King's Consort {2/3}afterandalasiaMay 31 2012, 14:08:53 UTC
"Now, boy," he says, throwing Aladdin to the ground once again. "Are you going to behave yourself, or am I going to have to leave you bound for a while longer?"
Aladdin has the shadow of a bruise above his right eye. It doesn't sully his appearance, but it must sting, and Cassim fetches a bowl of cool water and a cloth for it.
"Don't flinch," he says, scowling, as the boy does so. "I'm trying to do something for you, you fool."
"You could have done me the favour of not kidnapping me," Aladdin snaps.
So there is some fire in him. Cassim gives an unimpressed snort as he wipes the sand and dust from the boy's face. "You fight with spirit, and that is something that few of my men can claim. I honestly think that you'd do well among us."
"Kidnapping me from my wedding."
For a moment, Cassim pauses. He remembers his wedding to Mushira, how happy they had been, how quickly things had fallen apart. Then, with a shake of his head, he resumes his work until Aladdin tosses his head to throw away the gentle hands.
"Believe me, I've done you a favour there, too. I've yet to see a love match that didn't turn to ill-will before the end."
Aladdin struggles, lapsing into mutinous silence, and with a look of disgust Cassim lets him be. If he cannot yet understand how lucky he is to have met the Forty Thieves and live, it will probably not be too long before he does so.
~
At first he refuses the food and water Cassim offers him, and promises such violence that Cassim dare not undo the knots that hold him. "It is your choice," Cassim reminds him, every time, and Aladdin snarls and spits in response.
After two days, though, he breaks, and Cassim lets him drink water and finally, with a knife in one hand, releases Aladdin's hands that he might feed himself. He devours his food like a starving beast, and Cassim watches with regretful, knowing eyes.
"You've gone hungry before."
Aladdin pauses only just long enough to reply, "Most of the people I've ever met have," before lifting the bowl to his lips and simply drinking the rest of the stew.
And there, there is the twinge in Cassim's memory that has been bothering him ever since he caught sight of the boy for the first time. Yes, Aladdin might fight as well as Cassim, but his movements are as graceful as Mushira's. And then there is the name; across twenty years and more, Cassim cannot forget the name that he gave his son.
Aladdin.
But his Mushira and his Aladdin are both long gone, and this boy wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and glaring with the slightest lessening of the grudge in his eyes is neither of them.
Cassim picks up the bowl and turns away. He almost misses the mutter of: "Thank you." from behind him.
Aladdin has the shadow of a bruise above his right eye. It doesn't sully his appearance, but it must sting, and Cassim fetches a bowl of cool water and a cloth for it.
"Don't flinch," he says, scowling, as the boy does so. "I'm trying to do something for you, you fool."
"You could have done me the favour of not kidnapping me," Aladdin snaps.
So there is some fire in him. Cassim gives an unimpressed snort as he wipes the sand and dust from the boy's face. "You fight with spirit, and that is something that few of my men can claim. I honestly think that you'd do well among us."
"Kidnapping me from my wedding."
For a moment, Cassim pauses. He remembers his wedding to Mushira, how happy they had been, how quickly things had fallen apart. Then, with a shake of his head, he resumes his work until Aladdin tosses his head to throw away the gentle hands.
"Believe me, I've done you a favour there, too. I've yet to see a love match that didn't turn to ill-will before the end."
Aladdin struggles, lapsing into mutinous silence, and with a look of disgust Cassim lets him be. If he cannot yet understand how lucky he is to have met the Forty Thieves and live, it will probably not be too long before he does so.
~
At first he refuses the food and water Cassim offers him, and promises such violence that Cassim dare not undo the knots that hold him. "It is your choice," Cassim reminds him, every time, and Aladdin snarls and spits in response.
After two days, though, he breaks, and Cassim lets him drink water and finally, with a knife in one hand, releases Aladdin's hands that he might feed himself. He devours his food like a starving beast, and Cassim watches with regretful, knowing eyes.
"You've gone hungry before."
Aladdin pauses only just long enough to reply, "Most of the people I've ever met have," before lifting the bowl to his lips and simply drinking the rest of the stew.
And there, there is the twinge in Cassim's memory that has been bothering him ever since he caught sight of the boy for the first time. Yes, Aladdin might fight as well as Cassim, but his movements are as graceful as Mushira's. And then there is the name; across twenty years and more, Cassim cannot forget the name that he gave his son.
Aladdin.
But his Mushira and his Aladdin are both long gone, and this boy wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and glaring with the slightest lessening of the grudge in his eyes is neither of them.
Cassim picks up the bowl and turns away. He almost misses the mutter of: "Thank you." from behind him.
It makes him smile.
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