APH: A Thousand Nights [1/?]
Title: A Thousand Nights [1/?]
Characters/Pairings: Spain, Portugal, Al-Andalus (Islamic Iberia)
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mentions of shota.
Summary: They did not believe in happy endings - the story of two brothers, one nation and the empire that shaped them over seven hundred years of love, loss and oppression into the men they are today.
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Al-Andalus reclined in his seat as he took another drag of the hookah. He paused in long, drawn-out silence. “You intend to go through with this no matter what I say, don’t you?” he said archly, tendrils of smoke curling lazily from his mouth. “If I may ask what gives you the right?”
The emir of Córdoba stared back at him curiously, before releasing a sigh of his own. “My lord you have said yourself that you grow weary of the constant disputes of your nation. I only wish to consolidate your power so that we may further defend against the rebelling Christian nations in the north.” He was a handsome man in his early forties, dressed in embroidered finery as he levelled his empire with sharp blue eyes.
Amongst others, Al-Andalus does not say and laughs low and deep in his chest. “My power, al-Nasir? My empire has long been divided all throughout Iberia, Asia and Africa. Before you worry about the Christians I suggest you take the time to placate your own brothers.”
“My ancestors had undisputed control of the caliphate before we were overthrown by the Abbasids,” Abd-ar-Rahman pointed out. “And the Fatimids are pressuring us from the south. This can’t go on for much longer, my lord. The internal balance has to be restored if we are to prosper.”
“Poetic,” the old empire says somewhat dryly. “But what do you want me to do, al-Nasir? I’m afraid I cannot take sides. Fighting against one’s self defeats the purpose wouldn’t you say?”
Al-Nasir; that was the name they gave him. The defender of the faith. He had always liked a determined man. He watched as the emir’s face puckered into a frown of frustration, until finally he gave up and signalled for the wine boy. “Then putting that aside for now,” he said, “let us talk about something a little more…productive to your tastes, perhaps. The rebellions…?”
“…are led by the temperamental forces of children,” Al-Andalus assured him, brushing the concern aside with a wave of his hand. “They are at that age where they are young and rebellious. Do not let it bother you too much, al-Nasir. I shall deal with my boys the way I have always dealt with them.”
The wine boy arrived with the pitcher wearing a tempting array of red silk and simple gold jewellery. He knelt by the emir, careful to keep his eyes downcast as he refilled his cup. “You ought to be careful my lord,” Rahman said lightly, turning his gaze upon the boy and gently fingering his pale, curly hair. “Dealing with attractive boys is far more dangerous than having to deal with a mischievous, beautiful woman.” The boy kept his head down, fingers tight around the neck of the pitcher. Al-Andalus watched him curiously with a raised eyebrow.
“And you would know all about the temptations of boys wouldn’t you,” he replied, struck with the consistency of his visits to the emirate of Córdoba, and how often they had taken place in the harem as of late. It would seem that Rahman was becoming a little self-indulgent the more the years passed him by. Enough to have a harem for both men and women in his court; and it both amused Al-Andalus and made him thoughtful. It wouldn’t do to become too indulgent. Indulgency often led to letting one’s guard down, and Allah help him, he did not need his Empire dividing up into separate states within one moderately-sized and generally manageable country.
“Ah, so you agree that my Pelagius is beautiful then.” The emir sounded pleased. He patted the boy’s pale rounded cheek. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen and Al-Andalus found he did have to agree; the child’s curly blonde hair and doe eyes made him positively cherubic. “Are your boys as well behaved as he is?”
“You certainly do seem to be doing well for yourself,” Al-Andalus said amiably. “But it is as I have said; they are children. Hardy, but inexperienced in warfare. One would think that they would grow weary of this tug-of-war after so many years. It almost feels cruel to crush their hopes so quickly.”
Rahman continued petting the boy’s hair with a vague smile. “The vigour of youth is a splendid thing indeed, my lord. They are so trusting, so willing to forgive, not like you and I.”
“Are you implying something about my age, al-Nasir?” the empire inquired smilingly. The emir shrugged fluidly, glad that he had not taken it as an insult. He had known this man that claimed to be the embodiment of his beloved Al-Andalus since the cradle, but that did not make him any less imposing, nor terrifying.
“Only that you are admirable for being able to keep up with those boys of yours, my lord.”
Al-Andalus did not feel the need to point out to him that older nations tended to have far greater endurance and energy than younger ones, instead taking the hookah to his lips again and claiming, “Their spirit is intoxicating, what can I say?”
“Indeed?” Rahman looked interested. He tugged his unresponsive yet beautiful harem boy closer to him, who only curled in on himself and closed his eyes, as though trying to will his hands off his body. Al-Andalus briefly wondered why he did not favour one of the more enthusiastic ones. “Would you believe that his uncle gave him up for ransom; though I’m not complaining, it certainly made my victory at Valdejunquera all the sweeter.”
Ah, the empire thought silently, as he put two and two together. A slave, and a Christian slave at that; that would explain things.
“My dear Pelagius, where are your manners?” The emir smiled genially at his charge. “Come now, we mustn’t be rude to our guest.” The boy barely glanced at him with muted brown eyes, but he came forward on his knees and kissed Al-Andalus’ proffered hand whilst greeting him softly and apologizing for his impertinence all the same. Perhaps Rahman just liked them submissive. He knew he certainly didn’t; boys were of no interest to him if they didn’t fight back a little.
