial bonds they shared had eclipsed anything she’d dreamed of for herself. She would do her mother and father proud by joining a family like this, by becoming a part of something far greater than just her. After all, wasn’t that the definition of marriage? Becoming part of a greater whole than the self? Two, or in this case, several individuals making up a greater collective of love and fellowship?

“I… I would be honored if I would be able to join your… your family,” Eutropia replied, retrieving her tea.

“Excellent!” Asalah said, leaning forward suddenly to give her a hug. “I’ll tell the others! Not Spike, of course, this’ll have to be our secret for now, just us ladies and all that. By chance, is there a ritual or courtship involved among griffins?”

“Not particularly, at least not where I’m from,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, if Spike is going to do this right, and I know he’ll want to, even with the rest of us supporting and maybe even encouraging such an action, then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t do anything problematic. What would be a good way of doing that?”

“Well, occasionally females of griffins chose their mates, rather than the other way around for some races,” Eutropia said. “It’s usually the more martial ones that tend to do so, so… like me, I guess?”

“Excellent! After Spike is forewarned, we’ll get some sort of courtship set up,” Asalah replied. “My guess is, however, he’ll want to do things your way, as he’s already done most of the choosing so far, and I'm pretty sure the rest of us can encourage him to let someone else take the lead this time. He's been putting in so much effort for us all, time to switch things up. What would be a good time to tell him you’ve chosen him as your husband?”

The griffin shrugged. “I don’t know right now, but when the time is right, I’m sure I’ll know what to do.”

"Excellent! Now, we'll need to talk about breaking this to the others..."

Author's Note

Super late chapter?

Yes.

Am I working on the next?

Even as you read this, yes.

ETA?

Undetermined.

So many thanks to all who have stuck it out thus far.

The Court of Conquerors

Chapter 68

The Court of Conquerors

Their expansive journey was one of snowcapped mountains and winding shallow rivers, dusty hills and bright sand dunes, fields of rocky outcroppings and tiny farming villages scattered throughout. The scattered ruins of empire come before and fallen away to the sands of time, returned to the dust from whence they came. Some were the remains of cities and fortresses, ruins of that which the Marengols had crushed beneath their combined feet and hooves, ground down and destroyed like so many before them. Others had been abandoned by the fear of approaching Marengols, left to wither and die or be retaken at later dates by passing survivors. A few of these had already been claimed by the hordes, many of the more ostentatious buildings being torn apart and reused for far more utilitarian needs and services.

Yet as time went on, the emptier the land became, rocky desert and sparse grasses replacing all else, the mountains growing further behind in the distance. They came across no settlements, few rivers, and the ever-present layers of dust coated everything, soldiers and carriages alike. Even in what was undoubtedly the early onset of winter, the heat from direct sunlight remained oppressive, relieved by the deeper chill of the night air. Spike had never experienced cold like those nights, whenever he remained perched on the carriage rooftop, looking up at stars never seen by Equestrian eyes.

The region had a strange effect on them all, this seemingly barren wasteland, where the only signs of life were the sparse regions of grass and the occasional small riverbed, likely only flowing from the snowmelt of spring in more distant lands. His spell breath was becoming more and more difficult to conjure, messages sometimes needing great concentration to send or receive, and thus communications with Equestria fell by the wayside.

The others could sense it too, much of their magic no longer as powerful as it had once been, even that of Chrysalis. Perhaps it was the lack of life in the area that drove it, or the great vastness sapping their energy in some way. Even Spike’s inner fire, that which gave him abilities others could scarcely imagine, dimmed somewhat, as if he were experiencing a mildly debilitating chill to his very core, a plight he downplayed to the others. This place, it was clear as to why none had conquered the land with spells and potions, as had so many others in such similarly inhospitable locales. Or, perhaps it was due to the long shadows of the great mountain range to the south, the vast Himarelayas, scraping the sky with their magnificent peaks and casting figurative shadows over the vast empty wastes?

Yet, soon enough, the grass became less sparse, more abundant, though the days grew colder, as did the nights. Soon, grass was found in abundance, short yes but still in greater quantity, and this was where they met their first signs of habitation.

Small huts, domiciles built from whatever materials could be harvested from the Marengolian steppes or traded from neighbors, easily collapsible yet sturdy when erected. Either individually or in small groups, they would find these gers accompanied by those who dwelt in them, as well as the herds of goats and occasional sheep they cared for. Marengolians had a fondness for them, for every ger had such creatures around it, watched with great care by the family that cared for them, always on the lookout for threats.

For danger on these steppes may not always be predators, nor the cold, which continued to increase as they entered what had been far greener lands. Here, snow rarely fell, according to the locals amongst the returning soldiers, but the storms were the worst sort of danger. Much like the Everfree Forest, and indeed the rest of the world, there was no controlling the winds and rain here, nor directing the lightning and thunder. Though rain was minimal, the thunderstorms themselves inspired fear in all who dwelt upon the steppe.

When all you had for protection was your ger, out amidst high winds and rumbling thunder and the great flashes of lightning, your protection was minimal at best. Being the tallest object on an open area was not a source of comfort either, for it made you as much a target as a witness to the might of the storm.

Spike was not sure what to make of it. Magic seemed weaker here, as if something drained it from this land, and the land itself could not support a great number of, well, anything or anyone, yet those living here carried on, seemingly without a whisper of complaint. Then again, the weak did not last long here, according to those same guides.

It reminded him of his guides through the Samarea Desert, and the lands outside of the palace of Saddla Arabia. To think, only the most remote or desolate of places like these existed in Equestria, and many remained unexplored or uninhabited, deemed unfit for those who had no adaptions capable of taming or living in harmony with the land. Even the superficially-barren lands of the bison were inhabitable, rich in bounty for those who were able to work the land and utilize its resources to their fullest.

After weeks more, where the daytime temperatures never rose above freezing, and Spike himself had taken to wearing thicker clothes, lined with fine wool from the herds of sheep found further in these lands, they came to the crest of a hill, and in the distance, there it lay.

The city of Karakorum, the capital of the Marengolian Empire. A vast, sprawling expanse of gers, surrounded by roaming bands of shepherds tending to their flocks. At the very center lay what would have been a small town in another realm, but it was likely the only true collection of permanent buildings out here in the steppes, the cost of moving building materials such as this likely incredibly expensive, but for all their conquests, Marengols had coin to spare for such projects.

Yet around all of this lay more gers, but these were not those of a simple civilian population. These were those of armies, their tents and troops intermingled in all manner in a great swath around the area, with large alleys between them for flocks to move out further towards fresher pasture. If not for the ground being fairly frozen, Spike was certain this many beings out and walking around would have surely ground the short grasses into dust, sending up clouds of the stuff at all times of day.

A loud horn signaled their arrival, and in the distance, he could see a troupe of soldiers move away from the group, coming up to intercept them. On the open plains, there were few that could beat a Marengolian in a footrace, so the general had told him, and Spike believed that. Like Equestria’s trains at full speed, their gait was as fast as it was relentless, seeming to almost glide over the ground despite the odd bump or hill.

Even more impressive, they were barely short of breath when they came to a halt at the front of the army, where Spike’s carriage and the general had managed to advance to.

“General Sukhbataar,” one at the front said, his armor matching with Spike’s host, giving a salute of sorts. A Marengolian, grizzled and clearly a veteran, yet no slower in his age than any of the younger stallions by his side, and curiously without a weapon at his side.

“General Batzorig, it is good to see you again,” Sukhbataar replied, saluting as well. “Have the other generals arrived?”

“You are believed to be the last, though only by a few hours. General Qadan arrived earlier this morning, and made good time for a Naga, I might add.”

“Considering he might perish if he stays in one place too long, where the cold of winter may claim him, I cannot fault him for such haste. Where will my troops be stationed? The journey from the land of the Persians has been long and there is much that needs to be done.”

“They are to be on the far side, opposite the great fields cleared for the celebrations. The Khan-to-be has announced that upon the completion of his coronation, there will be a great series of games to honor the Marengolian people, with contests of all kinds, including favors, riches, supplies, and appointments in his growing circle, though as to when this will happen remains uncertain at this time. Word has it your brother has already earned his favor and joined his council, as he had before the death of the last Khan.”

At this, Sukhbataar seemed, to Spike, a little startled, though he quickly recovered. “When is the ceremony? I should like to give my troops a good rest before anything else should arise.”

“The beginning will be tonight, after sundown, and will continue through the night amidst a vigil, one of the newer traditions he intends to establish. After that, it will be in the morning, throughout the entire day, with feasting and entertainment for all,” Batzorig said, turning to the others as the troops passed by. “Who is this?”

“This would be a guest of ours, along with others,” the dog replied. “They are with diplomats from the Persian king, likely trying to attempt a peace with the new Khan. They are from Equestria, and have, by all accounts, traveled many months and leagues to Karakorum.”

“Equestria?” Batzorig asked. “I’ve only heard rumors of such a place, it is much like Shambala according to some, a place long believed to be nothing more than myth.”

“I assure you, it is real,” Spike said, removing his woolen hood and hat enough to reveal his face. The cold had made it necessary to cover up during the colder periods, but thankfully once the sun arose he was comfortable enough to dress far more plainly. “I go by Spike, General Batzorig.”

“A dragon?” To Spike’s surprise, the general had none, only a mild curiosity as he glanced at the folded wings slightly sticking out from his clothes. “A sky dragon as well. Interesting, I am certain the Khan-to-be will wish to meet with you soon.”

“Where shall we be staying?” the dragon asked. “We’ve room in our carriage but we’re not sure it’d be the best place to stretch our legs after being cooped up for so long.”

“We? Are there more of you?”

“The dragon has been travelling with his family,” Sukhbataar said, motioning to the carriage. “They have been in this enchanted wheelhouse for their protection, as well as secrecy. My soldiers have had a long, tiresome campaign, and would likely have found little restraint within them had their unknown guests revealed themselves.”

“Indeed, they will require lodgings, along with such a distinguished guest,” Batzorig said. “See to your troops, general, I shall take these visitors off your paws. Remember, your weapons are to be put under guard, for Karakorum will brook none disturbing this glorious gathering. Be sure to get some rest, and maybe cleaned up, you look like dried shit, old friend.”

The diamond dog smiled at that with a friendly growl, giving another salute before bellowing an order, his previously-halted troops now moving towards the city.

“Come, the day may still be young, but the sun will set sooner than later at this time of year,” the stallion replied, motioning for them to follow. “Your lodgings will be in the palace proper, where other dignitaries dwell. How many are in your party?”

The carriage lurched, as if knowing the way, as Spike followed the Marengolian. “Well, including myself, there are six of us. What of the diplomats?”

“They shall have separate quarters, in a different portion of the surrounding buildings. Best that they do, as they will require more guards to keep them safe from potential adversaries within the Khan’s expansive retinue.”

After that, the trip was silent, Spike taking time to take in as much of the surroundings as he could. The fields of goats and sheep stunk, piles of dung being collected by various species in large carts. The gers were as varied as those living in them, with some clearly designed for a small family circling larger ones that could likely hold several families, perhaps even a small tribe itself. Colors ranged from black to white to brown, with some of the more ostentatious gers featuring varying symbols and decorations, many of them clearly of some sort of significance to their dwellers.

Yet, after the trampled grass and cold dust departed, the buildings of stone before them were of stark contrast to the field of gers. Dark buildings, with sloped roofs and thick walls, stood in neat rows in outward arcs, surrounding the palace proper like so many followers kneeling before a mighty ruler. The palace, from the outside, was stout, not very tall but more than tall enough to likely be the largest structure for hundreds of miles. Small walls, gatehouses, what had to be military barracks and a great deal of statues depicting all manner of creatures and beings both civilized and wild encircled it all, some of it decorative and some clearly defensive in nature.

This was not an old landmark, having been erected merely a generation or two before, if Spike recalled correctly. It bore little weathering, the stones likely inlaid with what little magic could be called in strength in this wild place. Or perhaps the spells upon these stones were cast where magic remained stronger, and then brought in for construction?

He would need to ask Chrysalis about such magic in more depth before they settled in for the night. He was not as Twilight was, skilled and well-studied in such arcane arts. Most of his magical studies had focused entirely on draconic magic, which sadly there was often little o in the libraries of Equestria.

“Here we are,” Batzorig replied, bringing them to one of the largest of the stone structures outside of the palace itself. “There is no basement, due to the ice that digs deep into our dusty earth, but you should find it suitable enough for you and your companions.”

“My family,” Spike corrected.

“Family? Ah, I see,” the general replied, giving a nod. “I will inform the Khan-to-be of your arrival. In the meantime, I will have guards posted to your door.”

As soon as the Marengolian left, the two guards assumed attention at the door, clearly trained for such a purpose. Spike led his family out of the carriage, settling it as close to the building as possible, under a portion of the overhanging roof off to the side.

All shivered in the chill air, even at midday, and soon found themselves inside the foyer of what could only be described as a cozy, if rather rugged, cottage. There was only one window, over towards the kitchen, complete with an open pantry stocked with a variety of goods, and the glass of the window was so thick that one could barely see out of it. A small staircase off to the side ran up to a loft, open to view from below, and the ceiling above the loft was incredibly low, likely thick to preserve the hot air in such cold times. The fireplace was strange, a large open pile of burning something that sat below a large flume, up through which the smoke gently wafted.

The floor was packed dirt, almost like stone in its firmness, and all around lay rugs of varying designs, some clearly decorative and others of a more utilitarian design to cover up the dust and grime that would surely accumulate, as well as to cushion the feet from the cold ground. All in all, it seemed rather homey, if not a bit cramped in places.

“At least there’s a fire,” Chrysalis muttered, wrinkling her nose a bit as they explored their new abode, pausing to peruse the pantry. Within, a variety of dried vegetables, hay and varied ceramic pots greeted them, containing who-knows-what within their dry shells. “What is that smell?”

“I think it’s whatever is burning,” Maria said, pointing to the fireplace. “Dried dung, from the sheep and goats, if I’m not mistaken. Portions of the grass they eat will go through relatively devoid of nutrients, but still rich enough to be dried and used for fires. Shepherds out in the fields near my home will often use much the same to keep warm in the cooler climates up in the mountains.”

“Why not use wood?”

“What wood is there out here?” Trixie asked. “This place is as desolate as they come in this part of the world. Only the great deserts and the arctic circles are likely less suitable for habitation, and at least they have magic out there. I swear I can’t feel my horn half the time.”

“Yet the Marengolians call this home all the same, and we should be all the more appreciative of this,” Maria replied. “It was likely neither cheap nor easy to build in such a place. If things are not to our liking, I am sure we could stay in the carriage.”

“First of all, our winter clothes might need fixing,” Eutropia said, Asalah right behind her. “The Khan will likely want to meet more than just Spike, or at least his family will, and we can’t risk any of us catching a cold out in this kind of weather. Spike, you’re the best equipped for the cold, aren’t you?”

“Well, normally, yeah,” Spike said. “But lately I’ve felt sort of… I don’t want to say ill, but I think it’s the steppes themselves. Magic…”

“Seems to be rare here, or at least in short supply,” Chrysalis finished. “Almost as if something were blocking the winds of magic from reaching this place.”

“Whatever the case, let’s get settled in before-,”

There was a knock at their door, which upon opening, Spike found himself facing a pair of little old Marengolian mares, staring up at him with bright if rather toothless smile. He was sure neither could even reach his chest, had they not been so hunchbacked with age, but they stood as resolutely as statues, seemingly ignoring both cold and wind.

“Greetings,” one said, carrying a pair of baskets, her mane braided down to her shoulders.

“Clothes?” the other asked, carrying armfuls of wool and other materials.

Spike looked up at the guards, one of whom gave a nod. Well, unless he could somehow be overcome by two geriatric ponies, he saw no reason to doubt the guard’s acceptance of their presence. “Sure, come in, come in,” he replied, only for the two little mares to practically whiz past him.

“Come, come, clothes,” one said, laying out the materials near the small table in the center of the room, the rest of the supplies taking up its entirety.

“What?” Asalah asked. “What is wrong with our clothes?”

“New clothes needed, yes,” the first grandmare replied. Then again, with how ancient she looked, she might have been a great-grandmare for all they knew. “New clothes for meeting new Khan. Yes, yes, come, we measure now.”

Asalah didn’t have time to react before the second little mare had somehow appeared by her side and began taking measurements with a length of rope, holding her firmly in place despite the zebra giving a small neigh of surprise.

“Come, come, all new clothes, yes,” the first said, pointing at the rest of them in turn. “One after other, yes, new clothes for new Khan.”

General Batzorig had returned not long after the last of their clothes had been finished, the little mares clearly either masters of their work or able to work some sort of magic that the land didn’t block, for while rather plain compared to the various suits and dresses Spike and his family had worn in the past, they were positively snug where needed, and incredibly comfortable. Thick yet not stuffy, they blocked all manner of wind, enshrouding their wearer in a cozy layer of soft comfort that retained a great deal of heat, likely a lifesaver out in colder weather. Thankfully, too, for as sunset approached, and the beginnings of the ceremony were to begin, the air began to chill well past freezing, and would likely grow only colder as the night pressed on.

The interior of the palace, where the beginning of the ceremony was to take place, was far warmer than the outside, the great braziers casting shadows all around the interior from their great flames. The main dais was filled with relatively few beings, though they all seemed to be of great importance, and the majority of the others seemed to be scattered more towards the outside edge. On a great swath of ceremonial rugs knelt numerous officers, leaders of the arvt, zuut and mingghan regiments under the tumens the generals oversaw. Just as well, there were various dignitaries and civilian leaders appointed to the Khan’s cabinet, the diplomats from the Persian kingdom as well as other nearby regions, and amidst the huge number of guards, a number of beings Spike couldn’t quite figure out.

A light brown Marengolian, his yellow mane studded with bright jade rings and his red tail tied in a series of braids, stood by the side of a lit brazier, his amber eyes gazing intensely into the swirling flames.

A diamond dog, woolen coat wrapped around his frame as he stood by an even larger dog, this one bearing armor and a great ax much like Sukhbataar, yet even larger.

A well-dressed Marengolian with a large bundle strung across his back, the hints of shining metal poking from the top, his mane seemingly permanently stained with soot and ash.

The small chatter going around the outermost edges fell as a figure came in, abreast his guards. The Khan-to-be, dressed in heavy robes of incredible quality, bearing no crown, but walking with a purpose as if he were the only one in the world to do so. Even-faced, slightly grim but completely focused, he came to stand in front of the great cushioned throne, ringed by golden statues in the shape of stupas, representing the unique praying chambers for the Hoofist monks. Golden eyes, with a ruddy brown mane and even darker coat, he cut an imposing figure, if not in height than in presence alone, and he wasn’t exactly short either.

“Let us begin,” he said, his voice projecting clearly throughout the throne room. “Tomruulakh, you may begin.”

The fire-captivated pony rose to his hooves, pulling a small bag from his clothes as he did so. With a flourish, he tossed a handful of powder into the main brazier, and in an instant, a flash of bright red light filled the area, casting shadows in all directions, the fire burning higher than before.

“Born of conflict, arises the new dawn,” he began, tossing another handful of dust, the fire now turning a bright shade of white.

“Tempered with memory, begins amidst winter snow.”

More dust, with the fire turning a rather vibrant shade of green. “Come the spring, lush the steppes become.”

Another toss, the flames shrank slightly, their hues reducing to a more garish mix of indigo and violet.

“From the sky, song of creation flows.”

One final toss, the fire reducing to a pale whisper, the flames unnaturally grey, as if mixed evenly with ash and dust.

“Beware the past, secure the future presently.”

The flames, after this, returned to a more normal blend of hues, and the one called Tomruulakh bowed before his ruler.

“The signs be good, mighty one,” he replied, his jade rings sparkling in the light. “Marengolia will prosper under her new Khan, if he remembers the oath to his people, as well as the oaths to himself.”

“A set of oaths many have forgotten, yet not I,” the Khan said with a nod, turning to the others. “Tryeiblazyer, you may begin as well, bring me the selection of your greatest works.”

The other Marengolian, his strong form rising with careful grace, approached and laid before the stallion his bag, unfurling it to reveal the contents. A series of weapons, all of incredible quality, lay before the pair. Swords aplenty, as well as arrowheads, spear tips, the wood from an unstrung bow, and many others.

“All excellent, but only one may work for the purpose of my time as Khan,” the stallion said, nodding to one sword in particular. With a curve to the blade, it reminded Spike of some of the swords he’d seen further west, but it was somewhere in the middle, not nearly so curved as Saddle Arabian scimitars. Just as well, it was not a very long sword, just shy of a meter, but clearly very sharp along its cutting edge.

“An ild will defend as much as it will attack, and while the bow shall remain the weapon of my people, this ild will be the weapon of my reign.” He turned to the smaller diamond dog. “Khuudas Möngön, you are the last, yet certainly not the least; begin.”

The dog retrieved a simple crown from his clothes, bright jade inlaid into a strip of silver, upon which points of gold and bright rubies topped the circlet. Clearly a work of great time and skill, artfully decorated with small symbols, to Spike’s untrained eye, likely the written script of the Marengol’s complicated native language. Luckily almost all worldwide spoke the common tongue, or else things would be very difficult.

“With this crown, the first of its kind, I do so declare myself Khan of Marengolia, and all her peoples, in every corner of the realm. With them I shall continue to forge a might people, bring an end to the strife that divided us for so long, and under my rule, I shall see the establishment of our way of life onto the steppes, so that it may never be erased by the passage of time nor by force of arms. So proclaims your Khan!”

