That Others May Live

by CptBrony

The More You Know

The More You Know

After finishing their exercise, the stallions were given a lecture about survival by their human mentors. They went over alternate sources of water, safe plants to eat, hideaways, nighttime navigation, and a plethora of other important skills. Duke was going to be taking more than one day to teach them all the skills, and then at least one more to administer tests on them.

“I can take this, Frost.” Duke said the following morning. “Why don’t you go around the city, see if you can learn the local culture?” After finishing, he tossed a sack of coins that he didn’t explain the origin of to his partner.

Frost saw the wisdom in that and agreed. Knowing local culture could easily mean the difference between life and death. He could secure or lose allies based on what he said or did, and the more allies they had, the better. He remembered that story about the Army Special Forces in Afghanistan who managed to get some Rangers out of hot water by showing a village leader respect by giving him gifts and displaying extensive knowledge of their ancient culture. That was the kind of thing that he needed to know if he was to operate in such an alien land.

Duke had also gotten another translator from King Sauri so that Frost could walk around with Amel. He would need a translator in the city, and Amel was happy to go along. Her grasp of English was getting better; she was able to translate idioms more easily at this point.

Now, he walked through the castle with her at his side, knife on his belt just in case, feeling ready to walk about and try to learn how to address the locals.

Amel was going to be really helpful in that sector. “When you meet someone for the first time in a formal setting, you always bow your head.” she explained. “It is a sign of respect and trust, and graciousness for hospitality.”

The guards saluted as they walked by, but neither Frost nor Amel noticed. “Alright.” the man replied. “Do we shake hand and hoof, or is that not really a thing here?”

“Why would it not be a thing?” Amel asked almost defensively. “And yes, you shake hooves. Depending on the situation, you might also embrace each other and say a common greeting.”

Frost nodded as they walked out the palace doors and into the garden. “And what might these greetings be?’ he asked.

“الفحل جيد، انه لمن دواعي سروري! It means, ‘Good stallion, it is a pleasure.’ You can also say يشرفني ان كنت تمنحني وقتك. It means ‘I am honored that you would grant me your time.’”

Frost tried to remember the greetings, but the Saddle Arabian language was similar to Arabic; hardly an easy language to learn. “Well, I’m sure you can translate for me anyway.” he said, waving it off. Amel rolled her eyes as they exited the palace gardens.

He looked around as they entered the streets of the much nicer section of the city, where all the rich people lived. He had never known what it was like to live in an area like this, so interactions with people or ponies or horses like these were totally alien to him. Combined with the fact that it was another world and culture, he had no idea what to do.

He had Amel walk next to him and effectively take the lead as they moved about the city, seeing as she would naturally know more about the area. She quickly led them out of the wealthy area and into the more middle class section of the city, where there were more artisans, smiths, and other assorted vendors. Most of these citizens operated out of their own homes, so it was also a residential neighborhood, and was much more populated.

On both sides of the bustling street they walked down, vendors saw the sack of coins and vied for their attention.

“فقط أفضل المجوهرات لفرس الخاص بك!”

“محارب يحتاج السيف جيدا للمعركة!”

“الخضار المطبوخة الطازجة البقاء مثالية للالفحل الخاص بك!”

Frost just kept on walking with Amel, who was ignoring the vendors as they shouted at them. Frost would swear that he saw her blush several times as they yelled, but how could that be if there was fur in the way of her skin? Clueless and curious he had to ask.

“What are they saying?” He looked around at the different vendors. “I can’t even tell what most of them are selling.”

“They just wish to sell us trinkets and unnecessary things.” Amel answered quickly. “They have to make a living, after all.” This was a perfect chance for a culture lesson, though. “One thing you must remember is that vendors can be very aggressive around here; they all compete with each other. They will say anything to get your attention on them.”

“I suppose that it’s a good thing that I don’t understand them, then?”

