Chapter 64

The Host, the War, and the Night

There were many palaces in and around the city of Persepolis, remnants of other dynasties that had ruled the area since the commissioning and building of the capital proper. Despite some being newer than others, the oldest, and perhaps most unique, was the central palace, the Apadana. Built much in the style of a large, pillar-supported veranda, it was open to three sides, wherein the king of kings, as the Persian king was formerly known, received guests and their presents, and would return them in kind.

However, despite the magnificent carvings, statues and décor of the palace, Spike could tell the palace was lagging in the world. It seemed somewhat subdued, as if the color of the palace was fading before their eyes, but with the war against the Marengolians going so poorly, it was no surprise that the atmosphere would be so pitiful. Even the guards seemed both on edge and weary at the same time, as if expecting any day now to see the armies of the Marengols on the horizon.

Given the king was a spiritual successor to the Persians, and not a direct descendant from the line of kings ended by the conquering Alexbrander thousands of years before, the fact that he was sticking to this old palace was a sign he was Persian at heart, if not totally by blood. Then again, in this part of the world, the lines on maps had changed so much, and beings drifted around from area to area so often, what constituted one as “Persian” now was likely not the same as it had been when Persia had been founded.

As Spike, his family and their companions made their way past a group of Immortals, they came to a stop before a throne, flanked by many statues, tapestries and vases indicating great battles, moments of great historical worth, or the lineages of many a Persian king. Ornate in carvings and illustrations, gilded in rich finery and likely the product of the greatest metalworkers in all ancient Persia, the throne sat silent, empty, with only a crown seated upon the seat.

“Where is the king?” Asalah asked. One would think the ruler would be present in the throne room at nearly all times of the day, especially in troubled times like these.

“He is not here,” another hazarapatish replied, standing so still they might as well have been one of the many statues within the open palace. “He is within his solar, consulting the Dream-Keeper.”

“Dream-Keeper?”

“The one who told him of your arrival, Spike Dragul.” Without another word, the stallion made for them to follow, and left the throne room.

Spike caught only strange glances from his family and companions as they made their way along a long tunnel. “I think he means Princess Luna,” he said. “She did say she’d contact several of the rulers of the places I was set to visit beforehand, so I guess she contacted him through… his dreams? I’m not sure she ever told me just how she’d inform some of my hosts to my presence.”

Come to think of it, how many of them even knew he was coming? Had Luna personally spoken or managed to communicate with every single one, or had she simply attempted to do so with those Spike would have the best chance with? That would explain the problems in the horn of Africa and Transylmania, not to mention the utter debacle that had been Istanbull.

England had been a breeze, as had Portugal and Spreign; Prance had been a significant problem, though only because of the robber barons in the southern portion, and after that, it’d literally been smooth sailing all the way through Europe down into northern Africa, though their time with Asalah's father been a bit... unexpected. On top of the bandit attack in the desert, and then eastern Africa, with the warlord and his son, the rest of the journey into Maredagascar had only had the hitch of Chrysalis revealing her true self. Now, it seemed, things went wrong every other week, or at least, what felt like every few days.

Spike had to admit he’d never have believed he’d come as far as he had, that perhaps if the journey was to prove too difficult or dangerous that he would somehow turn around or arrive in Equestria with his family without having completed the circuit the princesses had created for him. Here, he had believed it’d not only be much smoother sailing than it had been, but to have come this far into the journey quite literally around the world, to find hope and fear and change and love and all manner of peoples, both friend and foe… it was changing him as well.

He’d been unsure of himself, deep down, when Luna and Celestia had thrust this task upon him. Or was it a burden? He’d never have thought that coming so far would bring out so much in him, change him and those around him as it had. He hadn't wanted to admit either, and still didn't, that at times, eh was scared, though rarely was it for himself. Now, more so, it was for his family.

He suspected the Persian king might have felt the same. He and his entire realm had been changed by war, a war foolishly started by his older, now-deceased brother, the king before him. Yet, unlike Spike, who was usually seeing the best in places, and peoples, the king was seeing the worst, especially in just one. How much longer could he maintain control until his people either revolted or simply fled the lands of their ancestors? How long until the armies of the Marengols marched upon their own cities, intent on extracting vengeance for the crimes of his predecessor?