“So proclaims the Khan!” the three attendants cried.

“So proclaims the Khan!” the captains cried, their generals bowing deeply upon their rugs as they did so.

“So proclaims the Khan!” the rest of the palace echoed, as the lights from the fired blazed brighter for ever a few moments.

“Hear me now, Marengolia and all her people,” the Khan declared. “I, Tömörbaatar, do so claim the title of Khan, as did my forebears, as all have reaching until the founder of our people, Temujin, my ancestor. For now, I am your Khan, and with this, I pledge to protect our people and our way of life. We shall know no yoke of a foreign power on our shoulders, and we shall seek to strengthen our people so that we may know prosperity the likes of which our forefathers only dreamed of.”

“So proclaims Tömörbaatar Khan!”

A resounding cheer came from around the palace, echoed from the surroundings from criers relaying the message to the many gathered around the palace walls. From there, a resounding series of thumps came from the ground, the Marengolian people thumping their approval of their new Khan. With a wave, the Khan seated himself upon his throne, and almost as one, the many gathered within the palace began to disperse, mingling about as the Khan greeted and took oaths of fealty from his gathered generals and their captains. Others waited in line for this, many of them important-looking to Spike’s increasingly politically-seasoned eyes.

“Greetings!” a voice said, causing Spike and his family to turn. “Mr. Dragul, a pleasure to meet you and yours.”

An earth dragon, flanked by a pair of bodyguards. Taller and broader than Spike by a good margin, with a blue body and steely grey spines matching his underside, he carried himself rather regally, yet was hunched over as if carrying a great weight. His features were handsome to an extent, though far more wizened and lined with age, yet not so much as to be declared ancient. No wings adorned his back, but scarring across his scales were evidence enough of a hard life. He spoke with a deep, rich burr, clearly from somewhere outside of Marengolia proper but with a tinge of the same accent that all those of Marengolians culture seemed to share.

“Hello, I’m afraid we’ve never met,” the smaller dragon said, shaking the offered hand.

“Ah, but where are my manners, I go by Tsakhiajin Tsokhikh on a formal basis, but for you, my foreign fellow, simply Tsokhikh. It is the translation to the common tongue for Blaze, or closely, anyway.”

“This is my family, and a friend travelling with us,” Spike replied.

“Trixie,” the unicorn replied sweetly, giving a polite bow.

“Maria,” the other added, mirroring her fellow herd-wife.

Chrysalis gave a light curtsy, more befitting a more royal status. “Your lordship, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, I’m no lord, merely an old dragon whose journey took him into these lands long ago, and as such I’ve watched over more tribes than I care to remember now,” the wizened drake replied. “Your name, miss? I can’t say I’ve seen many zebras in my time in the steppes.”

“Asalah,” she said with a deeper bow than the first two. “I can’t say I’ve seen many dragons either in my time, our husband excluded of course.”

“I imagine not,” Tsokhikh replied. “My lady, you must be the friend of these fine folks. Your name?”

“Eutropia.”

The dragon grinned, the bodyguards beside him making no motion of greeting. “What brings you to the steppes? In times such as these, and at this time of year, I do not believe any of you could be mistaken for merchants or a travelling clan of tradesfolk.”

“We aren’t, we’ve been making a journey across the world on the behalf of our princesses and kingdom, Equestria. It’s been a long number of months, and we’ve a ways yet to go, yet through these lands our travel was determined to be the most likely for success. We won’t be able to stay for very long, as our timetable couldn’t possibly allow for it.”

“Ah, I can see that,” Tsokhikh replied, glancing across three of Spike’s wives. “Expecting are we? An excellent idea to be in a hurry, travelling with a youngling is often just as difficult as travelling when carrying one in the womb. I take it you also wish for them to be born in your home?”

“Yes, it’d make things a lot easier for everyone, and safer as well.”

“Well then, before you venture out, you must visit sometime, I would certainly wish to hear of your homeland of Equestria. Having never ventured there myself, I would indeed wish to hear which of its rumors are true and which are merely exaggerated. However, before that, you must meet with the Khan, Spike. He has heard news of you and yours from General Sukhbataar, and would undoubtedly wish to hear more from a firsthand experience. What say you and your family join us for a morning feast, as guests of honor?”

“That would be delightful,” Chrysalis replied.

The next morning came all too early. The night before had ended far earlier for Spike and his family, having left the coronation to sleep off the general exhaustion from the journey. Getting dressed was a quick affair that morning, if only because Spike had to restart the fire, the hot coals the only remnant of the dried grass mixed with a few pieces of firewood they’d managed to scrounge up, a rarity in these parts. As such, though still comfortable, the house had cooled considerably, and none of them wished to catch a chill.

As the sunlight continued to filter through the only window, a knock came from the door. Upon answering, Spike was faced with Tsokhikh’s two bodyguards, who silently gestured for him to follow. His wives and Eutropia following closely behind, they left and made their way once more to the palace.

For the first time, Spike was finally able to get a good look at these two bodyguards. Well built, likely as much if not more than he was, yet they were not as short or squat as some of the other Marengolians he’d seen. Indeed, they were tall, one likely just an inch taller than him, and the other likely almost an entire head taller than he was, including his spines. The taller one seemed to be missing a tail, but then again, maybe they kept it short to fit under the armor? He had no idea, and given the amount of clothing on top of the armor they wore, including what could only be described as armored masks, gave them both an intimidating presence and clear sign of skill.

“So, what are your names?” he asked as they entered the palace grounds, guards all around making way for their group to pass. Their lack of response only mildly surprised Spike, but likely given their training and discipline, talking with guests was likely frowned upon, so he let it slide. The open hall, where the coronation had been held last night, was replaced by a large, circular table, set low to the ground and seated with a variety of cushions and decorative rugs of varying thickness.

At the head of the table, atop a large pile of decorated cushions, sat the Khan, alongside a few other noted guests, Tsokhikh included. With a smile and a small wave, the earth dragon bid them to sit by him, atop another pile of cushions, and with a small touch of difficulty, given the tight space, Spike and his family took their seats, the two bodyguards returning to attention behind Tsokhikh.

“Ah, welcome, honored guests, welcome to my halls,” Khan Tömörbaatar declared, nodding in their direction. “Please, the morning is young, let us refresh ourselves before we speak, you must be famished from your long journey. Before the, Tsokhikh may fill you in on any questions you may have, but for now, let us eat!”

So the servants brought out the breakfast, which while small in variety was certainly made up for by its quantity. A wide variety of cheeses, made mostly from goat and sheep milk, were spread in several different dishes, some of them fresh while others were more like curds in a thick soup of milk, topped with fried noodles. Yet others were fried, mixed in small bowls with fried mushrooms and onions, and the last dish seemed to be small cakes filled with dried fruits and served with heavy cream and honey. In several trays there also lay what looked to be cheese curds of varying colors and shapes, and small warm pots filled with softened butter.

For those living on the steppes, everything that could be eaten was clearly eaten. None of the guests were carnivores, though Spike suspected they would likely still be eating cheese and whatever else they could politely if they were here, as he knew most herbivores didn’t relish the sight of meat.

“Why is there so much cheese?” Trixie asked as she grabbed a small cake, with what looked to be filled with blueberries.

“Ah, Marengolians by nature are nomadic, so they cannot afford to farm, and even if they could, the winters are harsh enough to not allow for it, nor is the soil good enough in most locations,” the earth dragon said, enjoying a bowl of heavy cream, drinking much like one would soup. “As such, they must rely off of the herds they tend to, and the milk from sheep and goats is used to form the basis of almost any cheese. In the few more admittedly sheltered regions, towards the mountains, cattle are raised for their milk as well, though they are a rarity. Milk from camels are also used in certain regions, though some of this is more for the making of alcohol or certain drinks, such as an additive for tea.”

“I take it the fruits were harvested elsewhere? The surrounding area didn’t look like it could support berry plants,” Chrysalis noted, enjoying a plate of the aforementioned cheese.

Tsokhikh chuckled. “Indeed, wherever they grow, they are harvested. Usually along whatever rivers flow, especially towards mountains or away from the more windswept regions of the steppes. Most are dried to preserve them, and seeing as Marengolians lack the means of making glass, jams and other fruit preserves must be imported. Besides, drying will make it last for a long time, especially in cold such as this, and while fresh may be better, there’s not a lot of berries to harvest at this time of year.”

After that, there were few questions, Spike instead enjoying the food. Even though the larders in the carriage were well-stocked, the chance to try a new culture’s food spoke to him on another level, almost as if he were a true visitor, rather than merely passing through. Besides, how many foreigners could say they had a peaceful breakfast with a Khan?

As soon as they’d finished, the servants retrieved whatever was left over, which to the credit of the Khan’s guests, was not much. Tsokihkh, the night before, had told them to expect to eat a lot of food, as surviving the cold of winter required plenty of calories and other energy-dense foods to be partaken in. Besides, refusing to eat enough would likely be a faux pas, even if the Khan didn’t seem like the kind to notice it, and so after he had eaten his fill, Spike leaned into his cushions, enjoying the feeling of a full belly.

“So tell me, Spike is it? What brings you to Marengolia?” the Khan asked, wiping the corners of his mouth with a small handkerchief. “Never in the history of my people have I heard tales of illustrious visitors from the sun and moon kingdom gracing our lands.”

“This is an expedition of sorts from our leaders, originally my task alone but now also that of my family and friends who I have made along the way,” Spike replied. “The princesses wish to collect and catalog a wide variety of items, histories, current events and the like to inform Equestria of the wider world. Much of Equestria remains woefully ignorant of the remainder of the world, content to stay within our borders and often not needing to venture elsewhere. As such, due to Equestria’s relative isolation and the lack of a need to know, there is much about the history and culture of other places we have no true grasp of.”

“Indeed, such an insular and isolated nation that requires neither conquest nor worry about expanding neighbors is truly an idyllic place to envision,” the Khan replied, sipping his tea. “What are some examples of these items?”

“Well, in the past, we’ve sent copies of books, parchment, engraved stones, paintings, rugs and the like. A few places gifted things like extra gold and silver of certain significance or similar valuables, but other than that, as well as maybe a sword or piece of armor or something, not much else. The overall variety has usually been rather small.”

“Indeed,” Tömörbaatar steepled his fingers at this, resting his chin thoughtfully upon them. “Tell me, what of Equestria? Of her common folk, of their lives and struggles? It is easy for a noble to sing praises of their country, but on the steppes, it is rare for something to be earned simply by birthright, and for a worldview to be so tinted by an upbringing with little worry. Many a time in Marengolia, one gains something through luck and determination, hard work and unbreakable resolve.”

Spike nodded. While afforded some of the best of the best in, well, most things in life, he’d lived in Ponyville for years, and been around on enough adventures to see just what life was like outside of the palace. “Most earth ponies are farmers, or making a similar living working the land and using whatever is there. Pegasi control the weather in most places, ensuring rain when needed and sunny days for crops when suitable. Unicorns tend to focus on finer detailed work, such as dressmaking, crafting and the like, where hooves are not dexterous enough to do the finer work. Most live simple, content lives, going about their daily business no matter where their home may lie.”

“Ah, simple but fulfilling lives, worthy of admiration. The magic there, how pervasive? I’m certain you’ve noticed a decline in the amount of magic deep in our heartlands, all across the steppe in fact.”

“Difficult not to, yes, but in Equestria, it’s practically everywhere. The princesses raise and lower the sun and moon, and the pegasi use their magic on the weather. The magic from earth ponies makes things grow far better and faster than it otherwise might, or so I’ve been told, and obviously unicorns have access to a huge range of options for using magic.”

“Indeed, life must certainly be easier where magic may be used to solve many problems. Our situation is an unknown one, for we have no evidence as to why magic is so limited in our lands. It does persist, and we utilize it as best we can, but sparingly, and only in times of great need. As such, what little magic can be done out, can be done very well, many Marengolians spending their entire lives training in a particular school of thought on the matter. Unicorns use it for creating remedies or predicting the future, earth ponies concentrate the magic within themselves to increase their strength and stamina, and the pegasi use it to fly faster than they otherwise might be able to by taking advantage of the winds, much the like the sails on ships.”

They spoke for a short time more, mostly on more mundane items. The Khan seemed particularly interested in Spike’s journey thus far, though more so about the cultures and races he had encountered, from the perspective of a diplomat and a merchant, rather than a conqueror seeking intelligence on the enemy.

“I intend to cease as much of our conflicts as can be, thus the day of games,” the Khan replied. “A good exercise to wear off the battlelust still in the veins of my soldiers, and solidly ties between those under my rule.”

“Why only a day though?” Chrysalis asked. “It seems to me that cramming so many events in one day could be disastrous. Why not spread it out more?”

“Our food situation would be the biggest reason,” Tömörbaatar replied, turning to Tsokhikh. “What of our stores?”

“Our current larder is being replenished every few days by merchants and foragers, so if we were to stretch out the games, perhaps adding more contests and revelry in-between, a week would suffice, a we would still have enough for some time after, just in case,” the earth dragon replied.

“An excellent idea, a week of games would be remembered far more than a single day, and it would give my generals and their troops far more time to rest, regain their strength, and send time with their families. They have undoubtedly earned it after marching so far and for so long.”

“Would we be allowed to participate?” Maria asked. “I think I speak for my husband and the rest of us that we would not wish to impose ourselves on the festivities, but surely witnessing the contests, perhaps participating in the first few rounds but withdrawing before prizes may be offered, could be an excellent way to learn of Marengolian culture firsthand? Even if we were to win some prize, such as gold, we’d have little need for it, so we could decline that in favor of something else? Our journey would certainly benefit from cultural artifacts rather than mere gold and silver.”

Tömörbaatar rubbed his chin, looking back to Tsokhikh. “What say you, my old mentor?”

“I see no wrong in it,” the earth dragon replied, turning to Spike. “Though, this would put you and yours in contact with the culture at large, and not all aspects of it may appeal to you or be safe.”

“What do you propose? I can show only so much favoritism to my guests,” the Khan asked.

“Simple, an assignment of a few bodyguards, none too many as to be seen as a political threat or ally, but enough to protect Spike and his companions during their stay here.”

“A week would be more than long enough,” Trixie added. “Any longer and I’d fear we were overstaying our welcome.”

“Our timetable would allow for it,” Asalah added thoughtfully. “I’m perfectly fine with such a suggestion.”

The others, Spike included, agreed with her after a few moments of reflection, Eutropia the first among them. After all, a week in the graces of the Khan, witnessing festivities and experiencing the culture, potentially longer than they had most others outside of Saddle Arabia or Marescow? It was an opportunity they couldn’t afford to pass up.

“Excellent, Tsokhikh will be in charge of you in the time being, as I have many other guests to meet during the next two days,” the Khan said. “The remainder of today shall be one of rest and contemplation, with tomorrow focusing more on celebrations and the reunion of families and friends. Only after that will the contests begin, with the rules and other such formalities being completed the day prior.”

“My thanks, my Khan,” Tsokhikh replied. “If you have little need of me, I will accompany Spike and his family as a guide, with my own bodyguards accompanying us for protection. I daresay we will need little more than that. After all, a guest of the Khan is not one to be trifled with, even if they come in friendship, my Khan.”

Rex didn’t like this “Spike” the moment he’d lain eyes on him. In fact, he hated him without rhyme or reason at first, as he did with every stranger, but merely observing it from a silent corner gave him all the more reason to truly despise the creature. He could see it, the way it looked around, the way its honeyed words slithered into the ears of others, bending them to its will. The bloodlust in his brain told him to strike him down, the furor in his heart screamed to end the threat to the Khan, and end the threat to himself. There were already too many dragons in the council of the Khan, another would undoubtedly take his place if he allowed it.

He could not. He had come so far and made so great a stride to win the Khan’s confidence, to earn his loyalty and trust. The Khan would be the key of his vengeance, the key to his condition. The soothsayers and magi would find a cure, they had to, but he was running out of time. His mind slipped further, memories decaying, his will to control himself slipping ever closer to the edge of a blade, where one slip could mean his death, his duty unfulfilled and all his vengeance lost to time.

The dragon meant to replace him, surely, the reasons for him being here were clearly mere lies, falsehoods to pull the wool over the eyes of others. He seemed strong, of mind and body, and his family supported him. Rex had no family, not anymore. His blood was gone from him, by choice or by actions outside of his control. A dragon would live far longer and bring their influence to the court for generations, as had Tsokhikh, as would their descendants, and he could practically smell the pheromones from the females, signaling the carrying of the dragon’s spawn. This could not be tolerated, the hubris of those that lived so long threatened him and all he had known since his horrid days in the arena.

The Khan would see. He would show them the weakness of dragons, and that only the fleeting would be wise enough to overcome challenges, not these scaly abominations that lingered on, like a blight upon the land. He barely suppressed a growl at the thought. A duel, a chance to prove himself once and for all, one where the innate magic of a dragon would be at its weakest, at its most vulnerable outside of poisons and powders. Yes, at one of the games, that was where it could be. Yes, at the games…

Prelude to a Journey

Chapter One

Prelude to a Journey

“...and as such, the intensity of one’s magical abilities is not dependent on heritage, as was once thought, but on the user’s own ability to harness the ebb and flow of all magic in their own bodies. Through training and discipline, one can greatly increase their connection to their body’s magical abilities, which have yet to be defined in either scope or limit. Further studies are ongoing in this branch of the magical arts, and for the moment it seems such statements will remain the definitive answer to such questions of magical limits. As it is, that concludes today's lesson. Any more questions, Spike?” The sunlight filtering through the windows cast odd shadows in the room, though the room itself was bright enough to see both teacher and pupil.

The pupil in question was a dragon, but no ordinary dragon at that. While most dragons lived their whole lives away from those who were not dragons, this was a different one entirely. He had been raised in the courts of Canterlot and by the reigning monarch's personal assistant for many years, until he had grown into a fine young drake. Masculine, tall and proud-looking, he had a nature about him that exuded humility but at the same time screamed of pride. Not to mention devilishly handsome, though he had yet to realize this little fact.

Spike sat up straighter in his seat, having just come out of a daydream involving ice cream, cake and gemstones. Luckily for him, his time studying with Twilight over the years had somehow left him with a near-eidetic memory, so he easily caught on what he had heard. Also luckily for him, his tutor had not noticed his daydreaming: she frowned on such inattentiveness in her classes.

“No, no princess,” he said, looking up at her from his desk. Well, only because he was sitting was the reason for him looking up: in reality, he had grown taller than her by at least a few inches. Not quite as tall as her sister, but he was very close. Besides, desk was more of a relative term: he doubted most students ever had a soft, comfy chair to go along with their own table. “Is there more, Princess?”

“No, that concludes our studies on the intricacies of internal magic,” the mare responded, the wings behind her rustling slightly. “Please, Spike: call me Luna. Calling me 'princess' formalizes our time together, and it is nice to not always be referred to as royalty."

“Oh, sorry Luna: it’s just hard to believe it’s been so long since I started tutoring under you, and that you used to insist I refer to you as “princess” all the time.” The first day he had started the princess had told him she'd still be using many of the traditional teaching methods in place over a thousand years before. needless to say, Spike had learned pretty quick that when Luna said the times back then were almost martial, she meant it. Not only had he needed to take all the normal classes any student would, he had needed to take physical education courses and even learn draconic courses involving pyromancy. For the first few weeks, it felt less like an apprenticeship and more like boot camp for an aspiring royal guard. A good six months into the first part of the apprenticeship was when he saw her smile for the first time.

This time, however, she smiled sweetly as if she had for all these years. “Well, Spike, as you said, it has been a long time since you began your apprenticeship to me. I like to think of you as a friend, not just a pupil.” Her wings gently rustled behind her again as she stood up from her own desk. It was larger than his own, of course, but it was rather bare of most things, save for a few notes and the odd bits of parchment and quills.

“Also, Spike, I’m afraid to say,” she started said, removing her glasses and tussling up her mane a bit: “This concludes all I can teach you. It has been a joy to have such a devoted pupil, but now it is time for you to move beyond this classroom and my teachings.” She never did like her mane done up in a professional-looking bun: she preferred it falling past her shoulders, just like her sister.

Spike was a bit shocked by this piece of information. Surely there was more to learn than what he had been taught in so short a time, regardless of how fast he had learned it? “Well, then, what happens now?” he asked, not sure what else he could say. “Am I going to train with your sister? Do I go out and find a job or something?” Truth be told, he had no idea which of the princesses were more learned in any subject, though he had a good inkling Celestia was more adept at governing. Call it a hunch: she hadn't been absent for a solid millennia.

Luna shook her head. “I doubt there is a job anywhere in Equestria that can be suitable for your talents. Alas, we teach the same, and as royal sisters, Celestia and I always include new material to all students we happen to be teaching, so as to not teach one more than the other. It avoids the appearance of favoritism and encourages friendships, something I agree with my sister is extremely important. It would do you no good, my young dragon, to simply try and find a new teacher: I doubt there are any out there that could satisfy your thirst for knowledge. If you wish to learn more, then I am afraid,” she waved her hand towards the window. “You must continue your studies outside of Equestria. In fact, that was our plan all this time, Celestia’s and mine: for you to leave and grow without our interference. It is time for you to spread your wings and 'leave the roost', as they say in the Griffin Kingdom.”