Amel nodded. “Yes; the last thing you want to do is make eye contact. It’s an invitation for them to approach you, and then you have to either just leave, which is rude, or haggle.”

“Haggle?” Frost asked disbelievingly.

“Yes. They are masters of the art, and all of them can do it. You must never let yourself be taken by them.”

Frost nodded, trying his best to keep his eyes forward and evade those of street vendors. It wasn’t easy, though, as some of them were out in the street, showing off their merchandise to passersby, eager to make a sale. If that was what they thought of it as; most probably saw it as eating that night.

“مهلا، الإنسان!”

Frost let his eyes move to look in the direction of the noise without turning his head, but Amel outright looked that way. To their left, there was a stand with all kinds of things hanging off of it.

“تعال هنا، لدي شيء قد تجدها مفيدة.” the vendor said. Frost glanced at Amel, who stared assertively at the vendor.

Frost took it as an okay to look, and saw that the vendor was not exactly selling trinkets. All over the counter in front of him were blades of varying sizes, from tiny knives that go in pockets, to outright swords that must have been three feet long. He walked over to the stall, eager to get a closer look, and learned the hard way just what Amel had been telling him.

“أنت محارب، استطيع ان اقول.” he said, smiling eagerly at Frost.

Unsure of who to respond, Frost looked back to Amel, who sighed and stepped forward to help. “He says that he can tell you are a warrior.”

“Well, he would be right.” Frost replied, nodding to the vendor.

The stallion started chattering away, Amel interpreting his words as he went. “He thinks that you could use another blade, for you can never have enough.”

Frost nodded slowly, thinking about the prospect. He already had a perfect knife for fighting, this guy couldn’t possibly offer him anything useful. “Well, I must say that I disagree. Can I say that?” he added, hopeful not to offend. Amel responded by translating for him.

The vendor nodded, then went off again. “He says that you can always have different blades for different purposes; battle, food, what you call utility. You must be able to address all situations.”

Frost considered for a moment. “Why not?” he thought. He pulled out his FE9. “I guess that I could use a utility knife.” he said to himself, remembering that the FE9 has almost no utility capabilities; it was designed purely to kill. “What do you have?”

Once he understood, the vendor beamed, and started going through all his utility knives. As he went, Amel pointed at each one and explained; “This one is excellent for cutting ropes of all sorts; even the toughest of them cannot stand to it; he’s just advertising. This one is good for getting the point in and moving small things around. This one...” And it went on for a pretty long time. Frost listened intently, deciding that he would, in fact, get a knife. Not to be polite, but because he might actually want to have one.

At the end, he had already decided that he wanted the first knife since it seemed reasonably priced at twenty whatevers and he had at least two hundred. “What’s this currency called, anyway?” he wondered as he pulled out the coins. The vendor smiled excitedly as he took the money and handed the knife to his first human customer.

Amel sighed. “Well, Frost, you opened up a door for other vendors to come get you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Frost smirked and shook his head. “Yeah, well.” His eyes glossed over the knife selection one more time, looking over the pocket knives. There was one in particular that he saw that was extremely nice; it was a folder, with a black handle, a metal clip, and an engraving on the blade that he couldn’t read. “Looks alot like a Benchmade 551S.” he thought. Pointing to it, he asked how much it was without speaking. The vendor replied by tracing out a ten with his hoof. “Nice.” Frost said aloud, pulling out ten more coins and dropping them on the counter. The vendor handed him the knife, and his eyes fell on the FE9.

He asked Frost a question, pointing to the knife. “He wants to know if you would part with it.” Amel said, also pointing at the knife.

Frost looked at it, then back to the vendor. “Sorry, my friend, but this knife is staying with me.” When Amel translated, the vendor understood, said what was probably a goodbye and thank you, and they finished their business.

Frost and Amel walked away from the vendor, one satisfied, the other, clearly not. “Why did you buy a second knife?” Amel asked. “You already have the knives you might need.”