Spike intended to find out, and, if possible, put a stop to it. After all, so far, he’d helped end the reign of an evil baron, take out a large camp of bandits, destroy an African warlord’s fleet, bring peace between two (now former) powerful rivals, and even escape a city at siege with itself. Surely, he could try and broker a peace between a king and the enemy at his front door… right?

Judging from the number of steps they had to climb, Spike suspected he and his family were now well above the city proper, likely in the realm of an old palace or additions. However, a sharp turn away from what might have been another entrance to a large hall brought them instead to a solid door, flanked by several more Immortals. Without a word, they opened it, and Spike stepped through with his family and companions.

The immediate interior to the solar wasn’t much of anything special, a large archway flanked by a pair of statues. Inside, however, it was something quite a bit different. A large, heavy stone table stood in the center, upon which sat a vast variety of scientific and possibly mystic instruments. Other wooden tables spread outwards towards the walls, where shelves upon shelves of more items stood tall. A vast array of books stretched high into the ceiling, vaulted much like a cathedral’s, and from several large windows, their glass thick yet incredibly clear, the mountains in which the city was nestled stood out on either side, like sentinels guarding this trove.

The last opening, another set of large glass windows, stood facing the city and open plains below. From this one, a large telescope jutted out, magicked to move through the glass as if it were nothing more than water. However, gold-trimmed as it was, the telescope was not what drew Spike’s attention.

It was the stallion standing beside it, hands clasped behind his back, that did.

The Persian king might have been a proud stallion once, for even subdued, his posture indicated he held himself aloft, with regality and power. Yet, despite what might have once been, it was clear he was not the same. His mane was flecked with streaks of grey where there once had likely been solid black, and his body, undoubtedly lean and strong before, seemed to sag, as if the strength was leaving him nothing more than a mere husk, slowly but surely.

“Mr. Dragul, I welcome you to my city, and my kingdom,” the king said, and his voice said it all; tired, strained, yet polite and firm, as befitting a host under the threat of such times. “I apologize for not greeting you in the throne room, I was… preoccupied.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Spike said.

“Strange, that you managed to arrive so soon, and not with having seen the armies of the Marengols,” the king said, stepping away from the glass. “I am gladdened to see you and your... family, was it? Yes, family, safe within my capital’s walls. She told me you would not come alone.”

“Princess Luna?” Trixie asked.

The king nodded, the trailing beard wiggling on his chin; this too was flecked with bits of grey. “The Dream-Keeper revealed much to me these past months, things that, if I had not believed, would never have come to pass. Thankfully, her guidance was of a greater service to me than I could have realized.” He cleared his throat, nodding to several Immortals standing within the room, near the bookshelves. “But of course, you and your family must be tired from your journey. I offer you safety within my palace, with food and rest at your leisure. Please accept these, for in the future they may not be so readily available.”

Somewhat confused by his riddles, if that is what they were, Spike bowed again. “Thank you, your highness, and indeed, we have traveled far and wide from the Tsar’s hospitality. It is nice to once again find such a gracious host to rest and recuperate.”

“Then do so, for I fear the journey ahead may be more treacherous,” the king said, a dark look passing over his features, before it vanished, and he smiled. “But where are my manners? Now is not the time to talk of such matters and futures. No, for now, travel to the halls of my family, and rest, eat, drink, and be merry. If you feel the need, you may ask for an escort, and learn what you wish. The Dream-Keeper told me you had an interest in history and collections of antiquity, and there are none better in the kingdom that up here, above the rest of the city.”

Asalah smiled. “Thank you, kind king. We have not had much to bless my… our husband’s home with, and I feel that those he calls friends and family will be eagerly awaiting some news. It has been so long since we spoke with them last.”

The king nodded. “Then by all means, feel free to do so. My home is yours.”

The king, Shahriyar be his name, waited until his guests had left before he let out a soft groan he’d been holding in. Not one of pain, though he’d felt more pain in these past years than he’d had his entire life. The loss of his first wife and unborn child when he was barely more than a boy, the deaths of his father and mother later in life, the loss of one son to treachery, and another to his own blade to answer for the crime…

The loss of his brother and nephews to a war he’d argued against from the beginning, his travels in his youth showing him the power of the steppe nomads who knew little but conflict and lived a life harder than most could dream. The loss of countless friends and advisors to a conflict that bled his country and brought it closer to ruin than any conflict in well over a millennium.