“I’m sorry my lord,” the emir said. “He’s just a little shy. After having to deal with your rambunctious pair he must seem a little -”
“It is fine,” Al-Andalus cut him off. “No harm done.”
“Speaking of your boys,” Rahman trails off, looking around pointedly. Al-Andalus shook his head.
“Outside,” he responded. “They do not care much for the harems unless their motive is terrifying the women by sneaking into their living quarters and stealing their headscarves.” The thought made him smile a little to himself. It reminded him of how young they really were; just boys, playful, charming beautiful boys. “I can only hope they have found a way to amuse themselves.”
Behind the ornate doors, a vase fell to the floor with a resounding crash.
Al-Andalus sighed through his nose. “Perhaps not,” he said ruefully. There was the brief sound of scuffle, and then Lusitania exclaimed in an awkwardly strong voice just recently cracked,
“Tanio, I told you not to touch anything!”
Then his younger brother protesting, “I didn’t do it on purpose, hermano! It was already tilting off its pedestal to begin with!”
“So why did you have to go and aggravate the situation?!”
Al-Andalus gave Rahman a withering look and rolled his eyes. The emir smiled. “It’s alright, my lord. I wasn’t particularly fond of that vase anyway. You know how restless boys can be.” He nuzzled his wine boy affectionately. The youth paled a little, but did not squirm away. It made the empire somewhat uncomfortable to watch him; he had always paid respect to the importance of consent, especially when involving a partner so young. He stared at the boy, who stared right on back, and found he had to look away from the accusing look in those eyes.
“Jibrail! Tanios!” he called out commandingly over his shoulder. There was a silence, then shuffling. The door of the harem creaked open slowly and two nearly identical faces peered out, one wide-eyed, the other narrowed in suspicion. Al-Andalus gave them a stern look. “Come over here where I can keep an eye on you,” he ordered, and gestured to the plush cushions surrounding himself and the emir. The pair hesitated. “Now.”
The door opened wider and Hispania rushed in, his maroon robes swirling around his thin, lanky frame. Lusitania followed him at a stiff walk, arms folded stubbornly in deep green sleeves. “Harun, what’s taking so long?” the former demanded, throwing himself at his guardian’s back and curling his hands into the cloth at his shoulders. His forehead butted gently against the back of Al-Andalus’ neck. “You promised we’d be home by now.” He sounded so petulantly endearing that the empire couldn’t resist patting him on his dark head.
“Old men think they have all the time in the world, didn’t you know that?” Lusitania replied rudely, even though the question was not directed at him. He smoothed out his own robes at the knees and sat down directly on Al-Andalus’ right thigh without comment. He was sulking again. The empire sighed and tugged affectionately on the end of Lusitania’s braid; he received a dirty look for his efforts. Hispania came around his other side and sat down next to his brother, so that the empire had two growing teenage boys in his lap instead of one and he wondered if they were doing it on purpose. He huffed and put his arms around their waists to hold them steady. Hispania cheerfully leaned back into him; Lusitania didn’t.
Rahman eyed the three of them with envy. Al-Andalus cleared his throat and gestured for him to continue, still maintaining his appearance as a powerful nation despite the burden he was now carrying. “Did you have anything else to add, al-Nasir?” he wanted to know, hoping the man was smart enough to realize not to bring up the Christian uprisings in front of his two wards. Hispania and Lusitania ran hot and cold with him, hormonal and aggressive one instant and loving and constantly demanding his attention the next; but the crushing of their Christian beliefs and people was a mutually sore topic between them. Even Hispania, who was by nature far less belligerent than his older brother, became fierce when forced upon or threatened.
The emir raised a curious eyebrow but resumed the conversation and the topic turned to trade, education, and the grand library that now stands in the city. It had been a difficult task to imprint the importance of reading and writing to the boys initially because they had argued that they already had a language, words and letters and symbols and Lusitania had looked close to striking him across the face when he told them that they wouldn’t need those things anymore. But they had loved the stories he read to them; tales of desert paradises, magic lamps and djinns that granted wishes. They eventually accepted his language but held on to their own. He found he didn’t mind as much as he probably should have. It was hard enough living together without picking on petty things.
Hispania squirmed restlessly, already bored with the proceedings. Al-Andalus stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head; he brushed his lips over the curve of Lusitania’s cheek when he turned to glare at them. They were brothers, and so they fought over a great many things. The empire had since learned it was best to keep them both happy lest he find a Christian army suddenly terrorising a city just because one felt neglected. Lusitania blushed to the roots of his hair and gave him a glowering that made his hazel eyes shine, but he rubbed a hand over his cheek and made a disgruntled noise all the same. Hispania took it as an invitation.
He shifted and pressed himself close to the empire, wrapped his skinny arms around Al-Andalus’ broad shoulders and jammed his nose into the small space where his neck was covered neither by his robes or his headscarf. Warm breath tingled against his skin. It became very hard to concentrate after that. He dragged his fingers very pointedly down the bumps of the boy’s spine.