“I got it for you.” he replied casually. Amel blinked. “I figure that with what you and we have gone through recently, you might want to keep it on you. So here.” Without warning, he suddenly clipped the knife onto Amel’s mane, causing her to jump at the sudden contact. “I’m sure I can get something to make it easier for you to access later.”

Amel felt the knife with her hoof, a look of wonder in her eyes. “I... thank you.” she said.

“Don’t mention it.” Frost replied. “I can show you how to use it later.”

They walked down the street, still trying to avoid the street vendors, looking for anything that might be a cue for learning. Around them, horses and ponies, and even a few griffons, were going about their lives, minding their own business. The only thing they got from that was to generally just be polite to each other as they went around; no need to start fights.

They soon exited the busier area of what could be called the market district and found themselves in a more residential area, with more homes and residences. There were a few places here and there, mostly little home stores for furniture trade and even some restaurants, but it was generally much more peaceful. No shouting vendors, no one being aggressive, no one making much noise. Frost took it as a cue that hustle and bustle was generally not accepted in certain areas.

He looked around and saw a group of what seemed to be well-dressed horses walk into a building that had tables outside its windows. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that there were horses and even some griffons inside eating. Surprisingly, there was meat on the griffons’ plate; Frost would never have expected that to be served here. The sight of the food made his stomach growl, and he realized that it was getting close to time for lunch already.

“You hungry, Amel?” he asked, still looking at the restaurant.

She looked up at him, then followed his eyes to the restaurant. “I suppose I could eat something.” she replied. “But I think we should look elsewhere; that restaurant is for upper class citizens and foreigners, mostly.”

“Well, I guess that it’s a good thing I’m a foreigner.” Frost patted Amel’s head and started moving toward the restaurant. “Come on, I’m sure they’ll let us in, since we have the money to prove we aren’t beggars.”

Amel couldn’t really argue that point, so she followed him. She still thought that they wouldn’t be allowed in since Frost only had a combat uniform and she had no clothes on at all, but they would just be given a choice of more formal wear inside. She had had to follow her previous masters here before when they entertained foreign diplomats, so she knew the restaurant fairly well.

As they approached the building, Amel leaned over to Frost, who had to bend down to hear. “You should always bow when you meet an upper-class stallion or mare. Show as much respect as possible.”

“Got it.”

At the entrance, there was no one there waiting, so they just stood outside patiently. Odds were that the server was taking care of the group that just came in, so it was only reasonable to wait. In the meantime, Frost took in the scenery; it was all eerily similar to the palace. Depictions of battles in which one horse would lead the charge and fight so valiantly, gems in the walls, fine curtains and wall hangings. The tables all had elegant silverware, probably made of actual silver, and decorated ceramic plates. The cups were the only thing out of place; they were a dull gray, like pewter.

Frost snapped out of his scan when he heard someone coming from inside. As soon as the horse was out, wearing a fancy serving outfit, Frost and Amel gave two low, slow bows.

“Hello.” Frost said, initiating the conversation. Amel greeted him in his own tongue.

The server looked them over for a second before replying. “Hello.” His use of English brought Frost’s eyes back up. “I am the server. What brings you here?”

Frost waited for Amel to answer, but instead, she just looked at him expectantly. Eventually, he replied, “We were hoping to dine in your fine establishment. Would that be possible?”

The server hmm’d and looked over the two before him. Ordinarily, he would never consider letting them in; one was naked, and the other was dressed for war. He even had an unconcealed knife on his leg that bordered on a short sword. He was, however, human, and this was clearly his mare, so an exception could certainly be made.

“I believe so.” the server replied, at last. “Would you like to borrow more formal clothes, Miss?” He looked at Amel as he spoke; he certainly had nothing for Frost to wear.

“That would be nice.” she replied, bowing her head again.

The server nodded and lead them into the building, where the other patrons were too busy to pay them any mind. The server had Frost wait in the lobby while he brought Amel to the closet by the side to get her a formal outfit. Thinking about it, Frost figured he and Duke might want to see about getting formal attire; in the event of attending anything that wasn’t combat oriented.