No, his groan was one he’d been holding because if he hadn’t, he’d never have made it through the meeting without losing his composure. He was the king, from a line that claimed a history that stretched back well before antiquity. Even if they had not been the original Persians, likely tribal chieftains serving as minor kings under an emperor, they too lay claim to the heritage, and embraced it as their own.

Yet, he did not turn from the door. “You are still here?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” She stood still, at attention, having bid her companions farewell for the time being.

“Good,” Shahriyar said. “Do they suspect you?”

“Of course not, my story is far too believable for them to mistrust,” his spy replied, tossing back her travelling hood. “Besides, it’s not lying if I’m telling most of the truth.”

“Even if they found out, I doubt they’d find themselves upset with you for long. You have done well to keep them safe, and to lead them to me.”

“Just as you tasked me,” Lila said. “However, I did not count on the loss of my base of operations, nor the need to hide myself amidst the rubble of a ruined city. Otrar has fallen, my king.”

Shahriyar would have been taken aback had this been news long ago. He’d have been angered in his youth, flying into a rage, demanding justice be done, and vengeance administered. Not now, not after all he had lost; all he could do was grimly accept this and attempt to steer away the well-being of the rest of his kingdom from such a grisly fate. Such was the task of a king raised to a throne, having never been meant for it.

“With the fall of this city, the army of that general is ever closer to here,” he said. “Others have told me of his movements, but none reported this, which… troubles me. Clearly the destruction of so important a city was a message that could not be ignored.”

His spies were far more numerous than those of his elder brother, Lila being living proof of that, but unlike others, he used them not for ill will. Oh, if he could, he would have, but he’d never live with himself if he did. Besides, if his spies were sent on one-way trips to kill his enemies, not only would their numbers dwindle, but the list of those who wanted his head would only increase.

He could not afford that. Not now, that an opportunity unlike anything he could have dreamed had literally came to his doorstep. Perhaps, now, finally, there was a chance…

“Lila, have I ever told you just how valuable you are to me, and by extent, this kingdom?”

Lila nodded. “You have, my king. On several occasions, if my memory is correct.”

“I would never doubt it to be otherwise.” He turned away from her, but he beckoned her to join him at his side.

Strange, that she never liked to fly when in the capital, or most cities for that matter, but in his solar, she crossed the room quickly, with only a few gentle wingbeats.

“She misses you, you know,” Shahriyar said. “Her mother has been pestering her again, and refuses to listen to what she has to say most of the time.”

“I take it, not out of spite?”

“Indeed. She just merely hopes to not be as lonely as she is, and our daughter is the one to provide that, now that Bahram has gone to India, to marry his new bride.” Sending him away was by far the smartest move to make, for if the king were to fall, his line would continue, even in exile.

“Bahram is gone? I didn’t think his engagement would come through so quickly.”

“Neither did we. The Raja of the north does not seem to mind that such a union might bring the wrath of the Marengols to his doorstep, if they see this as an attempted alliance.” He had to admit, Shahriyar did not know what went through the young Raja’s mind, but if the stories of his councilors were anything to go by, especially the wily Saber Marconus, then he had plans built on other plans, and plans to make plans if those first plans failed.

He’d hate to meet the stallion for a game of chess. He’d probably beat him in three moves.

“So, with Bahram gone, the queen has been pestering Afarim again? To… let me guess, bequeath her with grandfoals?”

“The same as always, yes,” the king said with a soft chuckle that didn’t reach the lines near his eyes. “Go to her before we all retire for the night, I suspect she’ll be waiting for you in the main library. She has taken to spending her time there, reading of stories of glory and adventure and… forbidden love.”

“What of Draco? Is he there as well?”

“Of course, my chief librarian remains at his post well after the library is off limits. You know how he likes to work late into the night. He’s been keeping my daughter company while you were away, helping her with her studies and nightly readings.”

Lila’s hands slowly formed into fists, but with a calming breath, she released the tension that had suddenly flared within her. Time to put the kibosh to that immediately. “Then by your leave, my king, I shall depart for the library.”

“Go then, with my blessing.”

Messengers across the vast expanses of steppe needed to be fast and incredibly loyal. The speed was needed for the haste of delivering a message, the waystations between settlements the only sign of any civilization over many miles of country so rough that permanent settlements were the rarity, even at a village level. These waystations, if used enough, would often become small forts, with small towns springing up around them to support them, but life in these lands was harsh, and often the inhabitants, save for the soldiers manning them, would migrate to greener pastures during the poorer seasons, packing up all they owned and moving elsewhere.

