Chapter Forty

Carriage Reflections

Even though it had been a week since the five travelers had left behind the capital city of Saddle Arabia, each and every sunrise in the desert was a simply amazing sight to behold. In reality, it was an amazing sight in any desert, regardless whether one has lived there their entire life or is just passing through. The sun glimmering off of the sandy wastes, the cloudless skies a purest light blue, the sun turning from a golden orange to the more familiar blazing white...

It was a sight few would forget. At least, Trixie would forget it as her carriage gently rolled along the roads of Saddle Arabia. When she had awoken only a few short minutes before, the sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon. As soon as it had cleared the sandy edge and began its slow, graceful arc into the sky, the blue unicorn had begun to think immediately of the same things she had been thinking about the night before. Mainly, about her, Spike, and their foal, as it was always on her mind at some point of the day.

The cravings were still in full swing and would only likely get more intense, but that was to be expected of a mare carrying a growing foal. Her mood swings were not as severe as Chrysalis’s, though the past few days had been slightly strained between Maria and herself over the naming tradition of newborns.

“In the event of a colt, the father should have full naming rights,” the Spreignish noblemare had said, her strict adherence to Spreignish tradition leaving little wiggle room for a counter proposal. Her strict interpretation of her own culture often clashed with the far less stringent aspects of Equestria’s.

“But... what if the father decides to let the mother name the foal, regardless of gender?” Asalah had asked the two. Spike had promised her that she would get to name all of their foals, unless she happened to want Spike to name one.

“It is fully within the one who carries the foal for nine months to name them, with or without input from the father,’ Trixie had replied to Maria, her answer only partly intended to give Asalah an answer of her own. “They contribute early on, but until the foal comes into the world, what more can they do besides make our lives a bit more comfortable?”

“They protect us, honor us, love us,” Maria had countered. “Spike is doing all he can to not only keep us together, but to protect us, help us in anything we wish, and to do all so while remaining steadfast and strong.”

Trixie had let herself slip out of the conversation after that, instead letting Asalah and Maria do most of the conversing. Rubbing her temples at the memory, the blue mare leaned back in the carriage, her own thoughts of the conversation bringing up some rather important questions about the future.

For starters, She’d have to not only introduce Spike to her parents, but she’d also have to tell them how they fell in love, what brought them together, and perhaps most embarrassingly of all, show them the fruits of their... union. She really wanted to send them a letter, but she knew her parents were rather disdainful of magically-sent mail, even though they were unicorns. They preferred mail that was delivered by a pony, since it was far more polite to thank the mail carrier than to just... open a teleported letter.

That brought up a second possible problem. Trixie knew her mother and father very well, and although she had not seen them in a good many years (ever since her show took off, she never had time to visit home), she had the distinct feeling they would be a bit upset with her over her... marriage caused by a “ride” on a train. They were not the most close-minded of ponies, but they had never approved of any of her dates when she was a teenager. Then again, when she was at that age, the unicorn had had a rather distinct misfortune of attracting idiotic, snooty or downright unsociable ponies whenever she frequented bars or similar pick-up joints. Her parents were not racists by any means, but would they accept her husband for being a dragon, or would they shun him?

Even worse, what would they think of her foal? Trixie had reread the dragon biology book she had picked up about four times, and nowhere in it could she find any real information on dragon-pony hybrids. Nothing on how to tell what the baby would look like: only on what they could look like. Were there signs on how many of the father’s attributes would be passed one? Would there be strange cravings for jewels and gemstones should the foal become far more dragon-like in appearance? And what about them possibly breathing fire inside of her?

Trixie at least knew the foal would not come out in an egg, as every now and then she could feel it move around inside of her. But while the thought of some little foal with dragon eyes and little dragon wings might be cute, the thought of a spine-covered foal that breathes fire upon exiting the womb sent a chill up her spine.

But as with all things, where there were bad possibilities, there were also amazing and wondrously good ones to overshadow them. Trixie was beyond happy she was having a foal, and even happier that it was with somedragon she had grown to love. Ever since she was a little filly, she had wanted a bigger family, but her parents had stopped after her, and she never saw any of her siblings anymore. They had moved to all the corners of Equestria, and even when there were family reunions, it was always impossible for Trixie to show up. Being the youngest of five children meant she had not near as much expected of her, which was probably why she set out to prove herself in the eyes of everypony.

So along with her desire to prove herself in her parent’s eyes, she had figured out that a good way to name her foal when he or e came into the world. In her mind, the most obvious choice would be to name them after one of her ancestors, likely her grandparents or great-grandparents. But which would she pick? There were so many to choose from, and all of the names were very good ones at that.

In another carriage, another one of the pregnant mares was having thoughts very similar to those of Trixie. Maria had awoken after the sun had risen, but found she was too tired to do anything but just sit back and think.