“Tanios,” he said soft and warningly, but Hispania just shook his head and pressed his lips to his pulse.
“You promised,” he said again, saying the word importantly and with emphasis. Lusitania tilted his head back to watch but his expression doesn’t betray any interest, remained unreadable, cool and calculating. Demanding, except Lusitania knew better than to demand. Al-Andalus does not take pleasure from hurting children so young but sometimes the boy is so ill-tempered and defiant that he asks for it. “One kiss…?” Hispania wheedles, and it’s so hard to refuse those big green eyes from such close quarters, “pretty please?”
“He told you to wait until after the meeting so wait,” Lusitania bites out and his brother makes a show of pouting, cheek pressed against the curve of the empire’s throat.
“That was hours ago,” Hispania protests and they look like they’ll start arguing again right then and there but the emir clears his throat loudly and Al-Andalus is brought back to earth hard enough to look up and acknowledge him.
“Yes?” he demanded and wrenched his head away from the kisses Hispania was trying to lave all over his cheeks.
Rahman gave him a pointed look. “I don’t mind continuing this another day if my lord has…prior commitments,” he said rather purposefully, eyeing the boys on the empire’s lap with something akin to greed and running his own hand rather slowly down his harem boy’s back and over the curve of his hip. Al-Andalus sighed. He shifted, hooking his arms around both Hispania’s and Lusitania’s middles and lifted, forcing them to stand on their own two feet.
“Well if I have overstayed my welcome,” he said with mock disappointment and gestured the brothers towards the door again. “Boys…”
But Hispania was now sufficiently distracted and was staring at Rahman’s harem boy with something akin to wonder. He gave his brother a meaningful look; Lusitania returned his gaze levelly. Then at the same time, they both removed themselves from Al-Andalus’ arms and crouched down across from him. Both the emir and Al-Andalus looked at each other in surprise. The boy shared in Hispania’s look of wonderment; as though something invisible had passed between them.
Rahman was the first to recover. “Perhaps we should leave the young ones to get better acquainted?”
The empire didn’t like the sound of that. Leaving Hispania and Lusitania in the company of their own kind, amongst Christians, was a point of contention with him. It put ideas into their heads; made them wild and bright-eyed and strong-willed, and not at all in the way that he appreciated as a ruling nation. It was as if the old blood of Germania was still with them; almost like they could pick out one of their own at a mere glance. The very idea of it unnerved him. Rahman was a good man and a decent, strong-minded ruler - he would need someone like him to keep the caliphate together and subdue the boys’ various stages of rebellion. He had to nip this problem in the bud before they were fully grown or it would cause all sorts of problems.
“Perhaps next time,” he said at last, and waved his hand at the adjoining room. “Tanios, Jibrail, we’ll be leaving in...” Hispania turned his head to pout. He sighed. “Five more minutes at the most,” he assured him, and he put his hand over his heart, briefly wondering if he had ever been so eager in his own youth. It had been such a long time ago he could scarcely remember.
Hispania brightened. He promptly leaned over and hugged the startled harem boy tightly. “Bye al-Nasir! Bye Pelayo! Take care.” Al-Andalus would have to chide him for eavesdropping later. Lusitania watched his brother step aside with a shake of his head, before turning himself and clasping the boy’s hands with his own.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispered, so faintly the boy had to lean in to hear it, but Al-Andalus caught him mouthing the words ‘God be with you’ as he stood, not releasing the boy’s hands until he absolutely had to.
“Jibrail,” he said dark and warningly, but Lusitania just gave him a defiant look and opened his mouth to retort but stopped short when the harem boy squeezed his hand, looking up at him with imploring, hope-filled eyes.
“Jibrail?” he repeated Al-Andalus’ words slowly, as though he could not believe them to be true. “Jibrail…Gabriel, San Gabriel?” he wondered aloud, looking at Lusitania curiously. The boy started in alarm, mouth working wordlessly.
“I’m not, that isn’t…”
Hispania laughed. “Don’t be silly Pelayo,” he said cheerfully, as though taking it all to be a particularly funny joke. “Hermano isn’t a saint at all.” His brother whirled on him. Al-Andalus positioned himself between them before the insults turned to fists and started flying.
“Though he is certainly angelic enough to be named after one,” the emir put in admirably, forestalling any more of Lusitania’s stutters and causing the boy to clam shut and duck his head to glare at the floor.
“Yes, in everything but temperament,” the empire said flatly and turned. “Outside,” he commanded, tone leaving no room for argument. “Go.”
Hispania beamed, undeterred. “Okay!” he said cheerfully and dragged his older, sulkier brother along with him, waving as he went. “See you later Pelayo!” The door shut with a shuddering groan behind them.
Rahman watched them go. “They’re good boys,” he offered to his nation, seeing his conflicted expression. Al-Andalus heaved out a long breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.
“I know,” he said and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The emir shifted to take a drink of his wine. “Will you reject my proposal then?” he asked casually, “for the sake of love?”
“No,” the nation answered immediately and drew himself up straight. “I am their conqueror, not their parent, friend or lover. And I will do what needs to be done to make sure my empire isn’t compromised.”
