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 Notes:

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