Firstly, her thoughts turned towards home, as all the talk of Spike bringing them to his own home had opened up some feelings in the pregnant unicorn she hadn’t realized she was hiding. Truth be told, she did miss her home. Her family, her (admittedly few) friends, the gardens, the climate, the familiarity of it all: she did miss it. She knew she would go back someday, likely with a few (or many, since the future was still wide open) foals of her own to meet their aunts, uncles and grandparents from her side. Of course, though she did not know it at the time, her thoughts about naming coincided with those of Trixie.

Maria had almost always been a stickler for tradition in her country, with the exception being arranged marriages. She loved learning the arts, shopping in Paris with her mother, learning about her ancestor’s role in founding the country she knew and loved; it was all so very good for her spirit to know such things. Out here, far from home, she felt so small in the grand scheme of things, whereas she used to believe everything important in her life only happened within the borders of her native Spreign. She now knew that to be an utter falsehood. She had seen the dangers lurking in southern Prance with that horrible baron, and she had seen the amazing ruins left behind by the Roaman Empire that so easily conquered her country many, many centuries before.

Maria had seen how important trade routes coming through the Samarea Desert were to the ponies all along the Meditermanean Sea, and she saw in Maredagascar a besieged paradise. Onset by both goods and pirates from all sides, it was no wonder that the ships leaving and arriving there traveled in large, armed groups. She could only imagine what would happen if the Meditermanean Sea fell into such lawlessness like it had been two centuries before the birth of her parents.

She had seen so much in such a short amount of time, and inside her thought-addled mind, a struggle was taking place: one between her sense of what home was, and the stark reality that her culture was just one in an uncountable sea of exchanging ideas, norms and values. On the one hand, she had what she had been taught, where the mare is meant to support her husband and be there for him, while still remaining somewhat independent and strong. Then there was everything else she was being shown, where Spike needed a gentle heart to love him back, and where he would gladly do anything to keep her safe.

Some of that flew in the face of what she had seen in her younger years. Maria had seen countless nobles shun or feel nothing but scorn for their wives, even though t=said wives did everything they could to make their stallions happy. She knew that lords taking lovers of both a common and noble variety was commonplace is many areas of her country, and the surrounding ones as well. Spike was nothing like those other foolish, pompous princes; he cared more for his four wives than the Spreignish noblemare had even thought possible, even after all this time with him.

Of course, that love had now manifested itself into the foal that grew in her belly, and for the life of her, Maria could not decide on a suitable name. She had considered many, of course, and each one sounded great, but she wanted Spike to name their foal. It wasn’t entirely out of her feeling she needed to complete a social obligation: she was just scared any name she gave the foal would not be the right one for them. Imagine her colt growing up to be big and strong, and yet his name would mean “gentle” or “fragile flower” or something equally ill-fitting. Oh, the embarrassment would likely eat her alive on the inside, and what would her son think?!

“Yes, when the foal is born, Spike shall name him or her,” the mare said softly to herself, nodding in agreement to her own words. Rubbing her hands softly over her swollen stomach, she also knew things with Spike would have to change rather soon; for most of them, anyway. It was becoming clearer to them all that Spike was the kind of dragon they would gladly have sex with time and time again, but now there needed to be some rules and boundaries, what with three of his wives being pregnant.

“For starters, no more sex with pregnant wives,” Maria muttered to herself. “Or at least, in the traditional sense.” He could no longer be allowed to let his “invader” storm their proverbial “castles” anymore, regardless of whether he used the front or rear gates. However, they still had two options to pleasure him, should they both feel up to the task and not influenced by any pointless feeling of obligation. “Mmm, I am a bit swollen,” Maria muttered to herself, lightly cupping both of her breasts through the fabric of her dress. She had gone up almost half a cup size by now, and if anything her mother and tutors had told her was true, she’d likely swell to slightly larger size near the end of the pregnancy.

“So, in the case of... temptation, mouths and breasts are what will be used,” Maria said, retrieving a small scroll from a bag, along with a small quill and bottle of ink. She should write this as a contract! It’d show Spike his wives weren’t pushovers, and with set boundaries, any sex they would have after the foals were born would be that much more special... and exciting.

The next part would obviously be the limits as per whom wanted sex. Maria was the first wife, but Trixie was the first pregnant, and it was highly unlikely anypony could stop Chrysalis from getting what she wanted should she become super-horny again. Asalah, being the only non-pregnant female of the group, was free to have as much sex with Spike as she wanted, so long as it did not interfere with the journey or everyone’s herd relationships.