Rahman seemed to agree with this statement. “I see. Do you know my lord,” he added thoughtfully “of that old saying? If every woman has one devil accompanying her, then boys as handsome as that surely have at least seventeen.”
Al-Andalus begrudged himself for agreeing with that statement as whole-heartedly as he did. “I’ll see you later, Rahman.”
“Take your time my lord,” the emir said with a slight smirk. “I dare say I’ll be rather busy myself. Isn’t that right Pelagius?” he cooed, drawing the boy sitting by his side even closer. Pelagius shrunk back even though his body did not jerk away in the slightest. His eyes were wide and fearful. Al-Andalus frowned at him and clucked his tongue.
“I would take another boy tonight if were you,” he observed and rose to his feet. “This one seems to be a little under the weather.” Brown eyes looked up at him in surprise. The emir thankfully did not seem to notice. It was a little white lie, a stab of sympathy for the poor creature. He was not entirely without honour, no matter what his boys and their Christian forces seemed to think on the contrary.
“Beautiful boys ought to be admired,” he said and turned on his heel. “Not broken.”
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[tbc]
A/N:
Well here it is. My Islamic Spain and Portugal story that will probably be decently long and cover all the uncomfortable, tears and heartache that went into this period in their lives. So there will be shota in this story. Which makes me aaaaah like all hell, but it's necessary for the angst. ;; Note that Portugal would be around 15 here in the 900s, which would make Spain 14.
The title is of course taken from that famous collection of stories: A Thousand and One Nights, better known in the west as Arabian Nights. I imagined many of them would have passed off as bedtime stories for our young nations in their days as children of the empire. X)
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Names: The Iberian Peninsula was split into a number of provinces by the Roman Empire, all under the name of Hispania, which was then divided again into three main areas: Tarraconensis, Baetica and Lusitania. Lusitania made up most of what is known today as modern Portugal, who reclaimed the western portion of the peninsula during the Reconquista and renamed himself under the Roman name of Portus Cale. The rest of the area of course, remained known as Hispania, though it was split into much smaller kingdoms and wouldn't unite into what we know as modern Spain until 1492.
Of course, under Islamic rule both countries were known simply as Al-Andalus, barring the northern region of consolidated Christians that was known as the Kingdom of Asturias. To simplify things I have referred to Portugal as Lusitania and Spain as Hispania, as they both kept those names long after the fall of Rome, well into the conquering of the Germanic Suevic/Visgothic kingdoms and even during the period of the Reconquista. The names are classically Latin, similar to other provinces such as Britannia (England), Gallia (France) and Anatolia (Turkey).
The Reconquista - a period of nearly 800 years in which the many Christian kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula succeeded in retaking the territory back from the Islamic rulers, who had invaded the peninsula in 711 and defeated the Germanic tribes that had settled there after the fall of Rome. It was one of the leading inspirations for the Crusades during the Middle Ages.
Al-Andalus - After the death of Mohammed, his followers took it upon themselves to spread the faith by conquering much of the Middle East and spreading out from there. These states of rule were called Caliphs, and stretched all the way from Central Asia to the Pyrenees in Northern Spain during the height of their rule.
Abbasids/Fatamids - The Islamic Empire had many facades and subdivisions. The peninsula was ruled by the Umayyad Caliphate, which was the 6th largest empire of all time and the 3rd largest of the Middle Ages. The Abbasids were another caliphate who challenged and won against them, taking the empire and moving it eastwards, succeeding in taking all the territory there but Al-Andalus. The Fatamids, similarly, were challenging them for the northern portions of Africa, such as the kingdom of Morocco. As it was, the Islamic Empire eventually spread itself too thin and collapsed upon itself, to be eventually thrown out of Iberia and taken over by the Ottoman Empire.
Abd-ar-Rahman III - He ruled Al-Andalus for over half a century as the most powerful prince in Iberia from 912 - 961. His mother was a Christian concubine, his grandmother the daughter of a captive Christian King. He was described as an attractive man who overcame the Christian kingdoms in his later years as ruler, repelling the Fatimids and making Al-Andalus the cultural capital and elite navy force of the Mediterranean. However he became indulgent in his old age, and was known to keep both a female and male harem.
Pelagius - a thirteen year old boy that the emir reputedly fell in love with during his rule and who later threw off his advances and demands he convert to Islam. He was later martyred for his faith, causing a surge of uprisings in the Christian kingdoms. I will go into that more in later chapters.
Young boys - In the Middle Ages, the company of young, beautiful boys was often more sought after than that of older, prettier women. Boys were seen as more of a temptation than girls, and many a poet could wax on in purple prose about them for hours. The Christian nations of course, took this as a sign to ridicule a number of Arabic ones, but a number of early accounts of the liturgy could not deny the beauty of some youths regardless.
Jibrail and Tanios - The Arabic versions of Gabriel and Antonio, Portugal's given name (in my personal headcanon), and Spain's. In the events of this story, Al-Andalus takes away the boys 'country' names when he takes over the peninsula and in return gives them something they never had before; 'human' names. Which are just about useless for anything except personal recognition. Antonio is of course, originally Latin Antonius -> Greek derived from the word Anthos meaning flower. Gabriel on the other hand is Hebrew, taken from the messenger angel of God. I'll go in to how their names were chosen for their personalities later on.