As for loyalty, well, one had to be loyal to the Khan to be entrusted with news that could shake the very foundations of any nearby nation. Whether war was to be declared or called off could be done on a whim, and such messages carried such importance that any who stalled a messenger was to be stripped of all they owned and sent off into the lands to die.

Such a life of importance was one marked with loneliness, as Turgen could attest to. His khan had not always been so, but now, after the death of the older brother, there was a new leader to be sworn in. This meant all generals, near and far, were to return with their armies to swear allegiance to their new master of the steppes.

Failure to do so was unthinkable.

Turgen was a messenger because he was fast and had the endurance to match his swiftness. He could run far past the point where others would have collapsed, and then run some more. Breaks were few, and the need for an escort was nonexistent in the lands his khan called his own.

Which was why, upon cresting a great hill, he did not even pause at the sight of a great host on the distant horizon. The army was still moving, and it would be several days before he caught up with them. Only then, after his message had been delivered, would he rest and find comfort in the arms of a camp mare.

If the general chose poorly, then he would leave at the first opportunity, more to save his own neck rather than deliver a message of refusal. There was no point in being loyal to the khan in a camp of his enemies when they would have you killed without a second thought. If the general chose to follow tradition, and return to swear allegiance, then these lands would once again see peace, for this war would be over.

Whether it resumed or not, Turgen did not know or care. He knew his duty, and as his legs carried him down the hill, he could smell the dust in the air from the great march far ahead of him. Rear scouts would likely report his arrival soon enough. Perhaps they would escort him, to appear faithful to the laws of their ancestors.

General Sukhbataar was silent as the camp settled around him. The maps dictated they were getting closer to the city, and the scouts confirmed this with the sheer number of abandoned villages, burned fields, and scattered refuse ahead of them. Any who knew the Marengols were coming was fleeing for their lives.

Good.

Let them flee before the unstoppable might of the steppes. Let them taste the most bitter fruit of coming doom, a doom that would swallow them all.

For a diamond dog, becoming a general for the khan had been the greatest achievement yet in his life. Years of servitude amongst a small pack, alongside his brother, fighting in abject slavery, only to be elevated to soldiers of the khan who broke the back of the kingdom that held them in bondage. His brother, cursed by the fighting and the devices implanted in his skull, had done little more than become a bloodied executioner, good only for terrorizing the enemies of the khan and brutally putting down revolts, retaining his simple name, for his mind was by now so simple it likely could not remember a new name if he were given one.

Sukhbataar, on the other hand, had taken a new name, from the culture of those that had freed him, and in turn, worked his way through the ranks, earning his way with his namesake, a great ax he used with determination and unbridled rage. Now, another kingdom, one with an ancient history of oppression upon his people, had gone to war with his khan, and he was here, the avenging angel of death, destroying them piece by piece. A bloody price to pay for the arrogance of one king, but such was the way of the world where those in power were born to it, not raised to it.

It brought no more joy to him than the knowledge that blood was repaid in more blood. It was an inevitable thing, but one he sought to unleash in its fullest state. The Persian king had long thought them weak, and was dead, by his own bloodied great ax.

“My general, scouts indicate Otrar was discovered by a small band of travelers not long after our forces departed from the area.”

His aide was an old dog like himself, gray and half-blind, but as fierce in combat as a pup half his age, and still as capable as ever.

“Was there any indication of who they were?”

“It is reasonable to suspect they came from the lands of the Tsar, judging from what little we could find of their tracks. The trail remembrancers indicated there was an odd mixing of several different kinds. Unicorns, a griffin, a minotauress, one that we could not recognize, and…”

“And what? Speak up, the camp is loud.” For indeed, it was no quiet task to set up a camp to house the army and its following caravans of goods and support. The creak of posts, the rustling of sheets, the stamp of hooves and the shouts all around formed a constant barrage of sound.

“A dragon, sir.”

A dragon? “How large?”

“Of a size similar to our own soldiers, but with how the tracks seemed to vary being amongst the group, and then gone, it is reasonable to assume it is capable of flying: a sky dragon.”