A herd: something Maria had never expected she’d be a part of. Of course, now that she was, she couldn’t be happier. Four mares that would equally love and cherish every one of Spike’s foals, regardless as to whether they were Asalah’s, Trixie’s, Chrysalis’s or her own. Of course, with that came the added responsibilities on raising said foals. Would they be raised according to the father’s (and by extent Trixie’s) culture, or by the mother’s, or a combination of both? Maria had the distinct feeling Spike would never want any of his descendants to be ignorant of their heritage. In fact, several of their foals, should they prove to be colts, stood to inherit several titles and castles in their names. Their fillies, if they had any, stood to inherit similar titles, but they would be the ones most sought after by nobility.

“Speaking of being sought after,” Maria said softly to herself, scribbling down a few side notes. “We’ll likely have to discuss rules on dating, and what is proper and what is not.” Oh, how she was already starting to think like a strict but doting mother, even though the birth of her foal was still quite a few months away. Not to mention that any possible dating would be years yet into the future. Oh well: it never hurt to plan ahead, right?

In another one of the carriages, the third pregnant mare was... not actually in her carriage. She had flown out of it the moment she woke up, drawn to another carriage like a moth to a flame. Inside, Spike groaned slightly as she swallowed the last remains of his morning... cream.

“Mmm, your love is delicious, dear,” she said softly as she lay by him.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Spike said with a grin. “I doubt I’ll be trying it anytime soon.” They both giggled at his statement and lay together for a few minutes. Soon after a glint of sunlight shone through a small hole in the roof, he spoke once more, his brow suddenly furrowed in concentration.

“Chrysalis, do you mind if I ask you something?” he said.

“Go right ahead, Spike,” the changeling queen said softly. Wow, when it was cold he radiated heat, and when it was hot out, he felt surprisingly cool to the touch.

“Our foal... what will become of him or her?” the dragon asked softly, knowing full well the return to Canterlot would bring with it far bigger problems than the ones he’d imagined so far.

“Well, seeing as you are technically my consort, or at least are in the eyes of my culture, this foal will go on to take over as the ruler of changelings after I am gone,” the bug-like pony said, her swollen stomach jiggling slightly as the carriage went over a small bump in the road.

“But how long will it take for that to happen?” Spike asked. “I know I’ll live far longer than any of you, and I’m just worried about the future of our descendants.”

“Well, you won’t be getting rid of me that easily, Spike Dragul,” Chrysalis said, rolling the “r” in Dragul in an almost obnoxiously adorable way. “The ruling caste of the changelings lives one average several hundred years, though our reproductive systems do not last nearly as long. It is the price we pay, I guess, for our extended lifetimes.”

“So, in a hundred years or so, we’ll be able to have as much sex as we want, without you getting pregnant?” Spike asked, shoving aside the suddenly terrible thought of being left alone in the world with just Chrysalis. Not that he’d be sad with just her, but the fact would be everyone else he knew and loved would be gone. Only the princesses would be left, and there was no way he was going to try and seduce them.

“You got it, stud,” Chrysalis said, lightly trailing a finger down the dragon’s open shirt. His abdominal muscles glinted slightly from the small ray of sunshine, and right now, he looked more delicious to her than ever before. So regal, so handsome, so... powerful.

“Okay, then onto my next question,” he said, gently enclosing her hand with his own before his... tool sprang back to life. “You mentioned long ago that changelings feed on love, correct?”

“Yes indeed,” the queen absolutely purred, the sexy noise sending a chill down Spike's spine.

“Then why haven’t I or the others suffered any ill effects?” the dragon asked.

“It’s actually very simple, you see,” Chrysalis said. “In order for us to feed on love without the recipient of our... affections being negatively affected, they would have to love us in return. We changelings can live on stored love from previous encounters, yes, but we cannot do so for very long. Of course, as a species, we love one another as you ponies do, but the love we take is more for our mental needs than for our nutritional. We eat as you do, digest food as you do, but at the end of the day, if we do not feel the same love for somepony as they do for us, then the relationship becomes a slightly toxic one. For the recipient, anyway: perhaps that is why we are so disliked. Nopony truly likes a toxic love, even if the relationship has room to grow.”

Spike was silent for a few moments. “So, if the “target” loves you back, legitimate or not, and you love them in return, then... there are no negative side effects for either party?”

“Exactly,” the changeling queen replied. “Now then, how about I show you some more of my “love” before we stop somewhere? I’d hate to be interrupted...” Her land slipped free of his grasp and slid lower once more, teasing at the waistband of his pants.

Meanwhile...

The heat of the day was not bothersome, even though the carriages themselves provided rather pleasant shade to their occupants. The wind was almost nonexistent, and there were no sandstorms of any kind to be seen. Then why did Asalah feel so anxious and worried and relaxed, all at the same time?

“It is not the magic poisoning again,” she muttered to herself, restrained to her carriage as it moved along. If they were at an oasis, she might have paced. “Spike and I... helped scratch that itch two days ago at that large oasis.” Oh, the feeling of the bark against her back as Spike roughly plowed into her against a palm tree, the delightful friction of the sand against her rock-hard nipples as he mounted her from behind like some sort of beast...