“L-leave?” Spike asked, standing up in neither rage nor disrespect, but in shock. Plus, he had never heard that expression before: must have been one from before his time. “Am I being punished for something? Because if this is still about the basket of frogs in your desk, I said I was sorry a year ago!” While he may have a near-eidetic memory, Spike still occasionally suffered from self-doubt and panic attacks when he didn't think clearly.

Luna’s look became both concerned and not a bit exasperated. “No, dear Spike, it has nothing to do with the frogs, though I remember you laughing at my scream. No, your studies must continue outside of this classroom and therefore outside of my company. While it may have been my idea and my number of recommendations to my sister that this is now possible, I believe it was meant to be all along: you may call it destiny, if you so wish.”

“Why is that?” Spike asked, leaning against the wall and looking out of the tower’s window. The lands stretched out before him: he could even see Ponyville from up here. His wings rustled slightly against his back as he stared: they had grown in a few months after his apprenticeship began, and he had been ecstatic. Finally, to feel the breeze rush through his spines as he soared through the skies: now he knew why Rainbow Dash was so upbeat all the time.

“Celestia needs to show our citizens there is a world outside of our beloved kingdom, and few are willing or capable of making undergoing such a trial,” Luna said. “We need someone to go out there and take detailed notes, meet dignitaries, explore distant countries and nations with diplomatic immunity, or at least some semblance of it. Sadly, this would normally require the attentions of a royal alicorn, and as my sister and I are extremely busy all of the time, there isn’t really another choice to be had.”

She held up her hand as Spike opened his mouth. “No, Cadence is busy running the Crystal Kingdom as well as her two children: among all of the other known nations from which we have actual contact with, we remain on the best terms with them. As for the others, we only really know of a few: Saddle Arabia, the Kingdom of Equineland, the Kingdom of the Griffins, the Minotaur Khanate and the Dragon Kingdom. We know there are other kingdoms out there, and we have had contact with them in the past, but truth be told, we know so little about them.” This was true enough: other than citizens from other parts of Equestria, there were few visitors to Canterlot form other countries, and even less royalty.

“Then why me?” Spike asked, feeling she was leaving something out. Travelling the world might be fun, even an awesome adventure, but the reason as to why he was being chosen still eluded him. He still felt that he wasn't the right choice for so monumental a task: surely somepony else could do it better?

“You are a citizen of Equestria, a personal representative of both royalty and a powerful magical order, and your mindset is perfect for the job,” Luna said. “You are dutiful, inquisitive, sensitive, cheerful, brave, trustworthy and selfless. you are easy to befired, easy to get along with, and rather noble, if I do say so myself. If one creature comes closest to representing all the Elements of Harmony without actually having their power, you would likely be it, my young drake.”

Spike blushed slightly: compliments like that were out of his realm of experience. “You really think I can do this?” he asked, rubbing a shoulder slightly as he felt his confidence build inside him. "I mean, leave Equestria, my home? It seems an awfully big responsibility."

“Yes, Spike, I have the utmost confidence in you,” Luna replied, looking up at him: her eyes were filled with determination. “You’ll be leaving in a few days’ time: I suggest you get your affairs all settled out with your friends before so. It might be a while before you see them again, and in that time, you might have changed more than you would believe.” She cleared her throat, indicating she had much more to say than just fond farewells and compliments.

“First things first: you’ll be traveling on the train to Manehattan, and from there you will go by sea to the shores of Equineland, where your friend Pip is from. From there, you’ll travel through Portucolt, Spreign, Prance, southern Germareny, Austria and Neightaly, though what you do in each place may vary greatly. I hear the locals are particularly friendly, and I highly suggest a visit to Roam: it is a very old city full of wonder." She blinked, as if lost in thought: perhaps she had been there before, in the distant past?

"From the southern tip of Neightaly, you’ll take another ship to northern Algereigns, then travel with a caravan down through the Samarea Desert. It will be long and rather difficult: it is the largest desert in the world, after all. From there, you’ll journey through Sudan, Ethiopia, Kenya and Manzania to Maredagasca, a tropical island paradise. Then, from there, you'll be going along the coastline back up to Saddle Arabia, both to travel by the safest route and to meet an old friend of Celestia’s. From there, you’ll journey to the city of Baghdad, a center of philosophy and magical learning. After that, you'll follow the river Neighras up through the Ottomare Empire, entering Istanbull and eventually crossing the Boshorsus Straits. From there, it’s over the mountains of Trannsylmaneia and into the Grand Duchy of Marescow.”

Spike knew Luna wasn’t finished, but he had to interject. “I thought you said you didn’t know much about these countries.” Judging from Luna's description, he'd be seeing far more than he had ever dreamed of.

Luna sighed slightly. “No, Spike, we don’t. I have only been to a few of these places, and the rest remain a mystery. We only know these others as names on a diagram, plots on a map.” She paused. “Not remotely what I meant.” Spike was nonplussed as to what she had meant by that statement's mention of "plots", but he remained silent.

She cleared her throat and continued. “From there you’ll travel down along the Claspian Sea to the borders of the Maresian Empire. Along there, you’ll travel the Silk Roads through the lands of Maregolia to the lands of China, under the rule, as far as we know of, of the Chairmare Wao. You’ll make a loop through the Nippon Shogunate, and then travel south to the coasts of Tailand and Myanmare. Once you make it there, it’s through India, home of the Mughal Elephants. After visiting for a while, you’ll go back through Myanmare and travel along Papau New Filli, where you’ll take a ship to the lands of the Minotaurs, Griffins and finally, the dragons. After that, you will return home to Equestria, likely laden with whatever you have collected on your journeys.” Talk about a sojourn: Luna was even slightly out of breath after finishing the marathon list of his destinations.

Spike felt positively overwhelmed, almost to the point of panic: he was going all around the world, expected to take notes and possibly even pictures, and return home in one piece. How in the name of Celestia was he supposed to do any of this? Where would he get money for food? Would he be staying with anyone outside of Saddle Arabia? Just what was he supposed to do?

“Now I know this seems a terribly daunting task, but it is necessary for you to come out into your own,” a new voice said. Spike and Luna looked at the door of the room as Celestia walked in, her hair as radiant as ever. “I believe you will help many others in your journeys, Spike. After all, a generous and helpful dragon such as yourself can understand the implications if a traveler brings nothing but goodwill and charity with him wherever he goes. Do you have any questions pertaining to the trip?”

Spike was dumbstruck for the longest time. He honestly hadn’t the foggiest idea of what he was going to do besides take notes or pictures. “What of the locals?” he asked slowly. “What can I expect of them?” He was easily to befirend, but if they were unfriendly, or Celestia forbid afraid of dragons, he might be in for some difficulties.

“Ah, yes: that,” Luna said, blushing slightly. “You will be staying with respective leaders in all or most of these countries, whether they are political, business, religious or military.” She seemed awfully suspicious when she had said “staying with”, or so Spike thought to himself. “They all vary by region or even city, so expect the unexpected.” Sure: that was easy to do.

“Spike,” Celestia said slowly, walking over so that she stood by Luna. “I know this is a rather personal question, but are you... seeing anyone, by chance?” Well, that was indeed personal.

“No...,” Spike replied slowly, still confused but feeling vaguely uneasy. Why did that matter? His time as Luna's student had left him little time to create a relationship, and he had been more focused on his studies than the fairer sex. Maybe some of Twilight's persona had rubbed off on him: all study and no play.

“Well, then this will make things much simpler,” Celestia said. “I hate to drop the bomb on you at such an awkward time, but you, Spike, are of no common blood.”

“...Huh?” Well, that certainly was bomb to drop, if Spike could have understood just what she had said. "Not common blood? You mean like, I have a rare blood type for a dragon?"

“You are royalty, Spike,” Luna said with a small smile. “In fact, there is a secret you have been kept from this whole time. You grandfather, Onyx the Wise, co-ruled Equestria with us for hundreds of years, though only in secret. Where we were the faces of the kingdom after the fall of Discord, he managed all of its various citizens on a microscopic scale, taking care of the small things whilst we handled the large ones. His son, and by correlation your father, Razor the Dutiful, filled his father’s role for hundreds more years after he went to rule with the Dragon Council.”

This certainly was a bombshell, but this immediately brought something to Spike’s mind. “So what happened to them? Why have I never heard of these two dragons before?”

“They are both deceased, Spike,” Celestia said quietly. “Onyx was far older than either of us when he passed on long ago, and Razor died of a terrible sickness shortly after you were laid. He gave us you before he died, declaring you his heir and us your legal guardians. We kept you with us, unable, and frankly, not wanting to hatch you until we were certain we could raise you.”

"But I thought dragon eggs hatched when the time was right, and with a bit of magic to boot?" Spike asked. Luna shook her head.

"We tried hatching you once, long ago, but as you say, the time was not right and not even our combined magics could undo the time of your arrival. So we watched and waited." She sounded a bit dissapointed at their failure.

“But Luna, you were banished to the moon when you became Nightmare Moon,” Spike said, confused. "Wouldn't that kind of, I don't know, impair things?" The princess had long ago gotten over her misdeeds of the past and had accepted that she was not the same pony who had fallen to such dark urges.

“Yes, but we still kept in communique, my dear pupil,” Luna said. “There were others besides me that helped look after you as an egg: Cadence, for example, watched over you for a few years before becoming a foalsitter. Then Twilight Sparkle hatched you with her raw, innate magic, and we realized the time had come to begin your slow but sure ascent to adulthood, and eventually, royalty.” Luna spoke highly of Twilight, as the two were fast friends; nothing more, despite what the tabloids might have lead others to believe.

“So does that make me a...king?” Spike asked warily. That would make things seem awfully cliche...

To his surprise, both of the princesses lightly laughed. “No Spike, you are not some long-lost king,” they said. “That would be a bit ridiculous, don't you think? A long-lost heir to a throne you'd have to reclaim, being held and molded by princesses of another kingdom? This isn't a fairy tale, this is real life, even though some might view it as such. You are a prince of the land, and as such, you have a royal responsibility to maintain your line, as will we in given time.”

Wait... maintain his line? “What do you mean by that?” Spike asked, suddenly having an idea as to where this was going. He had read up in his history lessons on kings of old, and the prevailing feature all of them needed was an heir to carry on their name...

“You know how skewed the gender ratio is in Equestria, Spike,” Celestia said. “Mares outnumber stallions by a wide margin. As such, in many places a stallion must take a herd, or harem, in your case.” That was true enough: the magic of Equestria threw the natural ratio slightly off-kilter: something to do with the magic pervading the landscape. This porblem had indeed been a source of contention in the past, though as of now it wasn't something on the forefront of pony's minds.

“A-a harem?” Spike asked, his eyes going wide. “You mean I-I have to take more than one wife? But I’m only nineteen! I’ve never so much as kissed a girl, never mind marry one!”

“Consider yourself lucky, Spike,” Celestia said. “Most princes have to take brides when they are fourteen or fifteen, with many of them being fathers before they reach their twenties. Many are betrothed the day they are born: we had the foresight to deny you these kinds of luxuries, or burdens, from a certain point of view. Still, a handsome young dragon such as yourself should have no trouble having mares fall at your heels.” A troubling notion, given the way she looked at him. The young dragon all of a sudden felt rather... uncomfortable, but her look soon disappeared, and he relaxed slightly.

“But why royalty? Why me?” Spike asked, not even feeling mad: simply confused, and perhaps a bit bashful at such a compliment. "I'm still just... me." Still, why keep such a monumental thing such as this a secret? Why keep him in the dark all these years?

“Because letting you know all of this too early on would have changed who you are and who you have come to be,” Luna said, as if she had read his mind. “Your strength of character and your tenacity to endure, even under harsh conditions, is proof enough we have succeeded in making you prince material without giving you princely power. As you have earned what is yours, you value and treasure it more highly than other royalty would, like our nephew Prince Blueblood. This is why you are going on your expedition: to explore not only the world, but yourself.”

“And to find suitable brides,” Celestia said with a giggle. She seemed awfully set on him coming back with brides: could it be she wanted royal children to spend time with, as she had none of her own? That would certainly explain why she adored visiting her niece's two foals in the Crystal Empire.

There was a pause between the trio, with the cogs in Spike’s head turning like mad: any faster, and they likely would fracture and fly apart. “So, when I go on this, I have to find, fall in love with, and bring along a gaggle of mares who are to be my brides?” he asked.

“It is decidedly so,” Luna said, glancing over at her sister. “Is there a limit on how many he is required to take with him, dear sister? The laws of the ancient times have changed, I presume.”

Celestia simply shrugged. “There is a minimum of three required, but as to the maximum number of brides, there are no set boundaries. I would think as many as he could handle would be the optimal number.” Oh yeah: that was really helpful. She appeared to be in thought for a second. “Spike, just so you know, you do not have to marry them on the spot-,”

“Oh thank the sun,” Spike thought to himself. Dragging around brides all across the world would likely be the death of him. Perhaps he could hold off on some, if not all, until he returned with them to Equestria?

“But that does not mean you have to keep your hands to yourself,” Celestia finished, a wide grin spilling onto her face. “You should have no trouble deciphering just what that entails, my boy. Take care now, and do try and enjoy yourself.” With that, she left the room without another word, leaving Spike and Luna alone once more. The silence immediately after her departure was, frankly, mortifying, though it soon became rather normal once more.

They sat in said silence for a few minutes, not really sure what else to say. “Well, I’d better tell Twilight and the others,” Spike said, standing up. “They’re in Canterlot anyway for one of Rarity’s fashion shows. I’d better tell them afterwards: when they’re all happy and whatnot.”

“Then go to them, my star pupil,” Luna said, going up to him and giving him an affectionate hug, her chest pressing into his. “By the time you return, I’m sure they’ll be thoroughly amazed as to what you will have seen and done.”

That would prove to be the understatement of the century.

Author's Note

Sorry for any character seeming OOC: I'm not the best at writing characters from the show. Then again, this IS an alternate universe, so... whatevs.

Ballroom Blitz and a Special Night

Chapter Eight

Ballroom Blitz and a Special Night

The first day after Spike had told his plans to Carlos had passed by in a hurry, much to his surprise. Breaking the news to Meia had been rather simple, and even he was surprised by her sincere but seemingly chilly congratulations.

Of course, he couldn’t have guessed her real feelings on the matter. When she was alone, Chrysalis couldn’t help but reveal herself to be conflicted over these developments, even arguing with herself in the mirror. She would have to seduce him soon enough, lest he permanently think of “Meia” as nothing more than a close friend. But where to strike would be important: perhaps in Prance?

That being said, Spike was indeed busy the second day before the ball. Much to his surprise, it would not be like the Grand Galloping Gala like in Equestria. This would be a masquerade ball, a custom that came over on trade ship from the port city of Veneighse. Everyone would be in fabulous outfits of varying design, as all of Maria’s extended family and many other nobles were to be invited. Spike himself would be greeting many of the guests with Carlos and Isabella, though if he had to put up with stuffy nobles for Maria’s hand in marriage, he would gladly do so.

So it was that the third day came to pass, and Spike had not seen hide nor hoof of Maria since that day in the garden. Isabella had reassured him she was merely preparing for what she thought would be a grand ball, but secretly Spike had a feeling she knew something larger was at play. The hours seemed to pass by in a blur as he was prepped and readied for the night. Soon enough, carriages began to arrive as darkness fell, and Meia had left him with Carlos after they had been fully dressed up.

Meia looked a bit like a lion, with her golden dress offset by the silver mask she wore. It did a rather odd job of hiding her figure, though anyone with half a brain could tell she was still a mare. Spike, on the other hoof, was still a bit stunned by his own costume. Dark pants that seemed black as coal, with a matching cape that swirled over his wings. He wore black boots, suitable for dancing, for which he was grateful. His hat, a large black sombrero, did a fine job of hiding his spines from any onlookers, and the black mask he work just added to the mystique. His shirt was, you guessed it, black, with a black vest over it. Seriously, whoever had designed his costume had a raging erection for the color black. Rarity would have likely torn them from his body and set them on fire, shouting “abomination” and “crime against fashion” or something along those lines.

Still, he couldn’t help but admit it was rather fantastic. He looked a lot like... what was his name again? Zonno? Zotto? Zor...

“Here they come,” Carlos whispered, snapping Spike out his daydream. Up the pathway walked nobles from all over the general area, with a few coming from all the way near Portucolt and Southern Prance. As they approached the main entrance, Spike and Carlos were to greet them and shake their hands, though kissing the hands of the mares was something Spike could say he wasn’t excited about.

“Ah, Lord and Lady Albonietto,” Carlos said as a pair of earth ponies approached them. “It is with great honor I welcome you to our masquerade ball.”

“We were glad to receive your invitation,” the mare said with a smile plainly visible under her mask. She looked over at Spike as he kissed her offered hand. “And who might this young colt be?”

“A friend of the family, you might say,” Spike said, shaking hands with the mare’s husband. “A very close friend: Spike is my name, milady.”

“Well, Mr. Spike I must say you have an impeccable taste in friends,” the stallion said. “We’ve been friends of the Del Riviosos for many years now: it is great luck to have so wonderful a family such as themselves to call you friend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Albonietto,” Spike said as they passed by. “Be sure to have a wonderful time!”

“Oh, we will!” the mare called back. Spike turned to see another pair approaching, though from the sudden tension coming off in waves from Carlos, he had a feeling this wouldn’t be so wonderful.

They were a pair of unicorns, followed by what could only be their son. Their noses were up in the air, as if to avoid smelling anything not royal in nature. All three carried themselves with the same kind of posture that Spike had seen back in the Grand Galloping Gala, before he had gone to the donut shop, at any rate, though the smaller one seemed less enthusiastic.

Carlos put on a forced smile, though thankfully it would be hard to know it’s genuineness from behind his mask. “Ah, Lord and Lady Calretto,” he said, taking a bow. “I welcome you to our ball. And I see you’ve brought your son Colombus: excellent.”

“Yes, yes, it is excellent, is it not?” Lord Calretto said, his cold eyes looking upon Spike. “And who might this be?”
“Spike, at your service, my lord,” the dragon replied, keeping his tone civil and cheerful.

“Service indeed, if his posture is anything to say about it,” Lady Calretto snorted through her golden mask. “I do not know where you find these servants or how you discipline them, Carlos, but in our house we would not stand for such slouches.” They walked past, Colombus giving Spike a somewhat apologetic look.

“Yes, that would be Lord and Lady Calretto, the bane of Spreign’s lords,” Carlos said after more guests arrived and were greeted. “Among the worst of the worst in all the land, but at least one good thing is going to come out of their family.”

“What is that, sir?” Spike said as the last carriages left and no more guests arrived.

“Their colt, Colombus, is set to inherit most of their estates, with the rest split between his horrible sisters. He is nothing like any of them: in fact, I’d say he was more like you,” the stallion said as they closed the doors behind them. “Shall we find the others?”

“Of course,” Spike said, descending the stairs and working his way through the crowds of socializing and dancing ponies. Soft dancing music played as the two worked their way past tables lined with foods specially made for that night.

“Ah, there they are,” Carlos said, leading Spike over to the rest of the family. Juana and Angelica looked absolutely adorable in their own little costumes, while Antonio and Raoul looked decidedly bored in their own dark suits. Isabella was resplendently dressed as well, though Spike’s eyes were soon drawn to another figure among the family.

Maria: oh dear Celestia, did Maria look fabulous. Her mane done in a style similar to what Spike had seen in Rarity’s chic boutique magazines, her mask concealing none of her beauty and somehow actually heightening it. Her dress, blindingly white with silver and gold trimmings, hugged her figure and showed off how she had grown: very well, in Spike’s mind. She carried herself the air of royalty, but yet she seemed not overwhelmed or dragged down by it, like Lady Calretto. Maria was a young mare, of fit breeding age, a royal of high nobility, and an absolutely stunning pony, both in personality and in figure.

Spike, for once, found he was too dumbstruck to speak. He couldn’t even form a simple “hello” when Maria saw him and walked up to him.

“Good evening, Spike,” she said, curtsying with a royal demeanor that Spike had seen only in the princesses of Canterlot. For the merest fraction of a second, he felt truly unprepared to ask for her hand in marriage. Just what was he getting himself into?

But he steeled his nerves: he knew in his heart that the moment he had laid eyes on her, he had fallen in love. It would seem strange to some, asking to marry a noble’s daughter only a few days after knowing her, but he knew he was an extraordinarily different kind of nobility. To go so long without knowing his royal heritage, and to go so long without be betrothed or taking a bride, made him unique in ways most ponies would not understand.

“Uh, um... good evening to you too, Maria,” he finally said, kissing her hand in greeting. Even though he could barely see it, her face blushed when his lips made contact with her hand. “Shall we dance?” he asked, gesturing out towards the floor where other couples were enjoying the gentle music.

“Yes, please,” she said, letting him lead her away from her family. Spike looked back to see Carlos give him a wink, but when Isabella saw it, the stallion made to rub his eye to conceal the gesture. Out onto the floor the young nobles strode, Spike resembling the dashing rogue so many romance novels focused on and Maria, the epitome of a royal’s daughter.

The music began to pick up, and so our young couple danced, twirling this way and that, amidst a sea of colorfully dressed ponies. Around and around they spun and moved, in turn with the rest of the crowd, though in Spike’s mind they could have been alone, so focused was he on Maria. In his mind, he felt that he would ask her soon, but after the music was over: right now, it was all about him, her, and their dance.