Characters/Pairings: Spain, Portugal, Al-Andalus (Islamic Iberia)
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mentions of shota.
Summary: They did not believe in happy endings - the story of two brothers, one nation and the empire that shaped them over seven hundred years of love, loss and oppression into the men they are today.
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Al-Andalus reclined in his seat as he took another drag of the hookah. He paused in long, drawn-out silence. “You intend to go through with this no matter what I say, don’t you?” he said archly, tendrils of smoke curling lazily from his mouth. “If I may ask what gives you the right?”
The emir of Córdoba stared back at him curiously, before releasing a sigh of his own. “My lord you have said yourself that you grow weary of the constant disputes of your nation. I only wish to consolidate your power so that we may further defend against the rebelling Christian nations in the north.” He was a handsome man in his early forties, dressed in embroidered finery as he levelled his empire with sharp blue eyes.
Amongst others, Al-Andalus does not say and laughs low and deep in his chest. “My power, al-Nasir? My empire has long been divided all throughout Iberia, Asia and Africa. Before you worry about the Christians I suggest you take the time to placate your own brothers.”
“My ancestors had undisputed control of the caliphate before we were overthrown by the Abbasids,” Abd-ar-Rahman pointed out. “And the Fatimids are pressuring us from the south. This can’t go on for much longer, my lord. The internal balance has to be restored if we are to prosper.”
“Poetic,” the old empire says somewhat dryly. “But what do you want me to do, al-Nasir? I’m afraid I cannot take sides. Fighting against one’s self defeats the purpose wouldn’t you say?”
Al-Nasir; that was the name they gave him. The defender of the faith. He had always liked a determined man. He watched as the emir’s face puckered into a frown of frustration, until finally he gave up and signalled for the wine boy. “Then putting that aside for now,” he said, “let us talk about something a little more…productive to your tastes, perhaps. The rebellions…?”
“…are led by the temperamental forces of children,” Al-Andalus assured him, brushing the concern aside with a wave of his hand. “They are at that age where they are young and rebellious. Do not let it bother you too much, al-Nasir. I shall deal with my boys the way I have always dealt with them.”
The wine boy arrived with the pitcher wearing a tempting array of red silk and simple gold jewellery. He knelt by the emir, careful to keep his eyes downcast as he refilled his cup. “You ought to be careful my lord,” Rahman said lightly, turning his gaze upon the boy and gently fingering his pale, curly hair. “Dealing with attractive boys is far more dangerous than having to deal with a mischievous, beautiful woman.” The boy kept his head down, fingers tight around the neck of the pitcher. Al-Andalus watched him curiously with a raised eyebrow.
“And you would know all about the temptations of boys wouldn’t you,” he replied, struck with the consistency of his visits to the emirate of Córdoba, and how often they had taken place in the harem as of late. It would seem that Rahman was becoming a little self-indulgent the more the years passed him by. Enough to have a harem for both men and women in his court; and it both amused Al-Andalus and made him thoughtful. It wouldn’t do to become too indulgent. Indulgency often led to letting one’s guard down, and Allah help him, he did not need his Empire dividing up into separate states within one moderately-sized and generally manageable country.
“Ah, so you agree that my Pelagius is beautiful then.” The emir sounded pleased. He patted the boy’s pale rounded cheek. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen and Al-Andalus found he did have to agree; the child’s curly blonde hair and doe eyes made him positively cherubic. “Are your boys as well behaved as he is?”
“You certainly do seem to be doing well for yourself,” Al-Andalus said amiably. “But it is as I have said; they are children. Hardy, but inexperienced in warfare. One would think that they would grow weary of this tug-of-war after so many years. It almost feels cruel to crush their hopes so quickly.”
Rahman continued petting the boy’s hair with a vague smile. “The vigour of youth is a splendid thing indeed, my lord. They are so trusting, so willing to forgive, not like you and I.”
“Are you implying something about my age, al-Nasir?” the empire inquired smilingly. The emir shrugged fluidly, glad that he had not taken it as an insult. He had known this man that claimed to be the embodiment of his beloved Al-Andalus since the cradle, but that did not make him any less imposing, nor terrifying.
“Only that you are admirable for being able to keep up with those boys of yours, my lord.”
Al-Andalus did not feel the need to point out to him that older nations tended to have far greater endurance and energy than younger ones, instead taking the hookah to his lips again and claiming, “Their spirit is intoxicating, what can I say?”
“Indeed?” Rahman looked interested. He tugged his unresponsive yet beautiful harem boy closer to him, who only curled in on himself and closed his eyes, as though trying to will his hands off his body. Al-Andalus briefly wondered why he did not favour one of the more enthusiastic ones. “Would you believe that his uncle gave him up for ransom; though I’m not complaining, it certainly made my victory at Valdejunquera all the sweeter.”
Ah, the empire thought silently, as he put two and two together. A slave, and a Christian slave at that; that would explain things.
“My dear Pelagius, where are your manners?” The emir smiled genially at his charge. “Come now, we mustn’t be rude to our guest.” The boy barely glanced at him with muted brown eyes, but he came forward on his knees and kissed Al-Andalus’ proffered hand whilst greeting him softly and apologizing for his impertinence all the same. Perhaps Rahman just liked them submissive. He knew he certainly didn’t; boys were of no interest to him if they didn’t fight back a little.