A sky dragon, heading to the Persian king’s capital? Well, this certainly threw a wrench into the works. Attacking the city now would likely draw the wrath of said dragon, and while Sukhbataar had met dragons before, a sky dragon was new to him. The advantage of attacking from the air was not lost on him, as his camps were highly flammable, and even a quick strike on their gathered supplies could spell doom for any army that marched on its stomach.

So it would seem that a siege would have to wait. As it were, the men were tired, and the camp was close enough to the city to be a direct threat as it was. Only a day or two of marching would bring them to the city’s gates as it were, so for now, regaining their strength and earning a good night’s sleep was what the men needed more than anything. They had been away from home for far too long and would be nearly at their limit as it was.

March an army for too long, even with nothing but victories under its belt, and it would eventually fall apart from any number of factors. Anyone with a family would miss them, and the glories of war often gave way to thoughts of playing with their children or feeling the soft warmth of their mate in their beds.

His own pups were likely running around the outskirts of the capital now, sometimes looking to the horizon, awaiting his return march, his mate in the kitchens of the khan, looking after supplies.

Sukhbataar sighed. How weak he became when he thought to that which brought him the greatest pleasure in the world, rather than keeping focused on the task of war. “Have the troops establish a defensive perimeter farther out from the camp, and make sure shifts are rotated constantly. I do not want anyone falling asleep, lest a surprise attack break our spirits, or our lines.”

“As you wish, general.”

Spike sat in silent contemplation as the night drew on. Maria and Trixie, their hooves sore from the travels through the palace, had graciously accepted his massages, their eyelids heavy even before he finished. Bidding them goodnight, as his mind was far too active to join them in bed just yet, he found himself on a balcony, overlooking a vast swath of the city below, as well as the plains that blended into the horizon a great ways away.

Out there were the Marengols, conquerors unlike any he’d come across yet. In Istanbull, he’d dealt with those with a long history of dealing with troublesome dragons, judging from how readily they’d dispensed with materials specifically designed to incapacitate him. Almost cripplingly so, as he remembered, and there was much he did not remember between arriving in that massive city, and leaving the lands of Transylmania.

Would his memories return to him in a more stark clarity, or would there always be those gaps, filled with what could have been true memories, or merely fragments of dreams so vivid that they imitated the real thing?

Would these Marengols have much in the same for dealing with his kind, should things take a turn for the worst?

“Spike?”

He glanced up to find Chrysalis hovering nearby. Well, not literally, it was far more taxing for her to try and fly while pregnant, and while she could do so, the exhaustion that claimed her took far longer to recover from than he was comfortable with.

“Yes?”

“What ails you?” she asked softly, her night robe doing little to hide the outline of her figure, but instead of arousal, Spike felt a peculiar sense of protectiveness. How could he not? This beautiful, well-meaning, tragic and reformed mare was carrying a child of his. He would do anything to keep her and the rest of his family safe, even if it meant taking on an army he was not sure he could succeed against.

“Just thinking,” he muttered, steepling his hands. “Should we have come this far, I wonder?”

“Well, turning back has always been an option, but there’s more to it than just the thought of us, isn’t there?” she asked, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Turning back would be safer, yes, if we were to go a different route. But would it be worth it? The princesses gave me the task of rediscovering the world through the eyes of one who is going to attain power he never dreamed of. I mean, I’m going to basically have a hand in charting the future of Equestria for the foreseeable future, and I’ve already done that with several of the places we’ve gone through. There is no telling just what else is out there for us to uncover, to experience, to witness.”

“Yet you’re worried.”

He nodded. “Is this trip worth the risk you are all taking coming with me? It would put my mind at ease if you were all safe and sound elsewhere, taking it easy rather than trekking across potentially dangerous terrain, in lands far from home, where we don’t know what could be around the next bend.”

Chrysalis sighed. “I know the risks, Spike, we all do. Does that change anything, really? We are your family, Spike, and family sticks together.”

“Yes we do,” he said with a smile, kissing the top of her head. “I just wish this journey wasn’t so long. I want you home, with me, somewhere safe and warm, where we can enjoy our lives together. We’ve come so far as it is, but there’s still so much more out there to see and experience, that I just… I can’t help but worry what the future will bring.”

“Whatever it brings, we’ll face it by your side, Spike,” she whispered. “All of us, friends and family alike.” She paused, her gaze drifting out towards the dark horizon. “The Marengols are out there.”

“I know.”

“We are going to have to pass through them at some point.”

