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 Notes:

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!