“I’m sorry my lord,” the emir said. “He’s just a little shy. After having to deal with your rambunctious pair he must seem a little -”
“It is fine,” Al-Andalus cut him off. “No harm done.”
“Speaking of your boys,” Rahman trails off, looking around pointedly. Al-Andalus shook his head.
“Outside,” he responded. “They do not care much for the harems unless their motive is terrifying the women by sneaking into their living quarters and stealing their headscarves.” The thought made him smile a little to himself. It reminded him of how young they really were; just boys, playful, charming beautiful boys. “I can only hope they have found a way to amuse themselves.”
Behind the ornate doors, a vase fell to the floor with a resounding crash.
Al-Andalus sighed through his nose. “Perhaps not,” he said ruefully. There was the brief sound of scuffle, and then Lusitania exclaimed in an awkwardly strong voice just recently cracked,
“Tanio, I told you not to touch anything!”
Then his younger brother protesting, “I didn’t do it on purpose, hermano! It was already tilting off its pedestal to begin with!”
“So why did you have to go and aggravate the situation?!”
Al-Andalus gave Rahman a withering look and rolled his eyes. The emir smiled. “It’s alright, my lord. I wasn’t particularly fond of that vase anyway. You know how restless boys can be.” He nuzzled his wine boy affectionately. The youth paled a little, but did not squirm away. It made the empire somewhat uncomfortable to watch him; he had always paid respect to the importance of consent, especially when involving a partner so young. He stared at the boy, who stared right on back, and found he had to look away from the accusing look in those eyes.
“Jibrail! Tanios!” he called out commandingly over his shoulder. There was a silence, then shuffling. The door of the harem creaked open slowly and two nearly identical faces peered out, one wide-eyed, the other narrowed in suspicion. Al-Andalus gave them a stern look. “Come over here where I can keep an eye on you,” he ordered, and gestured to the plush cushions surrounding himself and the emir. The pair hesitated. “Now.”
The door opened wider and Hispania rushed in, his maroon robes swirling around his thin, lanky frame. Lusitania followed him at a stiff walk, arms folded stubbornly in deep green sleeves. “Harun, what’s taking so long?” the former demanded, throwing himself at his guardian’s back and curling his hands into the cloth at his shoulders. His forehead butted gently against the back of Al-Andalus’ neck. “You promised we’d be home by now.” He sounded so petulantly endearing that the empire couldn’t resist patting him on his dark head.
“Old men think they have all the time in the world, didn’t you know that?” Lusitania replied rudely, even though the question was not directed at him. He smoothed out his own robes at the knees and sat down directly on Al-Andalus’ right thigh without comment. He was sulking again. The empire sighed and tugged affectionately on the end of Lusitania’s braid; he received a dirty look for his efforts. Hispania came around his other side and sat down next to his brother, so that the empire had two growing teenage boys in his lap instead of one and he wondered if they were doing it on purpose. He huffed and put his arms around their waists to hold them steady. Hispania cheerfully leaned back into him; Lusitania didn’t.
Rahman eyed the three of them with envy. Al-Andalus cleared his throat and gestured for him to continue, still maintaining his appearance as a powerful nation despite the burden he was now carrying. “Did you have anything else to add, al-Nasir?” he wanted to know, hoping the man was smart enough to realize not to bring up the Christian uprisings in front of his two wards. Hispania and Lusitania ran hot and cold with him, hormonal and aggressive one instant and loving and constantly demanding his attention the next; but the crushing of their Christian beliefs and people was a mutually sore topic between them. Even Hispania, who was by nature far less belligerent than his older brother, became fierce when forced upon or threatened.
The emir raised a curious eyebrow but resumed the conversation and the topic turned to trade, education, and the grand library that now stands in the city. It had been a difficult task to imprint the importance of reading and writing to the boys initially because they had argued that they already had a language, words and letters and symbols and Lusitania had looked close to striking him across the face when he told them that they wouldn’t need those things anymore. But they had loved the stories he read to them; tales of desert paradises, magic lamps and djinns that granted wishes. They eventually accepted his language but held on to their own. He found he didn’t mind as much as he probably should have. It was hard enough living together without picking on petty things.
Hispania squirmed restlessly, already bored with the proceedings. Al-Andalus stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head; he brushed his lips over the curve of Lusitania’s cheek when he turned to glare at them. They were brothers, and so they fought over a great many things. The empire had since learned it was best to keep them both happy lest he find a Christian army suddenly terrorising a city just because one felt neglected. Lusitania blushed to the roots of his hair and gave him a glowering that made his hazel eyes shine, but he rubbed a hand over his cheek and made a disgruntled noise all the same. Hispania took it as an invitation.
He shifted and pressed himself close to the empire, wrapped his skinny arms around Al-Andalus’ broad shoulders and jammed his nose into the small space where his neck was covered neither by his robes or his headscarf. Warm breath tingled against his skin. It became very hard to concentrate after that. He dragged his fingers very pointedly down the bumps of the boy’s spine.