“I know.”

“My censcorpions would likely not be able to fight them after how quickly they responded in Istanbull. Even now, if they have returned and fallen asleep, rising them on such short notice would no doubt tax me far more than I am willing to risk, especially if we are to be in danger faster than they can appear.”

“I’d rather not fight my way through an entire army and piss off an entire nation. There has to be a diplomatic means of moving through their lands without them believing us to be spies or taking us as hostages.” Would they, though? Spike and his family were clearly not from here, but outsiders may not be so welcomed as they were in other lands. If only he’d been given information ahead of his journey.

“Surviving the trek through such lands would likely be far more difficult for us than for you, even if our magic makes us stronger than many others,” Chrysalis replied. She was right, in a sense, as any race that had magical properties, especially the tangible sort, could use it to empower themselves, and endure far more than others. That might have been the reason they had had so little trouble with the journey compared to, say, Asalah, and even she was experiencing occasional magical feedback from being in such close proximity. “We are not on a true schedule yet but returning to home before we give birth will eventually become paramount. None of your people yet know I am your wife, and you, my king consort.”

“Nor do many of them know just how big my family is going to be in less than a year’s time.”

“Nor do we. For all we know, there’s more females out there, like Maria and Asalah and I, just waiting for a dashing dragon to sweep them off their feet and take them into his growing family.”

Spike chuckled. “Suppose you are right. What am I to do about that? I’m am so blessed to have a herd that loves and supports one another. I can’t imagine any of you letting another into our circle without screening them for disruptive tendencies.”

“Well, as you should recall, we weren’t so friendly with Asalah in the beginning.”

“But you warmed up to her eventually.” Yeah, after an orgy alongside an oasis, and later on, surviving the attack by the warlord’s son.

“Oh yes, we did, and I am forever glad for it. She’s an amazing mare, you know, far better than her father ever likely gave her credit for. Speaking of which…”

“Her father, or her?”

“She’s been looking to tour the garden, high in the Star Dome.”

“The magical botanical gardens, in one of the larger towers? Isn’t she tired?”

Chrysalis shook her head. “She’s waiting for you there. Eutropia told me she’s been having trouble sleeping, and we’re so close to the tower, it’d only be a short jaunt for you to reach her.”

“What of the others? Lila and Hadhayosh?”

“The minotauress is asleep in her own quarters, and Lila’s gone off somewhere else. If you ask me, she’s in league with some powerful ponies in this city, so leaving ourselves out of whatever business she might be in is going to be in our best interests.”

“Eutropia?”

“What about her?”

“Is she asleep too, or up in the gardens with Asalah?” The thought of a family member being alone, even in a city they were supposedly safe in, did not sit well with Spike. Just think of what could happen if he wasn’t there to-, no, wait, that was the overprotectiveness flaring up again. He needed to tone that down or else his family would start to find him overbearing.

He didn’t want to go down that road, the shadow of greed and all that.

“Off in her quarters as well, I should think.” Chrysalis yawned, her tongue flicking out slightly. “As I should be. Go to her, she’s been wanting to talk with you during our ride through the steppes, but we’ve just been either busy planning or discussing other things.”

“About what?”

“That’s between you and her,” the queen said as she rose to her hooves, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, love, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Chrysalis,” he replied, blowing a kiss her way.

She playfully caught it and tucked it against her generous chest with a wink before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

Asalah wished to speak with him? Well, perhaps something of this place reminded her of home, and she wished to share it with him, as she had done before? There was always more to find out about his wives, and with a slight twitch in his eyes from lack of sleep, he followed the path to the base of the tower.

It was one of the widest towers in this capital portion of the city, nowhere near as tall as others he’d seen in the great number of countries he’d passed through, but all the same, it was grandiose in its own way. Yet, for its splendor, from the bright marble and frescoes across its surface, it carried a more concrete sense of permanence, as if it had survived what other cities and indeed kingdoms had not.

As he climbed it, the air around him, for a better word, shifted. Gone was the cool drying wind rolling from the uplands, instead replaced by a gentle heat that swelled with humidity and moisture. Indeed, the stones around him appeared slick, as if unable to dry, yet no water dripped. Either the stone’s magic was absorbing the water and redirecting it back up into the top of the tower, or it was just an illusion, the water evaporating faster than it could fully condense.