Before long, Amel came back wearing a simple white gown type dress, and the server lead his next two patrons to a table by a window. Frost took the seat facing the door, Amel across from him. The server dropped two menus for them and left them there to decide.

Frost opened his up and took a look. “Wow, this is pretty good stuff.” he commented, with an affirming grunt from Amel. They looked over their menus in silence for a time. “You know, I didn’t really picture a restaurant in a city like this.”

Amel nodded. “These places are not terribly common; mostly, it is here for visiting foreigners. Ponies and even griffons are more inclined to visit the city when there are places like this. Diplomats from Equestria and the Southern Griffon Colonies like to come here. That is also why your language is on the menu, alongside ours.” Frost hadn’t noticed the presence of two languages on the menu until she pointed it out.

Frost nodded understandingly; gotta improve the city’s economy, and what better way than to get tourists to come along and spend their money? Back on Earth, entire countries based their economies on tourism; that was why the economic crash years ago devastated them. But they bounced back.

He set down his menu, having decided on a plate of beef that was all fancified beyond his understanding. Amel probably got most of it, though.

“So, when did you learn most of the things you’re teaching me now?” he asked, unsure of why a slave would know all this. Amel looked up. “Was this while you were here, or..?”

Amel nodded. “Much of what I learned that I told you today was here. Before, I didn’t need to know it, but being a slave here, I was forced to learn.”

Frost cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t have to learn it before?” he asked, curious.

“Yes, I was the daughter of a زعيم قرية; you would call him a village leader. He kept the village in check, and he was varu fair-hooved in his dealings.”

“What happened?” Frost asked, hoping not to cross any lines.

Amel sighed. “There was an incident; the son of the زعيم قرية in another village wanted me as his wife. My father said no; the village he was from was very poor. Words were exchanged, and soon, they came to our village themselves to fight for me.”

Frost was confused. “Wait, if they wanted you, how did you end up here?”

“Well, the son wanted to prove himself and earn his place as the next زعيم قرية, so he stepped forward to fight himself. Sensing that his youth would be his downfall, my father fought him and slew him.”

Frost continued to listen. “The other زعيم قرية accused my father of cheating, and demanded blood in return. Or me for one of his other sons. My father refused to give me to them, though. They returned with a large group of warriors.”

Frost tried to think about what may have occurred. “Let me guess; they had a huge force?”

Amel nodded. “Yes. While they were very poor, they had many villagers to fight. We had better tools for battle, but their numbers overwhelmed. During the battle, my father was killed, but so were the sons of the other زعيم قرية. Feeling that someone needed to be punished, the زعيم قرية took me and sold me for revenge. I spent years like that, and then you came along and I was out.”

The server returned and took their orders, putting a pause in their conversation. No one ever likes to continue a personal conversation in front of a waiter who doesn’t actually care. He left them two cups of water that tasted stale to Frost, and once he was gone, they kept on talking.

“Wow.” Frost said. “I had heard of stuff like that back home, but I never expected to meet someone who actually had it happen.”

“Yes, it is not a terribly uncommon occurrence here.” Amel replied, picking up her cup with her teeth and taking a sip of water. “It wasn’t fun, and I had to learn to look at life in another light. Now, there isn’t that much that seems so horrible.”

Frost felt a pang of sympathy for the mare in front of him. It was a really terrible thing that happened to her. If he and Duke hadn’t landed here, she would still be stuck in that household.

More questions came up in his mind, and they seemed to align well with the conversation. “What exactly is the role of mares here?” he asked. “You never said anything about your mother and what she thought of the whole thing.”

Amel took a big gulp of her water before answering. “My mother died when I was little; I think that was why my father wouldn’t send me away. He said I look like her.”

Her story just kept on getting worse. “Damn. Sorry.” Amel nodded lightly, keeping her eyes to the floor. Frost thought for a moment. “You know, I lost my mother not that long ago.”