And dance they did, moving through and around other couples without so much as looking at another pony in the room. Twirling her around, Spike held her close to his body, hers matching his even through the height difference. She blushed beneath her mask as he twirled her again and let her fall backwards into her arms, just as the music stopped.

Letting her lean off of himself so as to stand up on her own, Spike led her away from the now-emptying dance floor towards a veranda. Soon enough, the festivities behind them seemed to fade away until the only sounds were those of their steps and the rustling of their clothes.

“Maria,” Spike began, stopping at the edge of the balcony. The moon shone bright that night, a reminder that Luna was watching him even then: he took solace in its light.

“Yes, Spike?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“I...” Boy, it was sure hard to form the right words: his insides were twisting into knots he didn’t even have words for. “I... I have something to ask you: something personal.”

She was silent for a moment, though Spike could tell her eyes had widened underneath her mask. “Yes?” Maria said, her voice a bit breathless.

Spike took her hands into his own, gently squeezing them. “Maria, I never felt this way before about somepony. I’d never thought I’d leave Equestria just to find someone like you. You... you are an amazing unicorn, Maria.”

She was blushing underneath that mask, which he wanted to suddenly tear off and kiss deeply. He held back, though: it was time to ask her. Maria Almareconraddo Del Rivioso, will you mar-“

“Yes,” she said, cutting him off.

Spike blinked: what? His brain frazzled out: he hadn’t even finished and she had said yes? “T-truly?”

“Of course: I said yes and I keep my word,” she said simply.

“But how... how could you have known what I was going to ask?” Spike said, flabbergasted that she seemed rather calm, even though her breathing had quickened slightly.

“Mother spilled the beans soon after she heard it from father,” Maria said, looking up at the stars. “As a way to amend our bridges, as they say, before I were to depart. She didn’t want us to part ways without reconciling our past disgreements.”

“But... but I’d never force you to come with me if you didn’t want to leave,” Spike said.

“I know that: I choose to come with you of my own free will,” the unicorn said. “The thing is, Spike, I almost immediately felt something for you the day I ran into you in the halls. Of course, I first thought it was fascination and embarrassment: but soon enough, or from what I heard about my mother meeting father, inside me it blossomed into something more. I fell head over hooves for you, mister dragon. And yes, the garden was part of a test to see if you truly were noble as you appeared: only a true gentlecolt, or in your case gentledrake, would have resisted my advances.”

Spike’s mouth hung open, aghast at how well he had been played. This Maria... she was deceivingly cunning, more so than he could have thought. “So... so you were planning much of this?”

“Of course. When I told father what I felt for you, I knew he’d gently steer you in the right direction. Your notion of a ball? Entirely by our design, as we normally eat in smaller quarters: we ate in the larger dining room so as to plant in your mind the seed of what we would be doing when you mustered up the courage to ask me.” She batted her eyelashes. “Imagine my surprise when you not only turned out to be such a gentledrake and a punctual dragon, but a skilled dancer to boot.”

Spike wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel indignant or elated, either from being played or for not having to deal with an emotionally distraught mare that would have been torn between him and her family. “So... what of the wedding?”

“Oh, that. Well, I made sure mother and father would take care of everything, so it will be a surprise to me as well. Know this, Spike the dragon,” she said reaching up and giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll expect you to be on time, well dressed, and completely committed to taking this first big step.” With that, she walked away, her manner changing as she approached her family. Spike could see it: she was happy and excited.

Well, that took care of one problem: now all he had to do was marry this cunning mare.

The night passed without anything else exciting happen, though Spike had a feeling more than just Maria and him were gearing up for the wedding. As pertaining to their wishes, both Spike’s and Maria’s, it would be a small, private affair, with only the family, the servants and Meia attending.

Speaking of Meia, she had found herself talking to her reflection in the mirror not long after Spike had fallen asleep.
“It must begin in Prance,” she muttered as she brushed her mane. “I have been lucky he has only chosen one bride so far. Should he choose another, I fear I will have to make him fall in love with me: a very dangerous prospect indeed. I can only hope something happens that will help expedite the process.

Two days later, Spike was wondering just how in the world he had managed to remain so calm in preparation for one of his possibly many wedding days. The servants had been in a frenzy polishing everything they possibly could. Maria had been too busy to see him, and Isabella made sure he went nowhere near anyplace they could meet discreetly. Meanwhile, Carlos had coached him in all the duties that would befall him once the marriage was over, including a dowry of seven thousand gold coins, several pieces of armor specially fitted for him (ceremonial, of course, as a dragon’s scales were nigh impenetrable), and transportation for Maria, Meia and himself, with one of the three carriages being much larger.

First and foremost, however, had been something he had been putting off for days now: a letter to Twilight and the rest of the Mane Six. They had no doubt been wondering of his time in Spreign and were anxious to hear of what happened since his last letter. He had been fastidious in keeping track of his journal and had now filled out nearly half of the first one, just covering his journey across the Barnlantic and his time in Equineland, Portucolt and Spreign.

So, late that afternoon, several hours before he was to get married, he sat down and began to write the letter.

“Dear Twilight and all my friends, you have no doubt been wondering just what I’ve been up to since my last letter. Upon entering Spreign, we were stopped and attacked by a lone bandit. No worries, we came out just fine, plus we split his ill-gotten gains and gave away a third of it to some less fortunate ponies.”

He paused for a second. “The Del Rivioso family live in a magnificent fortress, with gardens and statues and fountains of all kinds. They are a good family, though they will soon be family to me. Yes, I am getting married: to their eldest daughter, Maria. She’s a unicorn a bit like you, Twilight: very smart and compassionate, though she has a simple demeanor that appeals to me in a way I cannot describe. I’ll send you some wedding pictures as soon as I can. I am sorry this letter is not longer, but duty calls and I will send you a longer one in due time. Keep in touch; Spike.”

He rolled the scroll up and held in his fingertips. With a gentle breath of green flame, the scroll vanished in a puff of smoke, teleporting to the library all the way back in Ponyville. Huh, Ponyville: a long ways away, and yet he felt like he had only left it a few days previously. He couldn’t focus on that small feeling of homesickness now: that was done. Now it was time to get ready to marry his bride.

His first bride, anyway: he still had a ways to go, but he knew Maria would be with him the whole way.

A few hours later, as night truly fell over the land...

Spike waited at the altar, doing his best not to fidget in the expensive suit the local tailor had custom-sewn for him. It was just like the suit he had worn all those years ago at the first Grand Galloping Gala he had attended, though now he was far larger than he had been back then. He wings, too: they were a nice addition.

Suddenly, soft music began playing from the orchestral ensemble Carlos had arranged for. Turning away from the small, elderly priest-like pony, he looked up to the main entrance to the room, where his eyes nearly bugged out of his sockets. If Spike hadn’t used his tail to secretly prop himself up, he might have fallen over from shock right then and there.

In walked Maria, escorted by her father, but at the same time, it couldn’t have possibly been Maria. Her clothes... her mane... her features were all pristine and spruced up in ways Spike couldn’t even imagine. Her hooves made a very soft clacking on the floor as she approached, her dress a resplendent golden color so powerful Spike felt as though it had been dipped in sunlight. Her mane, normally fixed so that it held itself up above her head, was sleek and smooth, falling down around her face like waterfalls cascading down a pure marble edifice. Maria’s eyes glittered behind the golden veil and she held herself with such regality that Spike forgot for an instant she was Spreigninsh and instead thought he was marrying a cousin of Celestia herself. But that vanished as he took her hand into his own and both looked towards the elderly pony priest, who was smiling.

A toothless smile, at any rate: he could have been Granny Smith’s grandfather. “Do you, Spike the dragon, heir to the throne of Equestria’s Triumvirate Council, take Maria Almareconraddo Del Rivioso, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and health, through toil and peace, in times of loss and joy? To take upon the mantle of her husband and co-proprietor of her estate?”

“I do,” Spike said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. The ancient pony turned to Maria.

“Do you, Maria, take Spike to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and health, through toil and peace, in times of loss and joy? To take up the title of his wife, and to bear his children, and love him with all your heart?” It seemed the necessities of one gender were quite a bit more lax than for the other: males had it easier.

“I gladly do,” she said. She also squeezed Spike’s hand, her fingers laced with his.

The prehistoric pony smiled once more, showing nothing but gums. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Spike turned and slowly lifted Maria’s veil exposing her radiant smile to his own eyes. No, he would not tear up: he would not cry like Carlos was doing off to his side. Closing in, he pressed his lips to Maria’s gently but firmly: she returned with full force, throwing her arms around his neck. The rest of the onlookers cheered, the servants and Maria’s family clapping as they rose from their seats.

Spike and Maria broke apart, breathless and smiling. Together, they walked down the small aisle, all the while small spells shot off into the air from the gathered unicorns like miniature fireworks. As soon as they reached the door to leave, Carlos caught up with them.

“Down the hall and to the left are your quarters for the night,” he said, shaking Spike’s free hand. “Welcome to the family.”

“I am most welcomed, dad,” Spike said, earning a teardrop of happiness from the already sniffling stallion. Leading Maria out of the room, they turned and went to their honeymoon room, as pertaining to Carlos’ instructions.

Shutting the door behind them, Spike turned to see Maria fly towards the changing room: she definitely was done waiting for this night. “I’ll be right out,” she called as he saw some of her clothes fly into the air.

Spike himself began to undress, sitting down on the bed as the moonlight shone through the dark room like a pale heavenly beacon. As he took off his pants, the young drake couldn’t help but feel as though Luna had meant for this to happen. She had been the one to choose where he was destined to go, and though he didn’t particularly want to not go to some of these places, it still felt a bit strange how she had been so specific.

Basking in the glow of the moonlight, Spike finished with the last of his undergarments just as a voice sounded behind him.
“Spike?” Maria whispered, hiding in the shadows. He turned around, his own features cast in shadow as the moonlight behind him made him seem dark and mysterious. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely louder than hers. “Come to me, Maria.”

Soft hoof-falls on the floor let his ears dictate where his eyes should look. Still, when she stepped into the moonlight, he couldn’t help but inhale sharply.

She was immaculate in her barest form. Her fur shone in the moonlight like a lamp, the olive-colored pelt almost looking the color of cream. Her mane fell down to her shoulders, with her face framed perfectly within. Maria’s breasts, which had seemed so remarkable in her dress, were simply astounding: full, firm, and very perky. Not too large, not too small, with rosy nipples pointing outwards at Spike. Her legs, perfectly proportioned, trailed up to firm-looking hindquarters: you could probably bounce a jewel off of them. As his eyes graced her marehood, he simply knew he had made the right decision to come on this journey: he had fallen in love, all right.

Maria, on the other hand, was looking Spike up and down with a fervor that surprised even her. His chest, strong and robust-looking, seemed to radiate with strength. His tail behind him flickered back and forth like a cat’s, muscled in ways she didn’t know they could be. His spines along his head gave him an other-worldy appearance, as though he were a creature of the night come to take her away. His arms lay by his sides, muscular and long: his hands seemed larger than she remembered.

His waistline was trim and slender, though that did nothing to hide the muscles lining his stomach and side. Every piece stood out, from his upper abdominals all the way down to his... his...

“Oh,” she gasped softly, taking an involuntary step forward. He was... well, gifted might have been an understatement. She knew from her anatomy classes that stallions and mares differed, of course, but she had had no idea just how... different a dragon was from a stallion.

She drew closer, and closer, tempted to jump him right then and there. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t: she had no experience, and even though he had not said anything on the matter, she could tell he knew how to use his... weapon. Stepping up to him, she leaned up and captured his lips with hers, just as his arms snaked around her and pulled her flush with his body. He was warm, undeniably warm: she felt as though she would melt into a puddle of goo right there.

A soft jab poked her in the stomach, and she looked down to see his... second tail swelling to life. Would it hurt? Would it even fit?

Gently, Spike lay her down on the bed, the moonlight casting his features into shadow more so than they had before. He continued to kiss her, his hands roaming over her body as she moaned into his mouth. She felt a tingling between her legs, and she knew her body was preparing itself.

But as quick as a flash, his lips left her mouth and moved to her neck, where he continued to kiss her. Curious as to why, but not moving a muscle, she felt his kisses move from her neck to her collarbone, and then to the swell of her breasts...

Suddenly, a warm, wet sensation enveloped one of her nipples and she nearly squealed in surprise. Lightly sucking on her nipple, Spike slowly massaged the other one with a free hand, tweaking the other nipple to its full hardness. Then he switched, without so much as say a word. Maria pressed him into her breasts with both her hands, urging him to go on. It was instinctual, the feeling of a mouth suckling on her breasts, yet at the same time it was so carnal and felt so damned good.

She almost cried in dismay as he licked between the valley of her breasts and continued to go lover, his lips and tongue trailing over her stomach. Yet lower he went, and lower, and lower, until...

All right, she did gasp there: he was laying a pattern of butterfly kisses around the outside of her marehood, which was rapidly swelling at the sudden ministrations. Around and around he circled, until he at last lay a kiss directly on her nether lips, sending an electrical shock through her system. By her ancestors, she involuntarily dug her fingers into the silken sheets as he kissed her beyond what she could describe. Just when she thought he was done surprising her, she felt something enter her: something small, wriggling, and absolutely blazing hot.

She looked down as best she could to see Spike’s elongated tongue disappearing into her innermost core, the sensation overwhelming her mind like a tidal wave of pleasure. He was pleasing her, worshipping her, making her his... without any visible effort, it seemed. She clenched her legs around his head, urging him to go deeper: which is exactly what he did.

Suddenly, and without warning, something built inside the mare and exploded, her now sopping-wet marehood sloshing a bit as she experienced her first orgasm. Her body felt like it was on fire, as if the dragon eating her out had breathed flame into her very being. Maria continued to spasm from the ministrations until she couldn’t anymore, and felt back, sweating. Spike looked up as his tongue retracted, taking care to lick her sweet juices from all over his face.

“S-Spike,” she said, as breathless as though she had run the entire length of Spreign. “That... that-“

“-Is not everything,” he said, standing up and looking down at her. His proud shaft stood up in the moonlight, looking like a battering ram about to penetrate a castle’s softened defenses. He crawled over her, his body hovering over her like a protective shadow.

“Maria, do you want this?” he asked softly.

“Y-yes, yes I do,” she said, preparing for the worst. With that, Spike gently grabbed hold of his member and guided it downwards, the tip brushing against her entrance. Rubbing himself up and down her soaking nethers, he slowly pushed the tip into her, earning a stifled gasp from his wife.

“Shh, shh, it will be okay,” he said, watching her reaction. She nodded slowly, which had him push a bit further in. Even though she was incredibly wet, she was also incredibly tight. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed into her, his lips capturing hers so as to stifle her gasping. After what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t go in anymore: he had pushed in all the way to his heavy dragon balls.

“Wish I had more time to spend doing this,” he thought as he let himself rest inside her. “But I will make the most of it.”

With that, he began to gently pull out, his ridged shaft causing Maria to tremble and almost outright buck against him in pleasure. Soon enough, he was almost all of the way out, leaving only the swollen head inside. Again he pushed in slowly, a bit easier this time as Maria’s body had come to accept his size and had stretched to less painful extremes to accommodate him.

So this went on, every thrust becoming easier and easier as Maria’s juices trailed down her rump onto the sheets. Spike slowly picked up the pace, at least until Maria’s legs wrapped around his firm ass and pushed him in a bit harder.

“Please, more,” she moaned, her voice sounding ragged. So Spike obliged, pushing into her with an increasing pace that left her trembling: another boost to speed had her bucking up against him. So they rutted like this for minutes, Maria not telling Spike just how many orgasms she felt as though were spiraling through her body. It was like one after another after another, forming a chain that seemed to stretch on and on.

Spike felt himself approaching his limit, and with all the business he had had to take care of for the last few days, he was feeling exhausted. “Maria,” he whispered, just as her last orgasm faded. “Come for me.”

She did, and it eclipsed all the other ones she had had: a monstrous jolt tore through her exhausted body as her shuddering marehood clenched down on Spike’s mighty invader, sending him over the edge. Just as he began to spurt into her, he pushed in all the way, feeling his balls slap against her firm flank as he did so. His shaft pumped and pumped more and more into her, so much so that a bit of it began to leak out onto their sheets. They lay together like this as their bodies began to wind down. Soon enough, Spike rolled to the side, still holding Maria to him: her gentle snores greeted his ears.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. With that, he closed his eyes as well.

Author's Note

Well, did I promise it or did I promise it? Hope you enjoyed this extra-long chapter as much as I did writing it!

Ruins and Dangerous Company

Chapter Twenty Four

Ruins and Dangerous Company

The sun rose early the morning when the boat reached its final destination. As was the way with rivers, especially large ones, the waters eventually reached the point where no boat could travel it anymore. So, getting off in a small town and charting passage with a small caravan, Spike and his wives crossed the border of Neighgypt and found themselves in Northern Sudan.

Now, contrary to popular belief, Egypt was not the only place to have large pyramids in the world. Sudan had many, many pyramids, though none quite so massive as those in Giza. The reason they were often overlooked was simply due to the fact that they had been long-ago pillaged: the golden tops of the pyramids long since carted off and melted down. As it was, they all had the distinct shape of a cone missing the last several yards of the top, almost like a tall, three-dimensional trapezoid.

As luck would have it, ponies lived in the shadows of these colossal structures, and they even offered guided tours of the monuments of the past.

It was an opportunity too good to pass up.

“Too bad we couldn’t have gone to the pyramids of Giza: I have heard they are spectacular,” Asalah said as they stood together for a group photo. The camera’s light went off, set off by Trixie’s magic.

“Well, that would have been quite the detour, don’t you think?” Spike asked as he retrieved the device.

“Well, I suppose,” the zebra said, following the others to a shaded spot. “Still, to think such great monuments were built without the use of magic is astounding, don’t you think.”

“I would certainly agree with that: such a feat of engineering is an amazing accomplishment,” Maria said, twirling her small umbrella above her head. “Magic is a most useful tool when one has it.”

“Ooh, get our picture by that small dirigible!” Meia said, rushing over to the aforementioned blimp. It was not very large: enough to seat more than a few ponies and their supplies, but nothing more. It was also rather crude when compared to the machine Trixie had said she had journeyed across the Barnlantic in, with obviously rudimentary steering elements.

“All right,” Spike said, hefting the pack on his back. The supplies they had bought after the boat trip were all they had, Spike having sent back all of the excessive clothes, valuables and souvenirs to Equestria. They each carried a large pack, though Spike’s was by far the largest: you couldn’t expect three pregnant mares to do all the heavy lifting, now could you? Asalah was not exactly a broad-shouldered mare of West Germareny either, so her pack was only slightly larger than the other mare’s.

The four mares lined up next to the dirigible and smiled, posing like they were college roommates. Spike smiled in return and brought up the camera, snapping a few quick pictures. Maybe someday he’d ask Twilight just how these were built: he knew well enough how they worked. Not too different from a regular hot-air balloon, though quite a bit faster and the more streamlined shape helped with this.

“Spike, what is that?” Maria asked, pointing to the horizon. A large cloud of dust was growing closer and closer, obscuring a good portion of the sky.

“Sandstorm!” a pony shouted, rushing past the dragon and his wives, leaping into the dirigible and beginning to crank some levers.

“What?” Spike asked, rushing over to the excited pony.

“Sandstorm, you fool! They are rare around here, but they still happen!” the pony shouted, a slightly crazed look in his eyes. It was the look of fear, of knowing something bad was going to happen.

“What do we do?” Trixie asked, a worried look in her eyes. There was no shelter around the pyramids: surely they would be buried alive.

“Get on board: I’m going over it!” the earth pony said, cutting a few ropes with a small machete. Without a word of protest Spike’s wives jumped on board, with Spike bringing up the rear.

“What about the rest of the caravan?” Spike shouted to the earth pony, who had just finished cutting the final rope. Soon enough, they were airborne, rising rapidly.

“They’ve taken shelter in that canyon!” the pony said, pointing to a small crevice off a ways. It was not far, maybe a five-minute walk, but at the rate the sandstorm was approaching, Spike’s family would never have made it.

The four mares looked out as the ground dropped from beneath them, their ascent going faster than they would have liked. Rather, more so than two would have liked: Asalah and Maria had never experienced the feeling of flight. Trixie had been on an airship such as this before, and Meia... well, a changeling had wings after all.

“We’re not gonna make it!” the earth pony shouted as the cloud of sand drew closer. He was cranking knobs and flipping levers like mad, a few errant bits of steam leaking from some pipes.

“What do you need me to do?” Spike asked, his voice a shout as they rose higher and higher.

“You’re a dragon! Fly under and try giving us a push! If anything, that will reduce the weight in the dirigible and make it easier to rise!”

Spike did as the pony said: leaping over the side, he unfurled his wings and flew upwards, placing his hands on the underside of the dirigible hull. With as much strength as he could put into his wings, he pushed upwards, feeling the speed of ascension increase in the dirigible slightly. He continued to push downwards with his wigs, each flap creating the force necessary to push more and more.

The sand came closer and closer, a seething mass of silica bids flying fast enough to smooth wood like sandpaper. Still Spike pushed and pushed, his wings flapping harder than he ever had had them move before. If he had been on the ground, anypony standing next to him would have been blown backwards, so strong were the gusts generated by his leathery extensions.

Just as he felt his wings begin to tire, Spike saw the cloud of sand pass mere inches from the tip of his tail. Errant grains of sand blasted against his scales, the feeling oddly similar to having pinpricks stuffed into his scales, like when he had served as Rarity’s pincushion all those years ago.

