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 Notes:

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.