Amel looked up. “Oh, my, I’m sorry. What happened?”

Frost took his own cup in his hand. “Well, about eight months before this deployment, she was driving home from work to pick up my deadbeat dad from a bar when a drunk driver rammed into her car on the driver’s side. Doctors said she was killed instantly, so at least there was no pain.” He downed the water, wishing it were stronger.

“Oh.” Amel said, not understanding the reference to cars. “Did you get the driver?”

Frost laughed a resentful laugh for just second. “Damn right; it was my father, leaving the parking lot of the bar at forty miles an hour. I found out that he had lifted his friend’s keys and planned to drive himself home.” He fiddled with his cup. “Worst part, I couldn’t tell the command. They would have taken me off duty and made me take time off to grieve. Can’t send a grieving soldier to go in and rescue people, you know?”

“I see.” Amel replied.

“Anyhow, back to the topic at hand!” Frost exclaimed, putting a happy face back on. “What is the role of mares here?”

Amel shrugged. “Housewives. Mares take care of the children, please the husband, clean the homestead. Mares who don’t have slaves buy or grow and then prepare the food. The stallions are the masters of the house; you can always bet that the one to talk to is a stallion.” Amel tried to gauge her friend, but he seemed like he was back in a good mood. He must have learned the same lessons as her at some point.

Frost was about to ask questions about the hierarchal systems when the server returned with their food, a slab of beef with spices and stuff on it, and a large salad. Amel’s nose scrunched at Frost’s meal, but he didn’t notice. She was used to it anyway; she had been around griffons, even if they were thought to be evil by many.

Once the server was gone again, Frost felt he could ask. “What about this caste system?” he asked, thinking of two very large countries back home. “Is there any kind of stigma related to talking to certain groups, anything good or bad that can come from it?”

Amel thought carefully for a moment. “In a strictly familiar setting, yes. You and Duke would be expected to address upper class horses with respect, but you are welcome to talk to them, being elite soldiers. If you are in a war-fighting setting, you could order anyone to do something. Some might balk at you, and they don’t have to do what you say, but you are free to issue orders without punishment.”

“What happens if a recruit issues an order to a village leader?” Frost asked, already working out the consequences.

“He would be disregarded, and flogged for speaking disrespectfully to his superiors.” Amel responded like it was of no concern.

Frost nodded, neck becoming sore from so much of it. “And what would you say the classes are?” he asked.

“From the top, they would be the nobles, the smiths, the traders, the artisans, the soldiers, depending on rank, the slaves of the nobles, and the poor and physically deficient.”

Frost raised an eyebrow. “Physically deficient?”

Amel nodded, chewing on her salad. “Those born with physical deformities; strange legs, bones in wrong places, born without limbs, and those who seem to have damaged brains. These ones are generally left in the desert; if not, they become outcasts, and often live under the city in the sewer system.”

Frost remained silent for a time, making his way through his meal, trying not to think about that. He supposed that it must have made some sense; they didn’t exactly have modern medicine. But it was the social impact on the last group that hit him as being awful; that kind of thing just didn’t happen back home.

He tried to get his mind off of it. “So how do you like helping to train the guys?” he asked, twiddling his fork. “You seemed to do well in the escape exercise.” He took up his cup and drank some water.

Amel chuckled. “Yes, I rather enjoy it. It feels good to no longer be the helpless one; I haven’t had that since before I was sold when I was twelve.”

Frost choked on the water and looked like a sputtering moron after she finished. He managed to draw some looks from the other patrons, who looked at him with some level of awe, then went back to their own business. Holding his hand up to signal that he was alright, he waited until he could speak.

“You were sold at age twelve?” he asked in horror. She nodded in response. “How old are you now?”

Amel thought. “About twenty-three.”