He looked out over the horizon and saw almost nothing but a billowing cloud of sand stretching everywhere. He turned his head to see the sand cloud continue its advance on the landscape, like a thundercloud rolling across the plains. Feeling his wings tire from all of his exertion, he let go of the dirigible and flew up and over the side, collapsing on the floor of the craft. His wings lay stretched out, too sore from the constant flapping to retreat back to his side. It was as if he had been a hummingbird for a few minutes, though his sore flight muscles told him it was more like an hour.

“That was too close,” he muttered as his wives rushed over to him, faces expressing concern for his well-being. To be perfectly honest, as Spike was wont to do, the dragon was fine: just a bit exhausted from over-exerting himself.

“Thank you, sir dragon,” the earth pony said, wiping some sweat from his brow. “I was certain we were going to be swept up in those sands.”

“What would have happened if we had?” Trixie asked.

“The gears would have been clogged by sand and the craft would have been filled in a matter of minutes: the weight would have sent us back to the ground like a stone.” Well, nopony needed to know what would have happened after that: not even Spike could survive being crushed like an ant and then smothered by hundreds of pounds of sand.

“Glad to be of service,” Spike said as Meia and Asalah began massaging his wing muscles: it felt very good, with their nimble fingers working into the crevices of every sore muscle under his flexible scales. Maria had fetched him some water as the other three mares helped him sit up. “By the way, I never caught your name, sir.”

“Wells, mister dragon. Hoofington Gallway Wells.” The earth pony held out a hand, slightly covered in grease from some leaking pipes.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wells,” Spike said, shaking the stallion’s offered hand. “I am Spike Dragul, and these lovely mares are my brides. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Your assumption would be correct, Mr. Dragul. I hail from Equineland.”

“Ah, I thought your accent was familiar,” Spike said with a smile. “I have a good friend in Equestria who hails from Trottingham himself.”

So they talked of home, their memories of friends and family far away from their current location. Then they discussed what they were doing in Sudan: Spike’s journey, and Wells, it seemed, was on a combination of a research project and sabbatical of sorts. He was here to collect samples from some pyramids and bring them back to Equineland, who wanted to verify that the structures had indeed been made by hand and not by magic. The sands soon passed away beneath them, but they found themselves far from the pyramids of northern Sudan: in fact, they were mere speck on the northern horizon.

“Where are we now?” Trixie asked as she looked out into the distance. “Everything looks different now, more so than when we took off.”

“Ethiopia, I would guess,” Wells said, getting up from his resting spot to push some buttons. “I would set us down here, save for one problem.”

“What is that?” Meia asked, curious at the tone of fear in the pony’s voice. He didn’t sound very happy to be away from a sandstorm that would have been the death of them all.
“Because of him,” the pony said.

“Who?” Maria asked when Wells did not clarify who “him” was.

“Him,” the pony repeated, pointing out several shapes below them. Spike and his wives peeked over to see they were... growing larger. They were unmistakably dirigibles, but their color, compared to Wells’ own grayish-blue, were reddish in color. The airships themselves, as they rose, appeared to have a small symbol on them: a spear jutting through the head of what seemed to be a lion.

“Wells... who is this “him” you speak of?” Spike asked. He had a really bad feeling about all of this: they had just barely escaped a sandstorm, only now to be attacked by... what? Pirates? Bandits? Who in the world was coming up to meet them?

“Warlord Undi’s son, Bara,” Wells said. “He has his own fleet of small dirigibles, and he’s like a pirate, murderer and thug all rolled into one. He kills whomever he wants with no repercussions. He plunders, he rapes and he razes villages whenever he gets bored: he is the living persona of a madpony.”

“Sounds like quite the character,” the dragon said, blood rushing through his body when he heard the word ‘rape’. Draconic side springing into action again, but with the mostly wooden airship he was on, too much fire would set them all ablaze. “Can we outrun him?” he asked, his energy returned after his respite: nothing like knowing your family was in danger to get somedragon’s blood pumping.

“I am afraid not: he will catch us before we cross the border again in a few minutes. I do not know how he saw us, but I do know that he will not dare to cross the border into Kenya. His father has forbidden it, and Undi is the only creature in the world Bara fears.” Wow, Undi sounded even worse than Bara, if Bara was afraid of his own father.

“Wait, how exactly do you know this Bara and Undi?” Trixie asked. “Have you met them before? They sound absolutely despicable.” She was taking all of this normally distressful information rather well: all of Spike’s wives were, for some reason.
“They are the rulers of this part of Africa, ranging from northern Sudan to Somalia and Ethiopia. I have been robbed by them before: they took the only thing I had of value, besides my life.” He sounded rather sad, as if the mere memory caused him significant pain.

“What was that?” Asalah asked.

“A golden locket of my parents,” Wells said, a note of anger entering his voice. “It was all I had left of them. All that was left of my family, and Bara took it: gave it to his damned second in command as a joke.”

“Will this second in command be on one of those ships?” Spike asked. “I’d rather avoid a fight if we could.”

“You won’t avoid this, dragon,” Wells said, apparently not hearing the question. “I have seen them slaughter villages from on high in my ship. The screaming as they burned huts, usually with ponies still inside them: I could hear it from up here. They are monsters in pony’s clothing, beasts that have learned to walk and talk like us. They will rob us if we surrender, or else they will kill us and rape your wives, and THEN kill them.” He sounded very serious, so much so that his own anger fueled Spike’s like a drug.

At these words, Asalah looked around fearfully, not knowing what to do. The others seemed to mirror her actions, looking somewhere, anywhere, for a place to hide.

“Then a fight it is, then,” Spike said, rising to his feet. “They’ll think we are weak, defenseless up here all by ourselves. We’d best prepare.”

“What of us?” Asalah asked, looking at the others. “We cannot hope to repel boarders, and if you fly off, any ponies that get here will surely kill us.”

“Then they won’t get close enough to board us, Asalah,” Spike said softly. “I want you to hide behind the supplies: they’ll be thick enough to stop anything short of a ballista bolt.”

As they moved around, preparing, the dirigibles of Bara rose to their height, high above the ground. They were close enough to see the faces of each other just as Trixie, the last of Spike’s wives, hid behind the supplies. Jeers from the crew, some waving glinting machetes in the light, echoed through the air.

“Get ready,” Wells said to Spike. Wells held with him a club, crude and perfect in case the thugs got on board. “I’m not going to raise the flag.”

“What flag?”

“The flag of surrender,” Wells said as the other floating ships came closer and closer.

“Ah, Wells, I did not expect to see you here,” a voice called out in passable Equinish. Spike looked from his spot to see a zebra speaking, an odd helmet covering his mane. He was tall, lean but strong-looking, like a runner who also practiced with weights or something. Given his profession, it likely involved a lot of bloody murder.

“Yeah, well, you know me: just passing through,” Wells shouted back, making sure to not come out into view.

“You have not raised your flag: are we, your friends, not invited on board?” Bara called out, almost in what could have passed for a somber tone if his face wasn’t twisted into a malicious grin. He had a scar running along the entirety of his jaw, giving him a rather dangerous look: not like he needed one, given the murderous-looking thugs behind him.

“Not today, Bara: I can’t let you on board,” the earth pony replied.

There was silence as the ships leveled out next to each other, with the pirates looking confused. It seemed they had never been refused a request from their leader, as nopony was making a sound. The tall zebra looked out at the ship, the gears working in his head. Bara made a motion, and suddenly a dozen crossbow bolts thudded into the side of the dirigible. Not the inflatable section: anything valuable would be destroyed if the craft fell to the earth like a stone. Not to mention the passengers: he wanted to take a closer look at what Wells was hiding, and punish him for it.

“Jeez, that was quick,” Spike said as Wells ducked behind a small crate, his previous spot sporting three crossbow bolts sticking into where his shoulder had been.

“I told you they don’t mess around,” Wells said, peeking up over his crate to have a crossbow bolt whiz through his mane. He ducked back down to cheers from the thugs.

Spike looked up as they drew closer, fewer and fewer crossbow bolts thudding into the hull. Either these thugs didn’t have many bolts or were terrible shots, though the former seemed the case. Instead, they were moving all along the floating craft, the small cabin underneath the inflatable craft a seething mass of zebras.

“Now they will try and board us,” Wells said, standing on steady hooves. One of the other airships came around to the side and several grappling hooks were thrown out: their aim was straight and true.

As soon as they landed and anchored in, Spike and Wells rushed in and started cutting the ropes. No more bolts flew in their direction, though a machete did swing its way past Spike’s face, embedding itself in the wood behind him. By the time half of the hooks were gone, the airship had pulled itself close enough for some to swing across. Which they did, cackling like mad with their rope in one hand and a machete in another, glee spread across their faces.

The first one to land received a quick kick from Spike right in the chest, sending him flying backwards. He flew over the side, screaming as more hooks from another airship latched onto the other side of Well’s dirigible.

“Sonufa-“ Spike said as he caught the machete of a snarling pirate, using his tail to sweep the legs out from underneath the nasty zebra. With a swift kick of his foot, he shoved the pirate away, just in time for another boarder to land on him. The unevenness of his comrade upset his balance, causing the pirate to fall backwards, his hand still holding onto a rope. Just as he swung away, a crossbow bolt thudded into his neck, a friendly-fire incident that made the zebra let go of his rope in surprise. With luck, he’d be dead before he hit the ground. The same could not be said for the comrade he had stepped on, who rolled off and fell screaming onto the plains below.

Just as the last of the boarders from the one were repelled and the ropes cut, the boarders from the other ship ran at Spike and Wells. Wells smashed one up the side of the head with his club, sending him flying back into another’s machete. Spike dodged another machete strike as he saw a glint of gold on one of the boarder’s necks. It was the locket Wells had talked about.

Wells saw it too and went wild. With reckless abandon he rushed the zebra, smashing at anypony in his way. Just as he reached him, a machete pierced his side and he fell to the floor of the dirigible, crying out in pain.
“No!” Spike shouted, rushing forward.

“Stop, or they die!” a voice said. Spike stopped in his tracks as the three remaining zebras stood straighter, one with a crossbow bolt aiming for... his wives! They were still cowering behind the supplies, though from this angle, they were perfect targets.

“Now,” Bara the zebra said, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. “We should all just relax and have a friendly little chat now, shouldn’t we? We wouldn’t want those lovely mares of yours getting hurt now, would we sir dragon?”

“How do you know they are with me?” Spike asked, the fire inside him rising. This zebra’s smug face was alight with a madness that made him want to eat the bastard, just so there was no way he could ever hurt anypony again.

“Wells was never one for relationships, dragon. Every time I have been so generously “given” his supplies, he was alone: the last time, all he had was this locket,” he said, pointing to the gold around his second in command’s neck. “A small trinket, worthless for sure. Just like his life has been, I assure you. No pony would ever want a foal to turn out like him, I-,”

He was interrupted by a shout. Wells had leaped up off of the deck at the mention of “worthless” and now jumped on the back of the one holding the crossbow, which went off. It went straight into the head of the third zebra, straight through his eye and into his brain: the spray of blood squirted into the air as he slumped over, twitching.

With one hand holding the zebra’s crossbow arm, Wells used the other to grab the locket from around his neck and pull. It came free from the stallion’s neck, who fell backwards from the extra weight on his back. Wells shouted with triumph as he let go of the stallion, both of whom disappeared over the side of the airship.

Spike shouted in anger and rushed the last one left, obviously Bara. The zebra pulled his machete from his scabbard but had it knocked away by Spike’s tail. With a roar and rush of hot air, Spike’s mouth let loose a small torrent of flame, setting the zebra’s clothes aflame.

With a shout of surprise, the zebra stumbled backwards, his hands barely arresting his fall. Spike placed a foot on the stallion’s chest and looked him in the eyes.

“My father will have your head for this!” the zebra shouted through the pain. He was still smiling, the bastard. “He will rape your wives to death! Kill your families! Burn your lands!” The zebra had no idea just who Spike was related to, but he still made the threats. Threats he rehearsed every night before drinking and killing and slaughtering innocent folk as if it were a game. To him, it was: he lived for it, the thrill of being in power and running the show when his father wasn’t around.

“He will try,” Spike said simply, giving a good push with his foot. With a scream, a combination of pain, anger and madness, the zebra plummeted away from the airship, a trail of smoke following him. Spike looked over the side to see him go, his eyes suddenly turning to...

“Wells?” he said in disbelief, reaching down to grab the Equinish stallion. “Wells, you lucky bastard!” As luck would have it, some of the crossbow bolts in the hull had caught onto the pony’s clothing and he lay there, suspended and holding onto the tiny golden locket like a pony possessed.

With a great heave, Spike pulled the bleeding pony back on board, just in time to see one of the airships be replaced by another. “Asalah! Do you know how to stop the bleeding?”

“I... I should, I-I think,” the zebra said, rushing over to help Spike set down the stallion. Meia pushed the dead zebra with crossbow bolt through his eye socket over the side. “What of the other airships?” she asked as she tore a bit of errant cloth from Wells’ side and pressed it against the wound in his side.

“I’m the only one who can fly this thing now, so Meia and the others will have to take care of it,” Spike said as he rushed over to the controls.

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Maria asked. “Do you expect us to breathe fire and fly out to meet them? All of us are pregnant, I remind you!”

“Well, you ARE unicorns: use some magic!” Spike didn’t mean to sound snarky, but now was not the time to argue semantics.

At that moment in time, the entire fabric of the universe seemed to slow to a stop. The Earth stopped revolving, comets froze in place, and the thermonuclear reaction in the sun’s core stopped like it was a flashlight that had run out of batteries. Three of these mares had magic and could have used it at any time in the past, and only now did somepony realize it, and they weren’t even a pony?! Discord himself would have suffered an aneurysm from the sheer chaos of it all.

With a renewed look in their eyes, the three magic-wielders rushed over to the side where the newer ship was coming from, Trixie threw up a magical barrier just as another crossbow volley traveled towards them. The sharp bolts bounced harmlessly off of the magic shield as Maria and Meia pointed their horns towards the airship, taking aim not at the wood, but the dirigible itself.

“What is the weakest point? We can’t use fire spells!” Meia shouted as another volley of crossbow bolts bounced off Trixie’s shield: a slight crack showed in the magic material.

“Aim for the balloon part!” Spike said as he steered the airship away to avoid sliding up against the other airship from whence Bara had come from. The sudden motion made the ropes latched onto his own dirigible snap, letting the nearly-crewless craft float away. They were almost there, the border was so close...

As if two rapid-fire cannons were built into the dirigible’s hull, Maria and Meia fired off spells, each a simple cutting spell that formed knives in mid-air. It did the trick, with the suddenly-materializing metal piercing the sides of the gaseous containers inside the pirate airship. With hisses and tearing noises, the dirigible began to lose altitude, all the while the evil zebras inside shouting and screaming.

The last dirigible turned back, just as the marker dividing the lands of Ethiopia and Kenya came into view. It wasn’t much, but the change in the landscape was enough for them all to know they were now safe. Perhaps they also wished to live through this ordeal: their boss was dead and his father was likely to be very angry.

“Meia, Maria: please help Asalah tend to Wells’ wounds,” Spike said, slumping against the controls. He had barely remembered any of his flight training under Luna, since she had a personal hot-air balloon. Why did the controls have to be so similar and yet do so many different things? “Anypony else hurt?”

“Not a scratch,” his four brides said as Trixie lowered the magical shield. She too slumped over: to make such a strong shield last, even for a short while, was taxing.

“I must say, that was quite a defensive spell,” Wells said, coughing slightly at the pain. “Where did you learn that?”

“Equestria,” Trixie said as she crawled over to Spike’s side, her mane all tussled from the sheer amount of effort she had put into the spell. “There are a lot of libraries: one of the better ones is in Ponyville.” She smiled at Spike when she said this: perhaps she was as anxious to see Ponyville again as he was.

“I have heard the libraries of Baghdad are one of the best collections in the entire world,” Wells replied as the three attending mares helped fix his bandages. “I’ve never gone there, of course, but word gets around on the grapevine, as they say.”

“We’ll have to go there some time,” Spike said, feeling exhausted, both from the ordeal and the stress of said ordeal. He looked up to see the last of the pirate dirigibles fade away into the distance: for the time being, vast expanses of uninhabited ecosystems lay out before them. “We’ll land in a while, if that is okay with you, Mr. Wells: as soon as we find a city or town. I don’t want to land where some predator might try and snack on us in this state.”

“Of course, Mr. Dragul, of course,” the earth pony replied. “For now, let us rest: the winds won’t push us much further than this, and right now I could use some...”

He fell asleep, the exhaustion of the fight and his wound finally taking their toll. Spike closed his eyes as well, glad the airship was barely moving at all, or else who knew where they’d end up.

Author's Note

Well now, how will this pan out? Stay tuned, my faithful readers!

Also, if you do leave a review behind, feel free to state your opinion on this question of mine: should I or should I not label chapters that have clop in them as, well, having clop in them? Call it a vote, if you will: a poll, even.

Carriage Reflections

Chapter Forty

Carriage Reflections

Even though it had been a week since the five travelers had left behind the capital city of Saddle Arabia, each and every sunrise in the desert was a simply amazing sight to behold. In reality, it was an amazing sight in any desert, regardless whether one has lived there their entire life or is just passing through. The sun glimmering off of the sandy wastes, the cloudless skies a purest light blue, the sun turning from a golden orange to the more familiar blazing white...

It was a sight few would forget. At least, Trixie would forget it as her carriage gently rolled along the roads of Saddle Arabia. When she had awoken only a few short minutes before, the sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon. As soon as it had cleared the sandy edge and began its slow, graceful arc into the sky, the blue unicorn had begun to think immediately of the same things she had been thinking about the night before. Mainly, about her, Spike, and their foal, as it was always on her mind at some point of the day.

The cravings were still in full swing and would only likely get more intense, but that was to be expected of a mare carrying a growing foal. Her mood swings were not as severe as Chrysalis’s, though the past few days had been slightly strained between Maria and herself over the naming tradition of newborns.

“In the event of a colt, the father should have full naming rights,” the Spreignish noblemare had said, her strict adherence to Spreignish tradition leaving little wiggle room for a counter proposal. Her strict interpretation of her own culture often clashed with the far less stringent aspects of Equestria’s.

“But... what if the father decides to let the mother name the foal, regardless of gender?” Asalah had asked the two. Spike had promised her that she would get to name all of their foals, unless she happened to want Spike to name one.

“It is fully within the one who carries the foal for nine months to name them, with or without input from the father,’ Trixie had replied to Maria, her answer only partly intended to give Asalah an answer of her own. “They contribute early on, but until the foal comes into the world, what more can they do besides make our lives a bit more comfortable?”

“They protect us, honor us, love us,” Maria had countered. “Spike is doing all he can to not only keep us together, but to protect us, help us in anything we wish, and to do all so while remaining steadfast and strong.”

Trixie had let herself slip out of the conversation after that, instead letting Asalah and Maria do most of the conversing. Rubbing her temples at the memory, the blue mare leaned back in the carriage, her own thoughts of the conversation bringing up some rather important questions about the future.

For starters, She’d have to not only introduce Spike to her parents, but she’d also have to tell them how they fell in love, what brought them together, and perhaps most embarrassingly of all, show them the fruits of their... union. She really wanted to send them a letter, but she knew her parents were rather disdainful of magically-sent mail, even though they were unicorns. They preferred mail that was delivered by a pony, since it was far more polite to thank the mail carrier than to just... open a teleported letter.

That brought up a second possible problem. Trixie knew her mother and father very well, and although she had not seen them in a good many years (ever since her show took off, she never had time to visit home), she had the distinct feeling they would be a bit upset with her over her... marriage caused by a “ride” on a train. They were not the most close-minded of ponies, but they had never approved of any of her dates when she was a teenager. Then again, when she was at that age, the unicorn had had a rather distinct misfortune of attracting idiotic, snooty or downright unsociable ponies whenever she frequented bars or similar pick-up joints. Her parents were not racists by any means, but would they accept her husband for being a dragon, or would they shun him?

Even worse, what would they think of her foal? Trixie had reread the dragon biology book she had picked up about four times, and nowhere in it could she find any real information on dragon-pony hybrids. Nothing on how to tell what the baby would look like: only on what they could look like. Were there signs on how many of the father’s attributes would be passed one? Would there be strange cravings for jewels and gemstones should the foal become far more dragon-like in appearance? And what about them possibly breathing fire inside of her?

Trixie at least knew the foal would not come out in an egg, as every now and then she could feel it move around inside of her. But while the thought of some little foal with dragon eyes and little dragon wings might be cute, the thought of a spine-covered foal that breathes fire upon exiting the womb sent a chill up her spine.

But as with all things, where there were bad possibilities, there were also amazing and wondrously good ones to overshadow them. Trixie was beyond happy she was having a foal, and even happier that it was with somedragon she had grown to love. Ever since she was a little filly, she had wanted a bigger family, but her parents had stopped after her, and she never saw any of her siblings anymore. They had moved to all the corners of Equestria, and even when there were family reunions, it was always impossible for Trixie to show up. Being the youngest of five children meant she had not near as much expected of her, which was probably why she set out to prove herself in the eyes of everypony.

So along with her desire to prove herself in her parent’s eyes, she had figured out that a good way to name her foal when he or e came into the world. In her mind, the most obvious choice would be to name them after one of her ancestors, likely her grandparents or great-grandparents. But which would she pick? There were so many to choose from, and all of the names were very good ones at that.

