I had just been reading "The Arabian Nights" as well as watched the 2000 movie starring Mili Avital and others - the stories of Aladdin, Ali Baba and assorted others all told by Scheherazade, the second wife of the vengeful Sultan Shahryar and the Grand Vizier's daughter, who courageously ups to save herself as well as help her husband overcome his distrust of all women due to the fact his wife betrayed him and slept with his scheming brother. He ended up killing his first wife for it. Now he intended to marry another wife to prevent his brother from taking the throne - only to kill her the next morning to prevent another infidelity. To prevent his madness from murdering an innocent women, Scheherazade ignores the pleas of her father and entertains her abusive husband each night with a fantastical story to earn his trust and help him towards the light.
It was this movie and the stories themselves which inspired me to do a brand new Vorta fic, altered a little to become a true fantasy that has little to no part to the original DS9 show. :) Scheherazade was a brilliant heroine who brought everything to a happy end even when she nearly faced death at her husband's hands, and the husband himself came to forgive her. Which brings me to the story of Weyoun and Kilana - my second fic version of them.
Weyoun is now in the role of the suffering, mad Sultan (Ambassador in this case) and had murdered his wife who betrayed him with his brother (in this case being Luaran and Gelnon); now he needs to remarry to save his position, but the women of his people are ridden with fear - until the beautiful Kilana, daughter of Weyoun's advisor Borath, comes to the decision to save the life of the man she remembers from childhood against her father's pleas. Tales of the "Arabian Nights" are woven with twists of Vorta culture, all combined with an adventure of love, revenge, betrayal, morale and ultimate forgiveness.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Not the movie inspiration, not Star Trek: DS9, or any of the characters.
Chapter One
Gods and Demons
From where he was hiding in the ferns and gracefully curving collection of trees, he watched the vision before his eyes: the lovely Vorta maiden with her long dark hair swirling in curls about her shoulders, covering her ears and revealing based on her change in pace during her dance for her god - her friend? A lowly servant dancing for her god? He found himself a tad jealous. He tried to imagine her dancing for him.
The garb revealed certain areas of her body, brown velvet etched with glamorous beading in colorful swirls of gold, orange and red; panels of orange silk draped the skirt which bared her marvelous legs. She dipped and swirled in the palm of the shape-shifting god, whose smooth peach face contorted in bliss at the sight of the small figure in the palm of his hand. Her beauty could rival no other's, and that was why he picked her of all his followers, it seemed. She bore such power that no one else could see except him. Her dancing enticed him - and him - to no end.
His eyes, wide and blue as the skies, closed when his prize bent her leg and then extended it straight, before placing her hand behind her head and shaking her hips, gyrating and swirling like a whirlpool and carrying him down with her. He laughed, pleased to his core, to the end when she ceased her performance and fell to her knees.
And now it was his turn to perform for her.
His voice rumbled and echoed in the ears of both his slave girl and the hidden one.
"And what shall I do for you, my precious?"
"Anything," she answered. "Surprise me, my master."
So he did: in an instant, he shimmered into golden form, then became a great globe over her and the great embossed metal box sized to engulf the lone lady herself, trapping her - and immediately, he changed into a shower of gold and various colorful jewels, accompanied by assorted flowers including red rose petals and the native lotus - the symbol of divine birth. She let loose a series of cries of unlimited pleasure, dancing around in the rainfall of luxury.
But then it was over, and her god was back into his solid form, tired in the face and perhaps weary to his core. "Later," he told his lady when she begged for more. "Changing my shape is thoroughly exhausting, and I am four hundred and twenty-four years old."
The Vorta laughed and waved it off as nonsense. "You do not look a day over one hundred, Founder."
He laughed, flattered. "Yes, I am as great and powerful as ever I was. We will continue after I have had my...rest." With that, he picked up his trophy and placed her in the box, crested with gems, and then laid down to revert into natural state for his afternoon slumber. That was HIS cue to step out of his hiding place in the forest at the same time the girl managed to pry herself out of her hiding place and make way for the man she waited for.
"Thank you for not telling your friend, the Founder," he told her, his secret lover for some time now. She laughed and waved her hand at him.