He looked at her with a mix of anger, shock, sympathy, and horror. She was only about six years younger than him, and while he was going to school and doing well enough, she was being abused by horses she didn’t even know. At least he knew his foe, his father, but she had suffered in the dark for almost half her life. No friends, family, comfort, nothing.

“Huh.” was all he said.

Amel pushed her plate forward, empty. “I was just a server for the family until I turned sixteen, when I became a mare. Then I took on the basic housewife responsibilities I told you about. Except for an obvious one.”

“Well, thank the heavens for that!” Frost thought sarcastically.

“Until a filly becomes a mare, she is able to interact with other children the Equestrian fashion; nothing is viewed as unacceptable actions or interactions. Once a mare, though, she must act like one, and take on her role as caretaker. Most are married rapidly after coming of age.”

Frost looked around the room at the other patrons. Now, he saw them all in a different light, a light that he personally did not want to be put under, and would never want to. “I think I’m done.” he said, pushing his own plate forward. “How much do you think this was?”

Amel turned her head and raised her foreleg, calling the waited over. They exchanged some words in their language, and Amel turned back to Frost. “Seventy-eight.” she said.

Frost pulled out the coins and counted them, more than ready to leave. Once the check was paid, and Amel’s dress returned, they left the restaurant and began to make their way back to the palace. When they reached the market area, though, upon quick inspection, it was decided that they could never get past the crowds.

“We can take another way.” Amel said, turning in another direction. Frost simply followed close behind.

She lead him away from the market and through a much emptier area of the city. As they walked through, Frost was appalled. The rancid smell of death and decay penetrated the very ground, drifting up and polluting the air. Raw sewage from the nearby homes was dumped onto the ground and ran in sickly brown rivers into the entrances to the sewer system, with rodents of varying enormity skittering in and out from. Dead animals littered the ground, rotting away in the filth. It was easily the most awful place Frost had ever seen.

“This is where the outcasts live.” Amel commented.

Frost had been about expecting this; he had seen it in movies, and she just said it; and when he looked around, he did see the occasional sign of life. A paper here, tattered clothes there. There were bones in the ground, some of which were partially buried. It was surprising that none of the denizens were out during the day; at the same time, though, it wasn’t.

Frost never saw a single horse as they went through the putrid area, something he was grateful for. The last thing he needed to see was what the denizens of this area probably looked like at this point in their no doubt much shortened lives. When they finally got out of the area, Frost greedily took in the fresher air and much better neighborhood.

“I can’t believe the nobles live next to that.” he said as they walked down a familiar street in the noble section.

Amel shrugged. “They know not to come into this area.”

Frost took the lead again as they reentered the palace gardens, and, taking one look back, felt real sadness for those poor beings. But he had a job to do, and helping them wasn’t a part of it.

Comments

[Frosthowl]

Am I the only one that understand what the horses are saying? Btw Love your work, seriously this is one of the best idea's for a HIE U.S soldiers in Saddle arabia! Genius! And I love Amel I hope there is a romance later on, if not please make on

[High Flyer]

3124081 Thanks to Google Translate, I can too!

[anima draconis]

I really like how you have made an entire land with it's lifestyle and habit only by knowing his name

[CptBrony]

3129278
I did some research on ancient culture and built it entirely off of that. I like to do research on things I want to use before finishing and posting chapters. :)

[Ogatasensei123]

great as usual, I liked that you expanded a little on Amel.

[TheGrimReaper]

3129804 Yes, just as Ogatasensei123, I will follow this story until it ends as well. And as usual great work. And I agree with Frosthowl as well, I think romance between Amel and Frost would be appropriate. Considering they have a somewhat similar background. Coming from abusive houses and such. It doesn't have to be like NSFW sex or anything like that. Maybe in a few more chapters it would seem appropriate? To develop their bond perhaps?

[D48]

I am very glad I found this story. Besides the occasional typo and the minor annoyance of having to jump to Google Translate for the Arabic it is very good so far and I am very much looking forwards to seeing where you go with it.