In another carriage, another one of the pregnant mares was having thoughts very similar to those of Trixie. Maria had awoken after the sun had risen, but found she was too tired to do anything but just sit back and think.

Firstly, her thoughts turned towards home, as all the talk of Spike bringing them to his own home had opened up some feelings in the pregnant unicorn she hadn’t realized she was hiding. Truth be told, she did miss her home. Her family, her (admittedly few) friends, the gardens, the climate, the familiarity of it all: she did miss it. She knew she would go back someday, likely with a few (or many, since the future was still wide open) foals of her own to meet their aunts, uncles and grandparents from her side. Of course, though she did not know it at the time, her thoughts about naming coincided with those of Trixie.

Maria had almost always been a stickler for tradition in her country, with the exception being arranged marriages. She loved learning the arts, shopping in Paris with her mother, learning about her ancestor’s role in founding the country she knew and loved; it was all so very good for her spirit to know such things. Out here, far from home, she felt so small in the grand scheme of things, whereas she used to believe everything important in her life only happened within the borders of her native Spreign. She now knew that to be an utter falsehood. She had seen the dangers lurking in southern Prance with that horrible baron, and she had seen the amazing ruins left behind by the Roaman Empire that so easily conquered her country many, many centuries before.

Maria had seen how important trade routes coming through the Samarea Desert were to the ponies all along the Meditermanean Sea, and she saw in Maredagascar a besieged paradise. Onset by both goods and pirates from all sides, it was no wonder that the ships leaving and arriving there traveled in large, armed groups. She could only imagine what would happen if the Meditermanean Sea fell into such lawlessness like it had been two centuries before the birth of her parents.

She had seen so much in such a short amount of time, and inside her thought-addled mind, a struggle was taking place: one between her sense of what home was, and the stark reality that her culture was just one in an uncountable sea of exchanging ideas, norms and values. On the one hand, she had what she had been taught, where the mare is meant to support her husband and be there for him, while still remaining somewhat independent and strong. Then there was everything else she was being shown, where Spike needed a gentle heart to love him back, and where he would gladly do anything to keep her safe.

Some of that flew in the face of what she had seen in her younger years. Maria had seen countless nobles shun or feel nothing but scorn for their wives, even though t=said wives did everything they could to make their stallions happy. She knew that lords taking lovers of both a common and noble variety was commonplace is many areas of her country, and the surrounding ones as well. Spike was nothing like those other foolish, pompous princes; he cared more for his four wives than the Spreignish noblemare had even thought possible, even after all this time with him.

Of course, that love had now manifested itself into the foal that grew in her belly, and for the life of her, Maria could not decide on a suitable name. She had considered many, of course, and each one sounded great, but she wanted Spike to name their foal. It wasn’t entirely out of her feeling she needed to complete a social obligation: she was just scared any name she gave the foal would not be the right one for them. Imagine her colt growing up to be big and strong, and yet his name would mean “gentle” or “fragile flower” or something equally ill-fitting. Oh, the embarrassment would likely eat her alive on the inside, and what would her son think?!

“Yes, when the foal is born, Spike shall name him or her,” the mare said softly to herself, nodding in agreement to her own words. Rubbing her hands softly over her swollen stomach, she also knew things with Spike would have to change rather soon; for most of them, anyway. It was becoming clearer to them all that Spike was the kind of dragon they would gladly have sex with time and time again, but now there needed to be some rules and boundaries, what with three of his wives being pregnant.

“For starters, no more sex with pregnant wives,” Maria muttered to herself. “Or at least, in the traditional sense.” He could no longer be allowed to let his “invader” storm their proverbial “castles” anymore, regardless of whether he used the front or rear gates. However, they still had two options to pleasure him, should they both feel up to the task and not influenced by any pointless feeling of obligation. “Mmm, I am a bit swollen,” Maria muttered to herself, lightly cupping both of her breasts through the fabric of her dress. She had gone up almost half a cup size by now, and if anything her mother and tutors had told her was true, she’d likely swell to slightly larger size near the end of the pregnancy.

“So, in the case of... temptation, mouths and breasts are what will be used,” Maria said, retrieving a small scroll from a bag, along with a small quill and bottle of ink. She should write this as a contract! It’d show Spike his wives weren’t pushovers, and with set boundaries, any sex they would have after the foals were born would be that much more special... and exciting.

The next part would obviously be the limits as per whom wanted sex. Maria was the first wife, but Trixie was the first pregnant, and it was highly unlikely anypony could stop Chrysalis from getting what she wanted should she become super-horny again. Asalah, being the only non-pregnant female of the group, was free to have as much sex with Spike as she wanted, so long as it did not interfere with the journey or everyone’s herd relationships.

A herd: something Maria had never expected she’d be a part of. Of course, now that she was, she couldn’t be happier. Four mares that would equally love and cherish every one of Spike’s foals, regardless as to whether they were Asalah’s, Trixie’s, Chrysalis’s or her own. Of course, with that came the added responsibilities on raising said foals. Would they be raised according to the father’s (and by extent Trixie’s) culture, or by the mother’s, or a combination of both? Maria had the distinct feeling Spike would never want any of his descendants to be ignorant of their heritage. In fact, several of their foals, should they prove to be colts, stood to inherit several titles and castles in their names. Their fillies, if they had any, stood to inherit similar titles, but they would be the ones most sought after by nobility.

“Speaking of being sought after,” Maria said softly to herself, scribbling down a few side notes. “We’ll likely have to discuss rules on dating, and what is proper and what is not.” Oh, how she was already starting to think like a strict but doting mother, even though the birth of her foal was still quite a few months away. Not to mention that any possible dating would be years yet into the future. Oh well: it never hurt to plan ahead, right?

In another one of the carriages, the third pregnant mare was... not actually in her carriage. She had flown out of it the moment she woke up, drawn to another carriage like a moth to a flame. Inside, Spike groaned slightly as she swallowed the last remains of his morning... cream.

“Mmm, your love is delicious, dear,” she said softly as she lay by him.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Spike said with a grin. “I doubt I’ll be trying it anytime soon.” They both giggled at his statement and lay together for a few minutes. Soon after a glint of sunlight shone through a small hole in the roof, he spoke once more, his brow suddenly furrowed in concentration.

“Chrysalis, do you mind if I ask you something?” he said.

“Go right ahead, Spike,” the changeling queen said softly. Wow, when it was cold he radiated heat, and when it was hot out, he felt surprisingly cool to the touch.

“Our foal... what will become of him or her?” the dragon asked softly, knowing full well the return to Canterlot would bring with it far bigger problems than the ones he’d imagined so far.

“Well, seeing as you are technically my consort, or at least are in the eyes of my culture, this foal will go on to take over as the ruler of changelings after I am gone,” the bug-like pony said, her swollen stomach jiggling slightly as the carriage went over a small bump in the road.

“But how long will it take for that to happen?” Spike asked. “I know I’ll live far longer than any of you, and I’m just worried about the future of our descendants.”

“Well, you won’t be getting rid of me that easily, Spike Dragul,” Chrysalis said, rolling the “r” in Dragul in an almost obnoxiously adorable way. “The ruling caste of the changelings lives one average several hundred years, though our reproductive systems do not last nearly as long. It is the price we pay, I guess, for our extended lifetimes.”

“So, in a hundred years or so, we’ll be able to have as much sex as we want, without you getting pregnant?” Spike asked, shoving aside the suddenly terrible thought of being left alone in the world with just Chrysalis. Not that he’d be sad with just her, but the fact would be everyone else he knew and loved would be gone. Only the princesses would be left, and there was no way he was going to try and seduce them.

“You got it, stud,” Chrysalis said, lightly trailing a finger down the dragon’s open shirt. His abdominal muscles glinted slightly from the small ray of sunshine, and right now, he looked more delicious to her than ever before. So regal, so handsome, so... powerful.

“Okay, then onto my next question,” he said, gently enclosing her hand with his own before his... tool sprang back to life. “You mentioned long ago that changelings feed on love, correct?”

“Yes indeed,” the queen absolutely purred, the sexy noise sending a chill down Spike's spine.

“Then why haven’t I or the others suffered any ill effects?” the dragon asked.

“It’s actually very simple, you see,” Chrysalis said. “In order for us to feed on love without the recipient of our... affections being negatively affected, they would have to love us in return. We changelings can live on stored love from previous encounters, yes, but we cannot do so for very long. Of course, as a species, we love one another as you ponies do, but the love we take is more for our mental needs than for our nutritional. We eat as you do, digest food as you do, but at the end of the day, if we do not feel the same love for somepony as they do for us, then the relationship becomes a slightly toxic one. For the recipient, anyway: perhaps that is why we are so disliked. Nopony truly likes a toxic love, even if the relationship has room to grow.”

Spike was silent for a few moments. “So, if the “target” loves you back, legitimate or not, and you love them in return, then... there are no negative side effects for either party?”

“Exactly,” the changeling queen replied. “Now then, how about I show you some more of my “love” before we stop somewhere? I’d hate to be interrupted...” Her land slipped free of his grasp and slid lower once more, teasing at the waistband of his pants.

Meanwhile...

The heat of the day was not bothersome, even though the carriages themselves provided rather pleasant shade to their occupants. The wind was almost nonexistent, and there were no sandstorms of any kind to be seen. Then why did Asalah feel so anxious and worried and relaxed, all at the same time?

“It is not the magic poisoning again,” she muttered to herself, restrained to her carriage as it moved along. If they were at an oasis, she might have paced. “Spike and I... helped scratch that itch two days ago at that large oasis.” Oh, the feeling of the bark against her back as Spike roughly plowed into her against a palm tree, the delightful friction of the sand against her rock-hard nipples as he mounted her from behind like some sort of beast...

“Gah! Why can’t I be pregnant too?!” Asalah cried out, both flustered and ashamed she should be feeling what she was feeling. Jealousy was not in her nature, but right now, she was more jealopus of her fellow herd-wives than she had ever been on anything before. They were filled to the brim with life: no, bursting with it! Their figures showed that Spike had not only claimed them as his own, but had instilled deep within them the seed of life! It was a seed Asalah so desperately wanted planted in her own system, but for now, she had no symptoms of a pregnancy.

“For crying out loud, Spike has bred me more times than I can remember, and yet I show no signs of being fertilized!” Asalah said out loud again, her hands running along her body’s curves to feel for something, anything, that would show she had been properly bred. It was not that she didn’t want to have foals, or that she felt some sort of obligation to do so. Most of her culture’s ideals had flown out of her mind the minute Spike had mated her on the sands of the Samarea Desert. She wanted to bear his foals, not just because she loved him, but because he would give her something she knew almost any other stallion might deny her: a chance to name her babies.

It had been a dream of hers as long as she could remember, the whole thing starting after she found out her eldest sister had gotten married and was expecting. Oh, how she wished for it now! She wanted it all: the cravings, the lactation (which she secretly found incredibly erotic), the belly that swelled with each passing month, signifying she was claimed by an extremely fertile male dragon!

But her heat had come and gone mere days before Spike had arrived in Agrabah, and now there was no telling when it would flare up again. A zebra’s heat was on a slightly different timetable than those of other ponies. A zebra’s usually coincided with the cycles of wet and dry seasons in Africa, and so her body would not let her be bred unless, eleven months later, it knew the foal would be born at the beginning of the wet season. Curse her biology: she wanted to be pregnant now!

After running he mind ragged with thoughts like that, Asalah laid back and rubbed her hands forlornly over her stomach, praying that somehow, someday soon, her heat would return, and she too would eventually feel the small kicks of the life growing within her. Then, when her heat returned and she was ripe for fertilization, she’d kick everypony else out of whatever place they were staying in, and she’d have Spike rut her raw. She’d force herself on him if she needed to: she didn’t care if his giant dick got chafed from all the sex, or if his balls shriveled up to the size of raisins from being drained so many times. She wanted a foal of his, or two, or maybe even triplets on the first go if she was blessed enough, and when the time came, there would be no stopping her.

Letting her mad thoughts slide away, Asalah thought to slightly less stressful things, like what she would name their foals. There were many names in her culture that meant many great things, but the first thing she would do is not name any of her babies after her father. Her mother, most definitely, and her mother’s mother for sure, as they had been the kindest zebras she had ever known. Maybe her children, when they were grown and married, could name their own foals after her father out of a sense of duty or something. Asalah would do no such thing, as she did not want to think about her father when she looked into the foal’s little eyes.

Of course, the thought of foals brought to her mind the question of what they would look like. She could already see it now: a colt, with his father’s strong body, dragon wings and tail, but with the pelt and hooves of his mother. Her daughter would have her father’s eyes and scales, but her wings would be have a light pelt on them, and the tail would like that of Asalah.

“I should write down a list of names,” Asalah said to herself, scrambling to get a piece of parchment, a quill and a small bottle of ink. “The list won’t turn out to be too long, right?”

Off in the distance, a figure watched as the carriages rolled by, the robes concealing all but the figure’s eyes. Each carriage carried within it something they wanted, but for the time being, all they could do was watch and wait. An opportunity would present itself: yes, patience would win the day here. Brute strength would not, but a cleverly-played hand and a few possible allies farther down the road would most certainly prove to be useful.

For now, the figure just watched and waited. The time for action would come, and only then would the mission be completed. Right now, the figure had to beat those carriages to their destination farther up the two mighty rivers that made up the Fertile Crescent.

“I hear Istanbul is lovely this time of year,” the figure said before disappearing behind the dune of sand upon which they stood. The light shifting of sands was the only indication they had ever been there in the first place.

Author's Note

I am so sorry for the delay, I... No, scratch it: I don't have an excuse. Have I been caught up with other stories? Yes. Have I been putting this off and procrastinating, out of fear it will not be as good as it once was for me? Yes. Have I taken a break, as this saga of a story has drained me from time to time of my mental faculties? Most definitely. Am I sorry for making all of you guys and gals out there wait? More than you know.

I am truly sorry for the delay: I shall try and produce chapters more frequently, if I have the time. Also, I must give a MASSIVE shout-out to Mr101 for creating for me that most wonderful cover piece! He's also going to be doing some pieces on Spike's wives, so people will be more able to understand what they look like.

PS. BOOYAH! I am BACK, baby!

The Council of the Rus

Chapter Fifty Nine

The Council of the Rus

As soon as the guards noticed Spike and the stallion beside him, they parted, having already moved in to halt their progress. Giving a polite nod of thanks, the duo entered through a large set of doors that seemed to go not into the large building, but under it. When Spiked asked him why that was, Dimitri chuckled.

“If the majority of the building is insulated underground, then it is easier to keep warm in the winter months,” the captain said. “In summer, ice from winter is brought out into large rooms designed to spread the cold air throughout the building, so that it remains comfortable. Really quite ingenious, but expensive too, I’d wager. Imagine, using ice from winter to keep cool in the hotter summer months? Sounds like something only the rich would be able to afford.”

“What about you?” Spike asked. “Do you live on the palace grounds?”

“We guards do, yes, as do our families,” Dimitri replied. “We live in the royal barracks, but we’re all on a rotational shift so that we can still spend time with our loved ones. Before Nicholas changed the empire, guards were either to remain single or to be away from their families for very long periods of time, and even then visits would have to be short. I’m just glad things are changing the way they are.”

“Why is that?” Spike asked as they continued down the large series of stairs, the railings glinting in the light of many blazing torches. All around them, the air seemed to become a little colder as they traveled further down, but it was hardly noticeable. Under a torch here or there sat a guard, alert yet clearly bored with their current predicament.

“Well, I had this friend who knew this professor who was reading into the political works of some philosopher,” the guard said. “Really revolutionary stuff, and I mean that literally. However, the tsar took the wind out of his sails with all these reforms of his, and frankly I think we’re all off better for it. What the guy was proposing in his younger days was just crazy.”

“What happened to him?”

“Oh, he retired from the university and opened a small tavern,” Dimitri said. “His assistant has been making more and more of his usual rounds across the city, delivering alcohol and pastries and such. I think you may have met her already.”

“Is she a griffin?” Spike asked.

“Yes, and a large one at that,” the guard said as they approached another set of doors, the thick wooden slabs it was constructed from being guarded by no less than ten heavily armored guards. “I asked her if there was any minotaur or dragon in her ancestry, but she insisted she was pure griffin from both sides. A longtime transplant too, from what she’s said: her great-great grandparents fled Istanbul during one of their many revolts, and apparently just settled up here and stayed.”

The guards at the doors stopped them, the largest two stepping forward with their large bardiche weapons at the ready. “Purpose for being here?” One asked, the light of the torches glinting off his weapon’s sleek blade. He looked like he almost wanted to use it.

“The guest of the tsar wishes to meet with one of the servants attending to the council,” Dimitri said, producing a small piece of paper with a peculiar insignia upon it. “Here is the proof, Fyodor.”

Fyodor glanced at the paper for a few moments before nodding. “They should almost be done in there, but you’ll have no problem finding your way around,” he said, the other guards stepping back as the big doors were slowly opened for them. With a nod of thanks, Spike and Dimitri walked inside.

Almost immediately, Spike was hit with a smell of newly-furbished furniture, combined with an aroma of what was either tobacco smoke or some sort of poorly built fireplace. While not very evident, there was a slight haze when he looked towards the torches lining the halls, and all around him, arches led into a central chamber. Following Dimitri through one of these, the two of them came out into something of a rotunda, albeit an upside down one. Here and there, more and more arches led from small gathering areas, each one looking like a cross between a small office and a swimming pool. Spreading out from a larger, central seat, the number of seats increased as the rows went further up, and, soon enough, it looked like there was enough room to seat hundreds of nobles and delegates.

“Wow,” was all the young dragon was able to say.

“It is impressive, yes?” Dimitri said with a chuckle. All around, some seats were empty, whilst others were still filled with all sorts of ponies, as well as the occasional non-pony, whom seemed to be pouring over documents of all sorts. High above, more guards looked down from a sort of veranda, and here and there, Spike could spy a delegate or two chatting with one another.

“I’ll say,” Spike replied with a nod. “How do the more distant ones talk without having to shout at one another?

“Small teleportation scrolls, courtesy of the unicorn scribe each and every delegate has,” Dimitri explained as their eyes wandered. “If the delegate does not have one, then they are assigned one, or at least, they are given a list of possible candidates. It is a rather high honor, you know, to work for these powerful figures, especially if you have little to no inheritance or wealth of your own.”

The pony pointed downwards, towards one of the lower levels. “There, there she is,” he said. “Amber Faye.”

Spike followed the captain’s gesture and blinked in surprise at the sight before him. Down a ways, likely two or three levels down, talking with what appeared to be a rather well-dressed unicorn, stood perhaps the kindest-looking Diamond Dog in existence. Her pelt was short and curly, and as brown as chocolate, though some of the fringes seemed to be touched with flecks of grey and white. Her ears lay alongside her head, almost like little flags without a wind to keep them fluttering, and her jowls seemed to have an unlimited amount of wrinkles adorning them. A slightly hunched and rotund body, a small pair of glasses perched on the end of her snout, and a set of eyes nearly swallowed up by her cheeks, little Amber Faye was unlike any Diamond Dog he had ever seen.

“She... she looks like my grandmother,” the dragon said. “Or at least, how I think my grandmother would look, if I had known her. Or if I were a Diamond Dog, at least; I really don’t know.”

“Yes, yes, she has that effect on others,” the captain said with a chuckle. “That might be one of the reasons the Tsar has kept her on his staff for so long. That, or she just really knows how to cook.”

“Who’s she talking to?” Spike asked, just as the pair moved on.

“Ah, that would be Shortcake.”

“Shortcake?”

“Yes, that is what his name is, though simply referring to him as “baron” or “sir” would likely be a wise idea.”

“So, this... baron... what is he like?”

“Well, we’ll soon find out, but a word of advice: try not talk to him about politics of the realm, or his name,” the captain replied. “He is very sensitive about others saying it to him, seeing as he has more or less come to loathe it. A very odd mother, he must have had, in order to be called that.”

“But I know some ponies back home whose last name is “Cake”, and I don’t find it odd at all,” Spike said as they moved along, headed towards a flight of stairs.

“Yes, well, Shortcake is his first name, and frankly, it just doesn’t seem to fit his personality,” Dimitri replied. “Makes him sound like a baker or chef, and trust me, he is neither. The baron has so embraced this new system of government and all the progress it entails that he is, without a doubt, one of the more influential forces within these halls. You might even say he’s a bit obsessed with how it all develops.”

“Obsessed?”

“Yes, very: he contacts more members of the government than almost any other figure, excluding the Tsar, of course, yet he himself is almost always wishing to speak with the Tsar on matters of state. It would seem rather innocuous, really, except for the fact that Nicholas more or less made him write everything down and have it delivered to the royal house instead of Shortcake showing up every time he wished to talk. I must say, it certainly freed up the Tsar’s time. That, and it was getting annoying letting that pony it at the wee hours of the night or morning.”

“So... does he even sleep?” Spike asked.

“Maybe, but whatever the case, his enthusiasm would not be much more than a passing concern, except for, well...”

“Well what?”

“His insistence on knowing all the ins and outs of this government is putting the Tsar in a precarious position. If he tells Shortcake to just stop talking about it, then it might appear that he is being tyrannical and trying to keep the information on how things are run known only to himself. However, if he lets it continue, then Shortcake could do something down the road that could lead us all into a very dangerous predicament. Yet, to balance between these two decisions, the Tsar is trying to just talk with him about it, and none of us know just how successful he is being.”

