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 Notes:

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.