Iago/Othello fanfiction
Title: Othello's memories
Writer: lucre_noin
Beta reader: hyarrowen
Rating: PG
Pairings or characters: Othello, Iago
Warnings: preslash
Plot: Othello helped a Venetian soldier in Aleppo.
Othello's Memories
And say besides, "That in Aleppo once,
where a malignant and a Turk turban'd
beat a Venetian and traduced the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
and smote him, thus.
Al-Shahab. The citadel is huge and majestic. The soldiers are still dazzled, amazed. Aleppo is exotic, Aleppo is a city where women are sweet as honey and soft as silk.
The Venetian soldiers know the city, like the other soldiers and merchants who pass through the city to reach the port. Othello is also there.
He is not yet a general, he is young and strong and different from the soldiers who march with him. His general loves him, understands him and treats him with honor, he can see the purity of his soul and his courage behind the features and dark exterior.
Because Othello has to have courage. And his courage is the reason is why this night in Aleppo, he does not hold back when he sees some Turkish soldiers beating a man. They are drunk, at this time everyone was drunk - except that Othello does not drink because too often has seen the results of alcohol.
"What's happening?" Othello demands and he has a clear and powerful voice, the voice of a commander.
One of the Turkish soldiers spits on the floor and answeres something in his own language, something offensive for sure.
The man among the soldiers, three Turkish soldiers, rises from the ground. He is young, he cannot have more than twenty summers and has the air of a soldier, too. He is wearing the colors of Venice, but Othello does not remember seeing him among the troops. He has short hair and one eye is closed and swollen.
One of the Turkish soldiers moves to hit him and time seems to slow down because when he raises his fist to strike the Venetian again, the Moor Othello is already on him and has a hand on his throat while he other is drawing his sword and it is piercing the soldier like the dog he is.
The man gurgles something and chokes and falls to the ground and blood is everywhere. Another Turkish soldier rushes to him, but Othello is fast (no alcohol in the body and the night air is cold on his damp skin) and wounds his arm. Perhaps the game is not worth the candle, and the two remaining Turkish soldiers flee.
"Thank you," murmures the Venetian, rising from the ground. His voice is slightly hoarse and Othello grabs his arm to help him. He has a soldier's arm.
"It is but my duty."
"You are the Moor, Othello," croaks the soldier and held one hand under his own nose to stop the bleeding.
He is a beautiful man, Othello notes, intelligence shines in his uninjured eye.
"My name is Iago, and now, my lord, I owe you my life," smiles Iago, grasping Othello's hand with hiw own, dirty with blood.
Writer: lucre_noin
Beta reader: hyarrowen
Rating: PG
Pairings or characters: Othello, Iago
Warnings: preslash
Plot: Othello helped a Venetian soldier in Aleppo.
Othello's Memories
And say besides, "That in Aleppo once,
where a malignant and a Turk turban'd
beat a Venetian and traduced the state,
I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
and smote him, thus.
Al-Shahab. The citadel is huge and majestic. The soldiers are still dazzled, amazed. Aleppo is exotic, Aleppo is a city where women are sweet as honey and soft as silk.
The Venetian soldiers know the city, like the other soldiers and merchants who pass through the city to reach the port. Othello is also there.
He is not yet a general, he is young and strong and different from the soldiers who march with him. His general loves him, understands him and treats him with honor, he can see the purity of his soul and his courage behind the features and dark exterior.
Because Othello has to have courage. And his courage is the reason is why this night in Aleppo, he does not hold back when he sees some Turkish soldiers beating a man. They are drunk, at this time everyone was drunk - except that Othello does not drink because too often has seen the results of alcohol.
"What's happening?" Othello demands and he has a clear and powerful voice, the voice of a commander.
One of the Turkish soldiers spits on the floor and answeres something in his own language, something offensive for sure.
The man among the soldiers, three Turkish soldiers, rises from the ground. He is young, he cannot have more than twenty summers and has the air of a soldier, too. He is wearing the colors of Venice, but Othello does not remember seeing him among the troops. He has short hair and one eye is closed and swollen.
One of the Turkish soldiers moves to hit him and time seems to slow down because when he raises his fist to strike the Venetian again, the Moor Othello is already on him and has a hand on his throat while he other is drawing his sword and it is piercing the soldier like the dog he is.
The man gurgles something and chokes and falls to the ground and blood is everywhere. Another Turkish soldier rushes to him, but Othello is fast (no alcohol in the body and the night air is cold on his damp skin) and wounds his arm. Perhaps the game is not worth the candle, and the two remaining Turkish soldiers flee.
"Thank you," murmures the Venetian, rising from the ground. His voice is slightly hoarse and Othello grabs his arm to help him. He has a soldier's arm.
"It is but my duty."
"You are the Moor, Othello," croaks the soldier and held one hand under his own nose to stop the bleeding.
He is a beautiful man, Othello notes, intelligence shines in his uninjured eye.
"My name is Iago, and now, my lord, I owe you my life," smiles Iago, grasping Othello's hand with hiw own, dirty with blood.