“Tanios,” he said soft and warningly, but Hispania just shook his head and pressed his lips to his pulse.
“You promised,” he said again, saying the word importantly and with emphasis. Lusitania tilted his head back to watch but his expression doesn’t betray any interest, remained unreadable, cool and calculating. Demanding, except Lusitania knew better than to demand. Al-Andalus does not take pleasure from hurting children so young but sometimes the boy is so ill-tempered and defiant that he asks for it. “One kiss…?” Hispania wheedles, and it’s so hard to refuse those big green eyes from such close quarters, “pretty please?”
“He told you to wait until after the meeting so wait,” Lusitania bites out and his brother makes a show of pouting, cheek pressed against the curve of the empire’s throat.
“That was hours ago,” Hispania protests and they look like they’ll start arguing again right then and there but the emir clears his throat loudly and Al-Andalus is brought back to earth hard enough to look up and acknowledge him.
“Yes?” he demanded and wrenched his head away from the kisses Hispania was trying to lave all over his cheeks.
Rahman gave him a pointed look. “I don’t mind continuing this another day if my lord has…prior commitments,” he said rather purposefully, eyeing the boys on the empire’s lap with something akin to greed and running his own hand rather slowly down his harem boy’s back and over the curve of his hip. Al-Andalus sighed. He shifted, hooking his arms around both Hispania’s and Lusitania’s middles and lifted, forcing them to stand on their own two feet.
“Well if I have overstayed my welcome,” he said with mock disappointment and gestured the brothers towards the door again. “Boys…”
But Hispania was now sufficiently distracted and was staring at Rahman’s harem boy with something akin to wonder. He gave his brother a meaningful look; Lusitania returned his gaze levelly. Then at the same time, they both removed themselves from Al-Andalus’ arms and crouched down across from him. Both the emir and Al-Andalus looked at each other in surprise. The boy shared in Hispania’s look of wonderment; as though something invisible had passed between them.
Rahman was the first to recover. “Perhaps we should leave the young ones to get better acquainted?”
The empire didn’t like the sound of that. Leaving Hispania and Lusitania in the company of their own kind, amongst Christians, was a point of contention with him. It put ideas into their heads; made them wild and bright-eyed and strong-willed, and not at all in the way that he appreciated as a ruling nation. It was as if the old blood of Germania was still with them; almost like they could pick out one of their own at a mere glance. The very idea of it unnerved him. Rahman was a good man and a decent, strong-minded ruler - he would need someone like him to keep the caliphate together and subdue the boys’ various stages of rebellion. He had to nip this problem in the bud before they were fully grown or it would cause all sorts of problems.
“Perhaps next time,” he said at last, and waved his hand at the adjoining room. “Tanios, Jibrail, we’ll be leaving in...” Hispania turned his head to pout. He sighed. “Five more minutes at the most,” he assured him, and he put his hand over his heart, briefly wondering if he had ever been so eager in his own youth. It had been such a long time ago he could scarcely remember.
Hispania brightened. He promptly leaned over and hugged the startled harem boy tightly. “Bye al-Nasir! Bye Pelayo! Take care.” Al-Andalus would have to chide him for eavesdropping later. Lusitania watched his brother step aside with a shake of his head, before turning himself and clasping the boy’s hands with his own.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispered, so faintly the boy had to lean in to hear it, but Al-Andalus caught him mouthing the words ‘God be with you’ as he stood, not releasing the boy’s hands until he absolutely had to.
“Jibrail,” he said dark and warningly, but Lusitania just gave him a defiant look and opened his mouth to retort but stopped short when the harem boy squeezed his hand, looking up at him with imploring, hope-filled eyes.
“Jibrail?” he repeated Al-Andalus’ words slowly, as though he could not believe them to be true. “Jibrail…Gabriel, San Gabriel?” he wondered aloud, looking at Lusitania curiously. The boy started in alarm, mouth working wordlessly.
“I’m not, that isn’t…”
Hispania laughed. “Don’t be silly Pelayo,” he said cheerfully, as though taking it all to be a particularly funny joke. “Hermano isn’t a saint at all.” His brother whirled on him. Al-Andalus positioned himself between them before the insults turned to fists and started flying.
“Though he is certainly angelic enough to be named after one,” the emir put in admirably, forestalling any more of Lusitania’s stutters and causing the boy to clam shut and duck his head to glare at the floor.
“Yes, in everything but temperament,” the empire said flatly and turned. “Outside,” he commanded, tone leaving no room for argument. “Go.”
Hispania beamed, undeterred. “Okay!” he said cheerfully and dragged his older, sulkier brother along with him, waving as he went. “See you later Pelayo!” The door shut with a shuddering groan behind them.
Rahman watched them go. “They’re good boys,” he offered to his nation, seeing his conflicted expression. Al-Andalus heaved out a long breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.
“I know,” he said and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The emir shifted to take a drink of his wine. “Will you reject my proposal then?” he asked casually, “for the sake of love?”
“No,” the nation answered immediately and drew himself up straight. “I am their conqueror, not their parent, friend or lover. And I will do what needs to be done to make sure my empire isn’t compromised.”
Rahman seemed to agree with this statement. “I see. Do you know my lord,” he added thoughtfully “of that old saying? If every woman has one devil accompanying her, then boys as handsome as that surely have at least seventeen.”