“Gah! Why can’t I be pregnant too?!” Asalah cried out, both flustered and ashamed she should be feeling what she was feeling. Jealousy was not in her nature, but right now, she was more jealopus of her fellow herd-wives than she had ever been on anything before. They were filled to the brim with life: no, bursting with it! Their figures showed that Spike had not only claimed them as his own, but had instilled deep within them the seed of life! It was a seed Asalah so desperately wanted planted in her own system, but for now, she had no symptoms of a pregnancy.

“For crying out loud, Spike has bred me more times than I can remember, and yet I show no signs of being fertilized!” Asalah said out loud again, her hands running along her body’s curves to feel for something, anything, that would show she had been properly bred. It was not that she didn’t want to have foals, or that she felt some sort of obligation to do so. Most of her culture’s ideals had flown out of her mind the minute Spike had mated her on the sands of the Samarea Desert. She wanted to bear his foals, not just because she loved him, but because he would give her something she knew almost any other stallion might deny her: a chance to name her babies.

It had been a dream of hers as long as she could remember, the whole thing starting after she found out her eldest sister had gotten married and was expecting. Oh, how she wished for it now! She wanted it all: the cravings, the lactation (which she secretly found incredibly erotic), the belly that swelled with each passing month, signifying she was claimed by an extremely fertile male dragon!

But her heat had come and gone mere days before Spike had arrived in Agrabah, and now there was no telling when it would flare up again. A zebra’s heat was on a slightly different timetable than those of other ponies. A zebra’s usually coincided with the cycles of wet and dry seasons in Africa, and so her body would not let her be bred unless, eleven months later, it knew the foal would be born at the beginning of the wet season. Curse her biology: she wanted to be pregnant now!

After running he mind ragged with thoughts like that, Asalah laid back and rubbed her hands forlornly over her stomach, praying that somehow, someday soon, her heat would return, and she too would eventually feel the small kicks of the life growing within her. Then, when her heat returned and she was ripe for fertilization, she’d kick everypony else out of whatever place they were staying in, and she’d have Spike rut her raw. She’d force herself on him if she needed to: she didn’t care if his giant dick got chafed from all the sex, or if his balls shriveled up to the size of raisins from being drained so many times. She wanted a foal of his, or two, or maybe even triplets on the first go if she was blessed enough, and when the time came, there would be no stopping her.

Letting her mad thoughts slide away, Asalah thought to slightly less stressful things, like what she would name their foals. There were many names in her culture that meant many great things, but the first thing she would do is not name any of her babies after her father. Her mother, most definitely, and her mother’s mother for sure, as they had been the kindest zebras she had ever known. Maybe her children, when they were grown and married, could name their own foals after her father out of a sense of duty or something. Asalah would do no such thing, as she did not want to think about her father when she looked into the foal’s little eyes.

Of course, the thought of foals brought to her mind the question of what they would look like. She could already see it now: a colt, with his father’s strong body, dragon wings and tail, but with the pelt and hooves of his mother. Her daughter would have her father’s eyes and scales, but her wings would be have a light pelt on them, and the tail would like that of Asalah.

“I should write down a list of names,” Asalah said to herself, scrambling to get a piece of parchment, a quill and a small bottle of ink. “The list won’t turn out to be too long, right?”

Off in the distance, a figure watched as the carriages rolled by, the robes concealing all but the figure’s eyes. Each carriage carried within it something they wanted, but for the time being, all they could do was watch and wait. An opportunity would present itself: yes, patience would win the day here. Brute strength would not, but a cleverly-played hand and a few possible allies farther down the road would most certainly prove to be useful.

For now, the figure just watched and waited. The time for action would come, and only then would the mission be completed. Right now, the figure had to beat those carriages to their destination farther up the two mighty rivers that made up the Fertile Crescent.

“I hear Istanbul is lovely this time of year,” the figure said before disappearing behind the dune of sand upon which they stood. The light shifting of sands was the only indication they had ever been there in the first place.

Author's Notes:

I am so sorry for the delay, I... No, scratch it: I don't have an excuse. Have I been caught up with other stories? Yes. Have I been putting this off and procrastinating, out of fear it will not be as good as it once was for me? Yes. Have I taken a break, as this saga of a story has drained me from time to time of my mental faculties? Most definitely. Am I sorry for making all of you guys and gals out there wait? More than you know.

I am truly sorry for the delay: I shall try and produce chapters more frequently, if I have the time. Also, I must give a MASSIVE shout-out to Mr101 for creating for me that most wonderful cover piece! He's also going to be doing some pieces on Spike's wives, so people will be more able to understand what they look like.

PS. BOOYAH! I am BACK, baby!