Such thoughts left Spike’s mind once he reached the precipice of the tower’s large stairs, and found himself in a garden. Nay, not a garden, but an oasis in the sky. A small stream flowed in and around clumps of shrubs, the top of the dome more than large enough to shelter the full-sized trees that dotted the area. From them hung an assortment of unripe fruits, some he recognized, others that were a complete mystery to him. The stream moved from pool to pool, small tufts of reed growing at the water’s edge, and water rounding the circuit back onto itself.

The air was warm, though thankfully not terribly hot, and the humidity was a pleasant feel after the drying heat of the surrounding lands during the oppressive daylight hours. Here and there, scattered, were small reclining couches, the likes of which one might use to rest after a long day’s work.

Upon one of which sat Asalah, staring into a pool of water.

“Asalah?”

She turned. “Yes, Spike?”

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, sitting beside her.

“Yes, I did, though the reason behind it was not one I wanted Chrysalis to know.”

“What is it?”

“I’m… I’m worried, Spike. About the journey, about the what lies ahead of us, about us…”

Spike was confused. “Us? Why are you worried about us?”

She pulled his hands into her own. “Spike, I feel my heat upon me, but I don’t know if I’ve already fallen pregnant. The others told me that a dragon can impregnate a partner even if they had sex before the heat began. Of course, there is a chance this is just a false heat, but the way I feel, what I want more than anything…”

“Is a family,” Spike finished for her. “Asalah, are you afraid we won’t be your family if you don’t have foals of your own? Trixie and the others will always be your family, as will I, no matter what happens.”

“I know that, Spike, but… to have children of my own, with the stallion, or in our case, the dragon I love, would mean more to me than all the jewels in the world. It’s something I’ve come to crave more than food or water, and at times, it is all I can do not to think of it all the time.”

“So, is that why you wanted me up here, with just the two of us?” he asked, noticing a small, coy smile forming on her lips. “To get started on your part of the family?”

“If you’d be so kind?” she asked, giving him a pleading look that was flushed with arousal as he’d ever seen before. Maybe even more, given their history.

“If my lady so wishes, then I will gladly oblige,” he replied with a throaty chuckle, before sealing their lips with a kiss.

Author's Notes:

Was this chapter long overdue? Yes. I had this a quarter written for nearly a year before I sat down and hammered out the rest in under three days. With life finally back under some semblance of control, I aim to put out a new chapter every two to three weeks, barring setbacks or a radical change in my lifestyle. If I manage to pump out a new chapter sooner, then all the better. If not, then that's the way it is.

As such, so as to avoid the complacency on my part, as it so woefully pops up all the time, I will not be submitting this to any proofreaders. I already go over a chapter a time or five before I publish said chapter, and really, if I'm taking too much time, I'm not getting it done as I should. When you are passionate about something, you can blitz it out faster than when you feel obligated to finish it, and often with a greater amount of quality and thought in the final product. Is this always the case? No, but for me it tends to be.

Was this story long overdue with an update? Definitely. This was my first big story in my entire writing career as of yet, but I got greedy as time went on, and now realize I was trying to make it too big, too grandiose in scope, and was losing track of the story of Spike, the peoples he meets, and those that become part of his family. That was the focus of the story, and that is what it shall return to being.

So, to all those who submitted OCs, fret not, they shall still be featured, but they will be on the sidelines, smaller stories scattered across the main one, supporting characters for the growing cast of main ones. By trying to write so many, without writing that much at all, I lost track of what I had set out to do, and as a result, the story suffered tremendously, on both a quality aspect (my personal opinion) and on an updating schedule (EVERYONE'S opinion), the likes of which I aim to return to post haste.

in time, when (not if) I finish this story, I'll likely publish a little companion story, something along the lines of "ADJ: The Lost Chapters", detailing a few things here or there that would have been unnecessary clutter in the main story, but serve as a great expansion when told separately. Minor character arcs, behind the scenes stuff of supporting characters, even a few adult scenes that would need a chapter of their own to make it all the better.

So, until then, thanks to all my readers for their unending patience, and yes, I read all those comments urging me to finish, or asking me to continue. I may not be as involved in the fandom as I was (hell, I don't think I've watched an episode after season 3 or 4, life dragged me away from that), and I really want to bring about the end of it in the best way I can.

I mean, I started this over five years ago!

I intend to finish it, perhaps even by this time next year.