“So... Shortcake could be dangerous or totally innocent, but none of you know for sure, and won’t be able to, unless something happens?”

“Precisely.”

Spike shook his head, “And here I thought politics back home were wacky, but it seems that almost everywhere I go, things just keep getting crazier and crazier.”

“You get used to it,” Dimitri said with a shrug as they reached the bottom of the stairs. A quickly-moving figure brushed past them, and, for a moment, Spike was able to see Shortcake up close: rather handsome, in a plain way, well-dressed, a unicorn with a light grey coat and a rather dark mane, though the blue and green eyes seemed rather mismatched, as did the strange streaks of teal, sea foam, and blue in his mane. An odd-looking pony, to be sure, but then again, Spike had seen much stranger in his journey so far.

Yet this was all he saw of the stallion, as he quickly filed past them without so much as a word, headed up the stairs with a purpose in his step.

“That was Shortcake?”

Dimitri nodded. “Not the politest fellow when he’s dead set on meeting with somepony, but otherwise... fairly level headed.”

The duo turned to find the diminutive Amber Faye pushing a small wooden cart along, the containers within jingling slightly with every step. She stopped as soon as she reached the two of them, and after bending over slightly, she brought up a pair of what appeared to be danishes.

“Care for one?” She asked with a small smile, the wrinkles in her face scrunching up slightly.

“Sure,” Spike said, gently taking one from her outstretched paw. “Are you by chance Amber Faye?”

“Yes, that’s me,” she said with a slow nod, her ears flopping ever so slightly at the motion. “Head Cook to the Tsar, Chief Baker in all the land, High Nanny to the heirs of the state, and many, many other boring titles. You may simply call me Mrs. Faye, or Amber if you prefer.”

Spike took a bite of the danish and almost flinched in surprise: it was just... amazing! He hadn’t had any baked goods this good since, well, he left Equestria. Then again, such sweets were likely not available to some of the common folk in the countries he had passed through, or, at least, not in this form. He’d have to ask the Tsar later what the citizens of his empire actually ate.

“Mrs. Faye, this young dragon is a guest of the Tsar,” Dimitri explained, politely declining the other danish. “He wished to learn more about your history with the Tsar’s family, as well as that of your kind. He has also never truly had the chance to meet a Diamond Dog before, and the Tsar believed you would be the perfect one to talk to him on the matter.”

“Oh, I see,” the elderly dog said, setting the remaining danish in Spike’s free hand and making sure he held onto it. “Come, sit, and listen to old Amber’s stories.”

“I wouldn’t call you old,” Spike mumbled as the pair found a bench. He offered to help her sit down, but she politely declined his assistance. The only thing that creaked more than the wooden bench under their combined weight was seemingly all of Amber’s joints.

“Well sonny, I’m older than I look, but I’m by no means helpless,” she replied, adjusting her glasses on her little snout. “So, tell me, what do you wish to know?”

“Anything, really, I’m all ears,” Spike said simply. “Most Diamond Dogs out near Equestria are rather brutish and reclusive, even a tad barbaric at times; no offense.”

“None taken,” Amber said simply. “We Diamond Dogs are an ancient race, hailing from somewhere high in the provinces of Scandinavia. We are unsure if that is our original birthplace or simply where we came to be what we are now, but our kind lived in those regions for many thousands of years before expanding out all over the world. After our expansion, our more distant pockets of our species began to change, slowly but surely. Some became highly intelligent and lived freely among other species, much like my kin and I. Others, much like the ones you seem to have met, became solitary, less inclined towards diplomacy, and altogether distant from the trappings of cosmopolitan society.”

“So I take it that the distinction is really obvious?” Spike asked.

“Oh, indeed,” she replied. “Yet, even among the more “civilized” of our kind, and I do use that term rather generously, there were varying distinctions. When our kind settled these lands, there were no ponies, or, at least, the ones that were here kept themselves to the more open plains. But, as the centuries went on, more and more showed up, along with other species, like griffins and minotaurs. Eventually, we Diamond Dogs were at the bottom of the social scale, both economically and politically, and thus, eventually, we became serfs.”

“Doesn’t sound all that fair,” the dragon muttered.

“History, and to the same extent, life, is hardly ever fair,” Amber said. “It was a natural progression, you see, from slaves to serfs, even though the distinction between the two is very small. The more brutish of our kind were resigned for more laborious tasks over the coming centuries, often as hired or forced labor, or as soldiers in armies. Others, like myself, who were seen as “intellectually gifted”, were assigned places of comparable wealth, such as serving the families of nobility. No lives were easy, but we made do, as we always had.”

“And then you were set free?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Our kind had long wished to be free to set out on our own paths, to not be tied to the estates or households of a noble’s family. When the Tsar’s grandfather freed us, it was such an upheaval that, for years, we had no idea on what to do. Many of us continued on with our lives much as we always had, while a brave few actually left it all behind and journeyed elsewhere. Slowly, but surely, we began to realize the freedoms we now had, and soon enough, our voices drowned out that of the nobility. We rose up and demanded fair wages, decent living quarters, the right to own our own lands, and teach our pups the ways of our people, a practice that had long been suppressed by our overlords. The Tsar heard our cry and responded immediately, much to the displeasure of many a noble.”

“Yeah, I can’t see them taking it well that they lost so much power,” Spike said, biting into the second pastry. “Then what happened?”

“Well, see now, things were changing rapidly, and, to a good degree, they still are,” Amber said. “My mother, bless her heart, had thought I’d make a good cook, and so encouraged me to train beside her, just as she had under the Tsar’s grandfather. However, just as I met and married my now-deceased husband, rest his heart, my mother died and I took her place as the Tsar’s head chef. It was not long after that that the Tsar himself was killed, and I became embroiled with trying to raise a litter of puppies alongside the new Tsar’s own children, whom were almost always in danger at some point or another.”

“So, you helped raise Nicholas too?”

“Yes, and good thing I did, too, for I was still working as chef when his father died, leaving a young, rather inexperienced Nicholas to assume the throne. I was by his side during it all, and he turned to me for answers far more times than I can recall. For a long while, I served as the unofficial “emissary” to my kind throughout the empire, but, after a while, I couldn’t travel like I used to, and had to retire from that “position”. Now, here I am, still serving treats to the Tsar’s friends, family, and fellow nobles, much like I did during his father and grandfather’s time.”

Spike could hardly believe it. Here was someone who had seen and experienced so much, much more than most “mortals” might, and yet she had not only witnessed it, but had been a key player in all of it. Hard to believe she was merely a great cook and occasional nanny. “You should write a book,” the dragon said after finishing his dessert. “I’m sure many out there, diamond dogs and ponies alike, would love to know this.”

“Yes, well, maybe, but I’m no writer,” Amber said with a smile, shaking her head slowly. “I’m sure others I’ve talked to about this will tell others, but best for me to remain what I am; me. I’m in no hurry to change, seeing as I don’t have as much time left as I used to,” she chuckled at that. “My grandchildren are already marrying off and beginning to have families of their own. Life sure flies by.”

“You’re telling me,” Spike said. “Several months ago, I was back home, in Equestria, and here I am now, almost halfway around the world, with a family in tow. If someone had told me last year this is what my life would be like now, I would have simply laughed.”

“Strange, is it not, how the future can change on almost a whim?” The Diamond Dog said, a knowing look in her eyes. “The choices we make can change everything around us, more than we can ever imagine. Yet I feel there is more that you wish to know than simple history.”

“Yes, there is,” he replied. “This term... serfdom. Just how bad was it?”

“A simple question, but a not-so-simple answer,” Amber Faye said. As Dimitri stood guard over the pair, she began to explain to him the history of serfdom, from its rise as a step above slavery to it’s eventual descent into more or less the actual slavery it became long before her time.

Meanwhile...

“So... will the merchants of Minsk support us, as well as those of the other trade cities?”

Shortcake nodded solemnly, his gaze following the figure as they paced around the room. “We have their support, yes, and the laws are on our side. Do you believe the guilds in Crimea will be against us? If all goes to plan, this endeavor could make them a great deal of money.”

“It could also undo everything they have struggled to build,” the shorter figure replied. “The Tsar’s policies do much good for the empire, but we cannot simply look to him for guidance in all things. Our past has shown us that a majority of nobles know what is best for the country, and though our power may have been weakened these past few generations, it is up to us to make the best of what we have, as often as we can. If that means doing things we have never done before, then so be it.”

“He may not side with us, but the laws will inhibit his actions against us, if the proof of our involvement is not irrefutable,” the stallion replied, his partner’s musings giving him great cause for concern. “Yet we both know that more is at stake than our family’s fortunes.” All that they were trying to do was not necessarily illegal, but it could easily be viewed as such, and, right now, the last thing they or the Tsar needed was mistrust from the public. It had taken many years to build up the trust the Tsar had, and now, with his new form of government slowly but surely forming under him, it would take but a single match to burn the whole lot of it to the ground.

Shortcake and his accomplice did not want that. They wanted the Tsar to succeed, far more than he realized. Yet, as nefarious as it sounded, it was far from it: they were taking an awfully big risk in backing a plan like this, yet, if it paid off, all of Russia would be all the better for it.

“Then we make our move soon, Shortcake,” the other said, her voice soft but firm. Her goat legs treaded carefully across the tiled floor of her personal study, but her hands remained clasped behind her back, the digits worn from years of hard labor. Flint Feet was no simple faun to be brushed aside if a deal went south or the times were tough: she had not gotten to here she was in life by being lazy or incompetent. “Russia’s very future depends on our success.”

Later that same day...

The sun had long since set, but the Tsar remained upright in his large bed, thoughts swirling in his mind. “The situation in Crimarea is becoming more and more volatile,” he said as his wife entered, her nightgown glowing softly in the dim light of the candle she carried. “Reports are coming in that many of the Ottomare that merchants are up in arms with one another about the recent developments in the empire’s heart. Istanbul’s rebellion, though short-lived, is having far-reaching consequences as the search for traitors continue.”

“What of our hold over the area? Is it still secure?” The Tsarina asked, setting the candle down on their dresser and crawling into bed.

“Yes, though in lieu of all of this, I say we approach the situation cautiously,” Nicholas replied. “There’s no telling how much of this is a credible threat to the region’s stability.”

“Then we shall have to wait and see,” his wife whispered, fluffing a few pillows. “For now, let us focus on the here and now. Have our guests been satisfied with our accommodations?”

“Yes, and today was a big day for Mr. Dragul,” Nicholas said, laying down. “He went to speak with Mrs. Faye today.”

“Oh, I had hoped he would,” Alexandra said. “I take it the meeting went well?”

“Very much so. From what Dimitri told me, the two talked for a very long while about a great many things. I hope he can now see what kind of predicament we are in, with all of these changes. Our country is old, older than many other kingdoms, yet we are changing far faster than many of our neighbors. I simply hope it all doesn’t just blow up in our face.”

“What we saw in that vision was too terrible to let come to pass,” his wife muttered. “All of us, the entire line, our way of life... gone in a mere twinkling of time.”

“I could not bear the thought of losing my family anymore than I could of losing our country,” Nicholas said. “These changes are all for the best, even if, in time, our children’s descendants will become nothing more than figureheads, monarchs with little more power than any of their fellow citizens.”

“It is for the best, I suppose,” Alexandra said simply. “They will still live, if nothing else, beloved by their empire, as we are.”

“Yes, by its lower classes, at least,” the Tsar said. “The other nobles... I do not know why, but I feel that these changes will be embraced by them to only a certain point. Afterwards, there may be... resistance to our reforms. A little power taken here or there reduces the chances for upstarts trying to tear everything down, but all at once, and civil war is an almost certainty.”

“Then we shall have to make sure things go as swimmingly as they can, as slow as they can, for as long as they can,” she said, gently snuggling up beside him. “Tomorrow, I plan on taking Spike’s family and guest out for a light luncheon. Will you take Spike with you to the assembly?”

“Maybe the next day, tomorrow I have to meet with some diplomats from the Marengols, and I would wish not to be disturbed,” he replied, pulling her close. “You know how they hate feeling like the second most important ponies in the room. I think he’ll be busy tomorrow anyways, too busy to be tagging along with me.”

“Oh? Doing what?”

“I heard he has more training to do with Eutropia.”

“Let’s hope he does better this time.”

Author's Note

Well, it took damn long enough on my part, but the chapter is finally out! How about that? We get to learn a bit more about the Tsar's changes, as well as the history behind it, and several more things. Also, this chapter was a bit shorter than I'd have liked, but I just... I needed to get it out there, and I need to make progress on this story as a whole.

Many thanks to MrShortcake and musicman722 for the use of their OCs, Amber Faye and Shortcake, as well as that of Psycho Pwny and their OC, Flint Feet. Look forward to seeing more of them in the future.

Turmoil both Internal and External

Chapter Sixty Two

Turmoil both Internal and External

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Spike looked down on the world from the viewpoint of a bird. His wings spread wide against the brightly shining sun, the warm rays seeping into his scales as he soared overhead, pumping every now and then, to keep himself aloft. The lands stretched far into the horizon, small villages dotting the land, most near sources of water, such as rivers or the occasional lake. Larger cities were strangely absent from what he could see, but then again, this was the hinterlands of Persia. The larger, more populated areas would be closer to the founding city, where great fields were carefully irrigated, sown, and harvested to supply countless numbers of Persian citizens.

“See anything?” A voice called.

Spike looked over, Eutropia coming into view. The clear skies that day had made her almost unusually antsy, so when he suggested that they take a flight to scout ahead, she literally jumped at the chance. For someone who's been fairly keen on training, she was sometimes struggling to keep up. Given her history of flying lessons, or the somewhat lack thereof, Spike completely understood what she was going through, having experienced it for himself, on occasion.

“Just a calm countryside,” he called back. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen any large cities yet, what with all these farming villages.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” the griffin replied. “Hadhayosh said that the nearest big city is behind and below those hills, over there.” Off in the distance, a large series of hills, dotted with an occasional house and small field, lay between the party and their next destination. Given how Hadhayosh told them that sticking to Persian territory was the safest bet, surely going through their cities would be safer than roaming the countryside.

“I’m headed back to the others,” Eutropia called out, her wings tiredly flapping in the stiff wind as she turned away.

“I’m thinking the same,” Spike said, following the griffin. Down and down they went, the ground growing closer and closer with every passing moment, and within a short amount of time, they were once again upon it, a few yards from the others.

“So?” Hadhayosh asked as the pair folded their wings against their backs. “What news from a bird’s eye view?”

“Just a bunch of small villages between us and those hills,” Eutropia said, slightly out of breath, but appearing none the worse for wear, despite several feathers sticking out of place. “Couldn’t see the city on the other side, but I’m sure we’ll get there in no time.”

“Indeed,” the minotaur replied, turning to the others, who were lounging on the tops of the carriages. “We should be there before nightfall.”

“Sounds good to me, I’d like to sleep in a bed again,” Chrysalis said with a sigh, stretching slightly. “I got too used to the Tsar’s soft beds. By now, I’d be fine with a thin mattress over some boards.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the city’s inns will have good beds,” Spike said. “Some supplies too, maybe a few things I could send back to Twilight and the others.”

Several hours later, just as the sun began to approach the distant horizon, the dragon regretted his words.

“What happened here?” Asalah asked, dumbstruck by the sight before her.

“Marengols,” Hadhayosh said with a shake of her head. “Only they could be the source of this.”

The city, large and likely, at some point, impressive, was a ruin. Its high walls have been battered down to piles of rubble, with many lone towers either desiccated from fires long-since extinguished, or partially collapsed, themselves. The fields in front of the city lay strewn with signs of encampment, with the occasional torn tent, broken arrows, old sentry fires, and piles of garbage here and there. Whatever grasses that had not been trampled into dirt were left in spotted patches, many of them brown or wilting.

“Should we go in?” Trixie asked, looking out from the carriage window.

“It should be safer within the walls, even after... this,” the minotaur said. “Come, let’s go, before the sun goes down.”

So they ventured on, winding their way down burnt slopes and past gutted houses towards the city. All over the place, they found paths beaten into the dirt, where soldiers had marched in constant formation. The closer they drew, the worse it got: brick by brick, some of the walls had been dismantled, and here or there lay tall clumps of grass, or large barren piles of dry dirt. Whatever lay in them, however, Spike and his compatriots did not want to find out.

Reaching a gate, partially burned and battered into pieces, they passed underneath the gatehouse, stained with old oil and riddled with arrows. Within the city, there lay countless broken arrows, weapons too damaged to repair, and countless flecks of armor, shimmering pieces that looked like scales. Buildings were gutted and burned, some collapsed, and others simply an empty square filled with ash. Yet many still stood, though there was no sign of life from any of them.

The further into the city they drew, the more it dawned on them what had happened here. The city hadn’t just been sieged, it had been taken with utmost ferocity. Great piles of ash, mingled with the twisted and charred remains of old weapons, signified the garrison’s survivors had been forced to gather any means of defense and destroy them. Piles of carts, last-ditch attempts at defense, lay scattered in broken or burned heaps. Countless personal items, ranging from urns to baskets to clothes and even scrolls, lay scattered about, in heaps or swept under remains of stalls that must have, at one time, bordered every city street.

Yet, there were no signs of anyone in the city. No civilians, no defenders, not even the Marengols who had taken it. It was almost as if everyone had just up and... left.

“What happened here?” Spike asked, bending over. A scroll, tattered and appearing trampled, was inscribed in a language he did not recognize. He handed it to Hadhayoh, who after a few moments, rolled it back up.

“This was the city of Otrar, I believe,” she said. “Those refugees we met those many weeks ago, they were citizens of this city, but must have lived outside of its walls. Their homes were likely those battered and burnt ones we passed on our way down the hills. As for the rest of the occupants... they are gone.”

“Gone?” Maria asked.

“Indeed, gone,” the minotauress said. “Taken captive by the Marengols, likely sold into slavery in the far corners of their domain, or to other nations. It is not unheard of for them to do such things, especially if the city resists.”

“What if the city doesn’t fight back?”

“Then, as I have heard, they are left to their own devices, only owing the Marengols a contingent of soldiers to fight for them, as well as a Marengol governor to watch over them and a tithe every year. The cities that fight to the end, however...”

“What?” Spike asked as they passed the shattered remains of what might have been a large armory.

“They are enslaved or killed, and the city torn apart, until there is nothing left at all,” Hadhayosh said. “That has only happened a few times, from what I hear, but it is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. The Marengols... they erase the enemies who fight back as such, ripping them from the pages of history, and in doing so, terrifying others into not doing the same. It works, as brutal as it is, given how fewer cities oppose them should the Marengols march on them.”

“I take it this city resisted?” Chrysalis asked.

“Yes,” the minotaur said. “Come now, we should find shelter for the night.”

“I can help with that,” a voice said.

The group turned, Spike preparing himself for a possible attacker, only to find... well, she wasn’t a beggar, but she didn’t look all too good. Covered in dirt and soot, with a filthy mane and a fairly tattered cloak, the mare seemed like a survivor of the carnage wrought here, but then again, how so? How had she escaped enslavement?”

“I hid in the ashes of an old building,” she said quickly, as if reading his mind. Throwing the hood she wore back onto her shoulders, she looked at the group with a sad smile. “That was how I escaped while so many others didn’t. I’ve been looking for others in the city, but haven’t found any yet.”

“You are the first living soul we have come across,” Hadhayosh said. “What is your name?”

“My name is Lila,” she said, her wings covering her back like a second cloak, the soft lining coated with dust. “Who might you be?”

“Travelers, seeking to meet with the Persian king,” the minotaur replied. “Are you from here, originally, batpony?”

“My great-grandfather came here from Transylmania with a caravan, and settled down with a small enclave of his kind, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Lila replied. “These streets aren’t going to be safe come sundown, as looters, refugees and squatters far and wide will come here when word reaches them of the city’s fall. If you follow me, I can take you somewhere safe for the night.”

“How can we trust you?” Chrysalis asked.

“I understand where you’re coming from, but I know full well that it isn’t normal for foreigners to just wander into a ransacked city,” Lila replied. “I know of an inn, somehow undamaged from the attack, but we’ll need to get there before it gets dark. Otherwise, you could get lost in these streets, and while neither of us have found any other survivors yet... there may be some out there, desperate and very angry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” the changeling replied. “How can we be sure you are trustworthy?”

“Given what you said before, our duties match up fairly well,” Lila said. “I too seek the Persian king, to tell him of what has happened, and, if possible, plea for some sort of peace deal, or at least a ceasefire. Other cities have suffered the same fates as this one, with tens of thousands of my fellow Persians being killed, sold into slavery, or driven out of their lands, forced to wander as refugees elsewhere.”

“We've met what might have been some of your aforementioned refugees, back near the lands of the Tsar or Russia,” Spike said, turning to his family as they gathered closer together. “I think we should go with her, an inn sounds good and we don’t have time to explore for other options. That, and if she joins our group, she’ll be safer, and we can use her to find the best routes to lead us to the capital.”

“I don’t like the sound of this, but I do agree that getting off these streets for the night would be ideal,” Hadhayosh said. “While I do not know every nook and cranny between here and the king’s capital, it would be nice to have someone who does. What say you?”

“I don’t trust her,” Chrysalis and Maria said simultaneously.