Al-Andalus begrudged himself for agreeing with that statement as whole-heartedly as he did. “I’ll see you later, Rahman.”
“Take your time my lord,” the emir said with a slight smirk. “I dare say I’ll be rather busy myself. Isn’t that right Pelagius?” he cooed, drawing the boy sitting by his side even closer. Pelagius shrunk back even though his body did not jerk away in the slightest. His eyes were wide and fearful. Al-Andalus frowned at him and clucked his tongue.
“I would take another boy tonight if were you,” he observed and rose to his feet. “This one seems to be a little under the weather.” Brown eyes looked up at him in surprise. The emir thankfully did not seem to notice. It was a little white lie, a stab of sympathy for the poor creature. He was not entirely without honour, no matter what his boys and their Christian forces seemed to think on the contrary.
“Beautiful boys ought to be admired,” he said and turned on his heel. “Not broken.”
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[tbc]
A/N:
Well here it is. My Islamic Spain and Portugal story that will probably be decently long and cover all the uncomfortable, tears and heartache that went into this period in their lives. So there will be shota in this story. Which makes me aaaaah like all hell, but it's necessary for the angst. ;; Note that Portugal would be around 15 here in the 900s, which would make Spain 14.
The title is of course taken from that famous collection of stories: A Thousand and One Nights, better known in the west as Arabian Nights. I imagined many of them would have passed off as bedtime stories for our young nations in their days as children of the empire. X)
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Names: The Iberian Peninsula was split into a number of provinces by the Roman Empire, all under the name of Hispania, which was then divided again into three main areas: Tarraconensis, Baetica and Lusitania. Lusitania made up most of what is known today as modern Portugal, who reclaimed the western portion of the peninsula during the Reconquista and renamed himself under the Roman name of Portus Cale. The rest of the area of course, remained known as Hispania, though it was split into much smaller kingdoms and wouldn't unite into what we know as modern Spain until 1492.
Of course, under Islamic rule both countries were known simply as Al-Andalus, barring the northern region of consolidated Christians that was known as the Kingdom of Asturias. To simplify things I have referred to Portugal as Lusitania and Spain as Hispania, as they both kept those names long after the fall of Rome, well into the conquering of the Germanic Suevic/Visgothic kingdoms and even during the period of the Reconquista. The names are classically Latin, similar to other provinces such as Britannia (England), Gallia (France) and Anatolia (Turkey).
The Reconquista - a period of nearly 800 years in which the many Christian kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula succeeded in retaking the territory back from the Islamic rulers, who had invaded the peninsula in 711 and defeated the Germanic tribes that had settled there after the fall of Rome. It was one of the leading inspirations for the Crusades during the Middle Ages.
Al-Andalus - After the death of Mohammed, his followers took it upon themselves to spread the faith by conquering much of the Middle East and spreading out from there. These states of rule were called Caliphs, and stretched all the way from Central Asia to the Pyrenees in Northern Spain during the height of their rule.
Abbasids/Fatamids - The Islamic Empire had many facades and subdivisions. The peninsula was ruled by the Umayyad Caliphate, which was the 6th largest empire of all time and the 3rd largest of the Middle Ages. The Abbasids were another caliphate who challenged and won against them, taking the empire and moving it eastwards, succeeding in taking all the territory there but Al-Andalus. The Fatamids, similarly, were challenging them for the northern portions of Africa, such as the kingdom of Morocco. As it was, the Islamic Empire eventually spread itself too thin and collapsed upon itself, to be eventually thrown out of Iberia and taken over by the Ottoman Empire.
Abd-ar-Rahman III - He ruled Al-Andalus for over half a century as the most powerful prince in Iberia from 912 - 961. His mother was a Christian concubine, his grandmother the daughter of a captive Christian King. He was described as an attractive man who overcame the Christian kingdoms in his later years as ruler, repelling the Fatimids and making Al-Andalus the cultural capital and elite navy force of the Mediterranean. However he became indulgent in his old age, and was known to keep both a female and male harem.
Pelagius - a thirteen year old boy that the emir reputedly fell in love with during his rule and who later threw off his advances and demands he convert to Islam. He was later martyred for his faith, causing a surge of uprisings in the Christian kingdoms. I will go into that more in later chapters.
Young boys - In the Middle Ages, the company of young, beautiful boys was often more sought after than that of older, prettier women. Boys were seen as more of a temptation than girls, and many a poet could wax on in purple prose about them for hours. The Christian nations of course, took this as a sign to ridicule a number of Arabic ones, but a number of early accounts of the liturgy could not deny the beauty of some youths regardless.
Jibrail and Tanios - The Arabic versions of Gabriel and Antonio, Portugal's given name (in my personal headcanon), and Spain's. In the events of this story, Al-Andalus takes away the boys 'country' names when he takes over the peninsula and in return gives them something they never had before; 'human' names. Which are just about useless for anything except personal recognition. Antonio is of course, originally Latin Antonius -> Greek derived from the word Anthos meaning flower. Gabriel on the other hand is Hebrew, taken from the messenger angel of God. I'll go in to how their names were chosen for their personalities later on.