“We need to watch our backs, but I’d rather deal with one pony we possibly can’t trust over a whole bunch,” Trixie said. “Asalah, Eutropia, what do you think?”

“I think we can trust her... for now,” the griffin said. “She seems honest, if a little dodgy-looking, but then again, she did just survive her city getting sacked. I say we follow her.”

“Agreed, but at the first sign of trouble, we cut ties,” the zebra said. “We can’t risk our safety if we trust her blindly, but we can’t just turn her away. Besides, if she needs to go see the king, then who are we to deny her the safety of a group? What if she pleads her case well enough for the king to sue for peace? Helping her could help end this conflict for all we know.”

Spike turned away from the others, back to the batpony, who's been watching them in silence. “We accept your offer, and will come with you,” he said. “Where is this inn?”

“Follow me,” she replied, stepping out and into the street. The carriages managed to work through whatever debris lay about, utilizing unicorn magic to clearing away whatever they couldn’t, as they followed Lila through the many different alleys, under several stone arches, past more than one makeshift barricade, and, finally, up a small slope to the edge of a large open area, likely where a marketplace had once been. Scattered wreckage and charred remains of wooden stalls were all that remained now.

“Over there,” Lila pointed, a large inn standing against a backdrop of other buildings as the night began to creep up on them. “The carriages should fit in the alley behind it, though there’s no guarantee they won’t be found if someone comes by looking.”

“Will there be anyone looking for us?” Chrysalis asked as they moved said carriages out of sight.

“Anyone could come into the city and look around,” Lila said. “I would prefer to play it safe, and try to move out at first light. It won’t take long for news to spread, once others find Otrar as it is, and I’d prefer to tell the king in person what happened here.”

“We’ll have to forgo any sort of fire tonight,” Hadhayosh said as the group made their way into the inn. It was sturdily built of brick, with thick walls and high ceilings, but the open windows would not help with concealment if they were to really set up camp. “Are there any blankets?”

“I have a few, but it’d be safer for us to sleep in the same room,” the batpony said. “Upstairs, on the left, three doors down, there’s a large room. Most of my stuff is in there, set up where you want. You’re my best ticket out of here and to the capitol, so I’ll take first shift tonight.”

With that, she walked off, leaving the group by themselves. Hadhayosh immediately busied herself with closing whatever drapes or shutters that she could, as well as blocking them off with pieces of broken furniture.

“I’ll go check out the room, hopefully there are still some beds available,” Asalah said, Maria and Trixie following her closely up the stairs.

“I don’t trust her,” Chrysalis said, leaning against a pillar as Spike and Eutropia picked up some debris. “Lila’s rubbing me the wrong way, and trust me, I know all about disguises.”

“I think we can trust her, but that doesn’t mean we’ll do so blindly,” Eutropia said. “She’s offering us a place to stay, and besides, you heard her, we’re her best ticket out of this ghost town.”

“Yeah, but why?” Chrysalis asked. “She’s hiding something, I just know it.”

“We’ve all hidden something,” Spike said, a subtle nod in the Queen’s direction all the hint she needed. “We’ll give her the benefit of the doubt for now, but if there’s any reason to suspect otherwise, or proof of that... then we go our separate ways. I’m not risking my family for one pony’s need to go see the king, even if it might be important.”

“I think letting the king know about what happened to one of his cities would be very important,” Hadhayosh said as she shouldered a large rolled-up rug. “Meet you three upstairs, I’ll help the others set up.”

The evening passed quickly as they worked to set up camp, everyone pulling their weight through either brute strength, magical acumen, or through whatever they managed to scrounge up. Soon enough, the inn was fairly fortified against possible intrusion, and with the inky darkness of night finally upon the dead city, they sat down to eat in a small corner of the upstairs room, using Chrysalis's special flames to cook, so that they didn't cast any light beyond them.

“Thank you for this meal,” Lila said as she ate, clearly doing her best to try and not just wolf it down. “It has been a while since I had this much to eat.”

“Well, it was a good thing we stocked up on supplies at those villages on the way here,” Maria said. “Lila, what was your profession, might I ask?”

The batpony paused, as if in thought. “You might say I was an aide to the city’s governor, though in reality I was a glorified secretary at best. I worked all day making sure meetings were kept, dignitaries were welcomed, and the city’s guilds were kept in working order. All of that, and much more, of course, for just barely enough pay to buy my own clothes, all while I lived in the governor’s mansion in a room half the size of the one we are in now. Didn’t help that I was a batpony either.”

“Were you discriminated against?” Spike asked.

“Almost from birth,” she replied with a scowl as she continued to eat. “I was passed over for so many positions, either from corrupt Otrar officials wanting nothing to do with me or some citizens not trusting me with messages for the governor. As such, the fact I got what I have now, or at least, what I had, is really lucky. I happened to bump into the former aide doing some fairly... indiscreet things, and the governor fired her as a result, appointing me to fill her place instead.”

“A bit fortuitous,” Chrysalis said. “So, you said it before, how you escaped, but what happened before then?”

Lila finished her meal and set down her plate, her eyes staring into the fire, as if the sight of it jogged her memory. “They came in a great host, though with far fewer warriors than others might expect. They demanded the city's surrender, and in reply, our governor refused, and killed the Marengoian messenger, hanging him by the gibbets to show the city would not bow to foreign conquerors.”

She shook her head. “That was a mistake. They immediately built large engines of war, great siege towers and trebuchets in a short span of time. They must have had Chinese unicorns with them, for as the tales would have you believe, they are among the greatest magical builders of such weapons. In no time, they were hurling massive stones, tearing down walls, towers, and crushing buildings across the city.”

The batpony took a sip of her water. “It was pure pandemonium. Everyone was terrified, running this way and that. Before long, the walls were breached, and in poured their troops. Their arrows filled the skies whenever any sort of defense was attempted, and it only took a few volleys to rid themselves of whatever defenders stood in their way. In mere hours after the walls were taken, the city was theirs, and from my hiding place, in a pile of ashes, I watched them drag the governor out to their general.”

“What happened?” It was not Chrysalis who asked this, but Hadhayosh.

“They retrieved a large rug and rolled him up in it,” Lila said. “They then kicked and punched and beat it for what felt like an hour. After that, they unrolled it, and retrieved the governor. He had died during the beating, but judging from his muffled screams before that, it wasn’t a good way to go. After that, I stayed hidden, and things became more of a blur. I saw countless ponies funneled past my spot, soldiers shoving and kicking them to keep them moving. Hours later, after the distant sound of drums had ceased, I emerged to find the city empty of any living soul. I’ve been scrounging for survival in the days that followed, looking for signs of anyone else who might have made it, but found... none.”

“That’s awful,” Trixie said with a small gasp. “How could they do something so barbaric?”

“Marengolians are a hard people because they are from a hard life,” Hadhayosh said. “It is no excuse for their behavior, but then again, in war, what excuse is needed? No side in a war does not commit an atrocity of sorts, and if they believe otherwise, then they are just trying to make themselves feel better.”

“How would you know?” Lila asked.

“When I was young, there was a terrible conflict between two princes in the lands my clan inhabited. Both sought to lay claim to the other’s realm, and while their father was away at war, they gathered their retinues and fought a most bitter struggle. Neither side could gain a hoofhold, nor even try to back out of the war. While my clan stayed out of the fighting as best we could, we heard terrible tales of atrocities committed by both princes, of temples looted, cities pillaged, the landscape burnt and made unusable by either side... it was a nightmare.”

“What happened?” Spike asked.

“Both princes died in one final battle, just as the king arrived to try and stop them. At the sight of both of his sons lying slain before one another, it is said that the king went mad with grief. He himself died only a few months later, likely of a broken heart at the loss of his two sons and the strife that had bled his kingdom. The king’s younger brother assumed the throne shortly after.”

“That sounds awful,” Spike said.

“Indeed it was,” the minotaur replied. “The land is still recovering from it, and I doubt the scars will ever fully fade. Still, as terrible as it was, it has been a mere fistfight in comparison to what I have heard the Marengols have been through, and what they are committing, themselves.”

“Which is why I must inform the king of what has happened here, with all haste,” Lila said. “I will assume first watch for the night. Get plenty of rest, I’d like to leave in the morning with all due haste.”

The rest of the group grumbled in acknowledgement, or simply nodded as they prepared themselves, leaving the batpony to stand guard, high in a dark window above the entrance to the inn. Her natural night vision, a source of constant teasing when she was younger, would give her a great edge over anyone trying to approach under the cover of darkness.

Lila sighed as she heard the others finish settling in, their deep breathing soon reaching her ears. “This is not good,” she muttered. “Otrar has fallen, and with it, so too does a large portion of the silver the kingdom needs to run. I can only hope the king’s attempts at peace will be more fruitful than his brother’s, that damn fool.” Lila knew very well why the Maregols were fighting and destroying Persia piece by piece, yet there was very little anyone could do to stop it. Only a miracle could stop it all now, before everything fell apart, and the Marengols took everything from her, as they had to countless others.

“I can only hope I can make it back to the capital in time,” the batpony said.

“Anxious?” A voice asked, causing the batpony to suddenly turn around. “Or just hoping to stop a war?”

“Both, you might say,” Lila replied. “Can I help you with something, Your Highness?”

“I am only a queen in my own realm,” Chrysalis said, crossing her arms. “Here, I am just another pony, tagging along with her husband as he travels the world. You may call me Chrysalis.”

“Why is he... your husband, I mean, why is he wandering all over the face of the Earth?”

“It is a duty, assigned to him by the rulers of his own realm, though it will soon be partially his, once he returns and everything is settled.” The queen paused for a moment, deeply in thought. “I... apologize for my earlier statement, I did not know what you had gone through to make it to today. If I had known, I would have been less inclined to not trust you.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” the batpony said. “I’m used to it by now. Things like that happen if you look or act different from everypony else.”

“No need to remind me, preaching to the choir there,” Chrysalis said. “However, while you may be coming with us, as a professional courtesy, I’m telling you to not try anything around my husband. He has a big heart, and sometimes it overrides his brain, and neither I nor his other wives will tolerate any sort of foolishness on your part where he is concerned. Understand?”

Lila looked the queen up and down, as if assessing her threat. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to try and steal your man,” she replied, pulling back a few of her bangs. “It’s not that I don’t find him attractive, I’m just... not into him, is all.”

“You don’t like dragons?”

“Well, no, I don’t not like dragons, if that’s what you’re implying. No, it’s more like... I’m into other things, if you catch my drift.”

Chrysalis frowned, brow furrowed in thought, before a look of surprise crossed her features. “I... see,” she said. “Is it an equal fascination, or one-sided?”

“I’d say I’m split fairly evenly between males and females,” Lila replied. “However, I tend to lean towards females just a little more, mostly because of my history.”

“History?”

Lila sighed. “Mom wasn’t the most confident or reliable pony, tending to let things happen the way they did and not offer any sort of resistance or rebuttal. Dad, on the other hand...” she paused, looking out into the dark and empty streets. “He wasn’t like that. He didn’t take any guff from anyone, and did what he wanted, including drink. Some nights, when he got out of control, I’d try and hide, but he always found me. Kicked me around, slapped me more times than I can count, and once tossed me outside for the night, and on a cold one too. Mom just let it happen, or else he’d turn on her, too. Never could figure it out why he was like that, and he always tripped over himself trying to make up for it, but something like that can’t be apologized away. I moved out as soon as I was old enough to make it on my own, and here I am now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chrysalis said softly.

"Yeah, well, it’s not just my upbringing, in case you were going to blame just that,” the batpony said with a harsh laugh. “Even when I was just getting to those teenage years, I realized I’ve always been attracted to other females, mares especially, so even though I don’t dislike them all, given my family history, it’s no wonder I’m not as attracted to males.”

“I see,” the queen said. “I am glad you told me this, Lila.”

“Why?” The mare asked. “Sounds like something someone wouldn’t want to know.”

“I’m glad because I misjudged you, earlier,” Chrysalis said. “We all have a past that guides us forward, whether we want it to or not. However... you control your decisions, Lila, and while it is entirely kosher to find mares as equally fascinating as stallions, believe me, don’t let a “normal” mindset run your life. In the end, it's your decision on how you want to live.”

“She’s right, you know,” another voice said, and the pair turned to find Hadhayosh standing behind them. “Don’t let something like that determine your happiness in life, as happiness and love often go hand in hand.”

“What do you mean?” Lila asked.

“When I was young, my mother was a harsh cow, always finding something wrong with me or what I was doing, while my father, when he wasn’t away at war, showered me with praise and love,” the minotauress said. “Her constant nitpicking, belittlement, beatings and the like were awful, yet I survived. Still, it didn’t stop me from finding others of my same sex attractive, as I might have thought it would. From a young age, whenever I found one like myself, a female attracted to other females, I would court her for companionship, and in quite a few cases, an intimate relationship. Yet...”

“Yet?” Chrysalis asked.

“I always knew that limiting myself to only one gender for love would mean I would miss out on what half the world had to offer me,” Hadhayosh said. “While I have “known” other females, I found the love of my life in a bull, a minotaur by the name of Lazar. I bore him five children, healthy and strong minotaurs, and for that, he worshipped the ground I walked on for twenty wonderful years, despite the number of female lovers I had had beforehand.”

“What happened?” Lila asked.

“He passed away from plague, along with one of my sons,” she replied. “I wandered many years and miles alone, but I never felt as alone, knowing I did not have Lazar to go back to. Perhaps that is why I have not settled down to have more calves, despite yet being fairly young. I have always been a restless spirit, so I just guess Lazar was my anchor.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lila replied as the queen bowed out and left them, rejoining her family in the main room. “I have not yet met someone like your Lazar, and one day, I truly wish to.”

“You will, do not worry,” Hadhayosh said, her tone reassuring. “However, when you do, remember this: if you love them with all your heart, and they love you the same, does it really matter their gender? This world can be a dark and dismal place, full of uncertainty and sadness. So love, even just a little bit of it, can bring so much light into that darkness.”

Lila was silent as Hadhayosh turned and left her, her eyes sweeping over the open streets, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The minotaur’s words were filled with a wisdom borne of experience, which made the batpony wonder... just where would life take her, to where she would find love to anchor her? How strong of a love would it take to keep her in one place, and faithful to one other soul?

“Almost sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” she muttered, her eyes and ears alert as the night wore on, silent and still in a city all but empty of life.

Later...

The very next morning, before the sun fully rose; as the light was filling the eastern sky, Spike awoke to a muffled belch. Grunting as he sat up, he noticed a scroll lying on his lap, his family still sleeping around him, along with the others scattered across the room. Picking it up, he immediately noticed the large seal on it. It was not that of Equestria, no, the seal was one he had seen fairly recently, back many miles in the direction he had come from.

“The Tsar,” he muttered, unfurling the paper and beginning to read it, thankful for his nightvision, making the words much clearer in the gloom. “I wonder what he has to say?”

“Dear Spike Dragul, I do hope this letter reaches you at an opportune time, for there is some news concerning your recent departure I wished to inform you about. My nation has experienced one of the growing pains of my reforms, in an apparent rebellion led by two members of the Diet, by the names of Shortcake and Flint Feet.”

“A rebellion?” Spike asked, blinking in surprise. “Say what now?”

“This rebellion was one born of a desire for money, as the burghers and merchants wished for access to warm water trade routes currently controlled by guilds of foreign powers. Many of our coastal cities along the Black Sea were laid siege to by the merchant houses and their forces, backed by these two collaborators. While the only things destroyed were the merchant ports owned by these foreign guilds, and the garrisons within them routed or imprisoned, I had the utmost need to quell this before it spun out of control, and sent in an entire army. As such, Flint Feet and Shortcake are currently under house arrest while their forces remain in prison. As of now, they are awaiting their trials for inciting rebellion and conspiracy to commit treason.”

“Wow, tough luck for them,” Spike said, reading further.

“However, this in fact may be an opportunity for my country that I had not originally considered. The ports to our north are closed for much of the year, so these warm water ports allow for trade throughout the Black Sea, the Meditermanean, and out into the Barnlantic Ocean, whereas before we had some trade available through the Baltic Sea. Now, with these ports fully under our control, and the foreign merchant guilds withdrawing their hold on our cities, trade is now something I can actually give some thought to. So, as a token of gratitude for being such a fine guest, as well as a good source of inspiration in many aspects of my life, I will make Equestria the first country I will seek to establish trade routes with. I am hoping for your support on the matter, as I have heard the princesses of your nation can be fairly difficult to trade with, only because they bargain so well.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Spike muttered. “If only he knew the half of it.”

“Now then, Flint Feet and Shortcake must stand trial for the crimes they have committed and are accused of. However, given this benefit to my empire, I doubt they will be punished too severely, as once the passions of citizens are allowed to cool, then justice and a societal apathy can intervene. They will likely have to confiscate a good portion of their combined wealth to help cover the cost of rebuilding the cities who suffered substantial damage from their actions. Also, they will likely have to resign from politics for the time being, but I am confident they will make themselves useful in other, less-harmful ways. In the meantime, I also received word of several bands of refugees gathering near one of my cities, the first group of which claims a passing dragon lent them aid in their most desperate hour.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not sure it was their most desperate hour just yet,” said dragon muttered.

“As it is, I was able to determine you are indeed this very same dragon, and you have my thanks as well as that of the refugees. So, as part of my thanks, I have given instructions for many important aspects of my nation to be copied and sent to your nation, as a gift for your own records. Our history is long and fraught with both conflict and triumph, and while we will have to learn a great deal of new things from the outside world, I am sure we will be able to give back much.”

“Sincerely, Tsar Nicholas Romanov.”

“Well, that was a bit informal,” the dragon said. “Here I thought he’d have listed all his titles, duties and honorary positions or something at the bottom.”

He then turned over the scroll, and smiled. “Oh, wait, there they are.”

Meanwhile...

In the lands of the Tsar, finding work as winter settled in was not an easy task, especially for those who spoke very little of the native language. However, for the leader of the refugees Spike had so graciously assisted, he was surprised by the outpouring of generosity the locals gave him and his fellow migrants. Already, the singular refugee shelter had sprouted many smaller homes around it, almost in a town-like fashion, through the forest still surrounded them on all sides.

Other buildings, be they workshops, taverns, or just small series of gates along the entrances of the small settlement, were quickly being built as well, along with several others. The refugees that had regained their strength enough to do so had found work in nearby mines, logging camps, and a nearby granary, with the rest maintaining, improving and finishing the settlement’s overall details.

The tavern was the most common hangout for these workers, as well as the occasional traveler, seeing as they were just the perfect distance between the two largest settlements to operate one. That, and the alcohol here was cheap, likely because it was consumed regularly by those who had lost much of their former way of life, as a means of soothing the pain, or just burying it.

The leader of the refugees was an old and partially-balding griffin, who was now tending to the tavern, having once owned one many years before, when he was much younger, and far wealthier. However, a combination of time, bad business deals, and the coming of the Marengols, he's been stripped of much of what he had had before. So, whenever a customer came into his small tavern, he was glad beyond measure that none of them were of Marengolian descent. Any that were, even partial, would have caused trouble immediately.

The bell on the inside of the doorway rang softly, and a cloaked figure stepped in from the howling wind outside. The roaring fireplace, built quickly thanks to the magic of several unicorns from a nearby mining town, gave off a good amount of heat as the door shut quickly behind him. The storms these days seemed more and more frequent to the old tavern owner, but then again, in this part of the world, that was not an uncommon thing. For a foreigner such as himself, he was just glad he now had somewhere to lay his head in safety.

“Drink?” he called in the land's native language, one of the few words he’d managed to pick up in a hurry. Whichever locals had taken time to help him and the others learn the language were usually too busy to come in and teach everyone at once, so he made it a point to be at any meeting, whenever possible.

The cloaked figure grunted, a low sound that indicated it was likely a male. Settling himself in near the fire, shivering from the cold he had just left behind, he simply gazed into the flames, unconcerned with whatever chit chat the other patrons were engrossed in. When brought his drink, he produced a single gold coin, the make unlike that which the old griffin had seen before. It was intricate, likely foreign, but here, gold was gold, and he thankfully took it.

“Food?” He asked.

The figure nodded, taking a long draught from his drink, the hood of his woolen cloak shielding himself from view.

Curious as to the stranger’s lack of speech, but otherwise unconcerned, the former refugee bustled back to the kitchen, where one of the few mares not working on the settlement itself was busy making sure the stores were in order. After a quick chat, as well as putting away the gold he’d been paid, the old griffin returned with a plate of cheese, a small loaf of bread, and a good-sized head of cooked cabbage.

Producing two more gold coins, the figure ate the food in silence. However, as he did, the old griffin noted something strange about the figure. Whenever he looked into the fire, he would clench a fist or squirm in his seat, and once, just once, his sleeve fell back, revealing a striped pelt, with what looked like terrible scars on them. If the former refugee had to guess, he would have thought them to be burn marks.

Still, he eventually paid it no mind and went back to business. The figure, however, noticed something on the earthen floor. Picking at it with a hoof, he nudged it out of the hard ground and picked it up. It was a small, shimmering scale, purple in color.

He sat in silence for a few more moments, before resuming his meal, tossing the scale into the fire in front of him, the scale simply sitting amongst the hot coals, as flames silently licked the corners of the stone fireplace.

Author's Note

Here is the second chapter of the two published the same day. I hope you enjoyed them both, and I must thank Vic Viper for letting me use their OC, Lila the batpony. I hope I've done the character, as well as this story, justice so far.