"He's not my friend, darling - he is my husband. He keeps me in the box because he is jealous of my beauty and brains. Now..." She laid herself back down against the tree, pulling her skirts up to show more of her elongated, toned legs until they were high enough to show the beginning of the base of her thighs, where she was surely tired of waiting for him. Looking into her glittering violet eyes, he saw the mischief and deceit, lack of care for the one who guarded her and protected her, gave her everything he had but she gave nothing in return.
"You must make love to me while he sleeps. And if you don't -" Her tone suddenly darkened, becoming something more ominous. "- I will scream for him to wake."
Before he knew what he was doing, his hands found their way to her throat, closing tightly around her pale column with a vengeance and silent hatred of her for her lack of shame. Thinking she could use her beauty and wits to get what she wanted and then discard her toy later...he would get her for this, never mind the god's wrath once he discovered her corpse in the box...
~o~
He would always wake up screaming at the same time the woman in his dreams would. In his bedroom of grandeur and glory, carved white marble encompassed with golden accents, and he naked in his bed of opulent golden silk and furs from the quadrant trades - he would wake howling and sweating, the perspiration cooling on his bared flesh and in perfect timing when his longtime friend and trusted advisor would come in.
"Not again, Weyoun," Borath moaned, though his tone and demeanor were steady. This was the fortieth night in a row, and counting. There was never a night when Weyoun, Vorta ambassador of the Dominion and commander of the greatest Jem'Hadar force in the Gamma Quadrant, had a restful sleep since that fateful night and attempt on his life.
The man himself stood from his bed, letting the covers fall from his body and not caring if his advisor saw him. He had known the older Vorta since he was a young one. Then he fell back again when the exhaustion overcame his bones. Sighing heavily, he answered. "Borath, the same dream again. A god's wife tried to kill me, so I killed her." Just as he had killed Luaran when she organized the same misdeed attempted on him.
Borath inhaled and exhaled sharply, picking up an exquisitely patterned burgundy pillow out of habit. "Of course, but it's been a year, my friend. Just as your late wife tried to do the same to you."
Weyoun gritted his teeth, his heart pounding again. "I murdered her, Borath," he agreed. And it had been an accident, but how could you ever call murdering your lifemate an accident even if you were the greatest man in existence, and she the daughter of a nobleman under your thumb? And when your wife engaged in carnal relations with your brother who intended to have him killed and take the mantel for himself?
He looked up when Borath picked up the bronze decanter and offered him a glass of tulaberry wine, courtesy of the Karemma. "Yes, but you are now free of her," he told Weyoun, but the ambassador would not accept the drink at this hour of the morning. A year of being haunted by the betrayal and death of his Luaran, her shameless guile blinding him from seeing the fact that it was she and Gelnon all along to plot his downfall.
He shook off the beverage. "No, Borath," he said coldly, standing and walking away in his nude form. "I will never be free of Luaran. She...haunts me in my every waking day and night. She lies dead and buried elsewhere while Gelnon -" He spat the name. "- my treacherous brother plots to have me taken from my position. He was always jealous of me, always thought to get rid of me at every turn he had. And he managed to charm my wife, my Luaran who was my sole reason to live, into turning her back on me!" He raged and slapped a lotus-etched pillar with enough fury that the palm of his hand would be reddened and bruised for some days to follow. Pain was a relief for him nowadays. "And Borath," he added as he stalked over to the balcony which was carved into a grand arch and overlooked the water and floral gardens, perfuming his senses but actually made him even more ill than he already was, "don't you forget by the next two months, I must take a new wife or else my 'dear' -" Once more, sarcasm. "- brother will have everything come to him. Everything I worked for to keep our people prosperous will fall into his hands which I cannot let happen!"
He closed his eyes, shutting out anything else Borath would say. It was by law that he be married and have children, as it was with other races in the galaxy, but he could not - he would NOT - take another bride, because for all he knew, she would try to do the same that Luaran had tried to do to him. He had fallen in love with her the moment he laid his eyes on her, when his father arranged the union, and he'd have thought she would feel the same - but it was Gelnon all along. He was older than Gelnon, and it was destined that Weyoun be the one to command the Jem'Hadar forces and ensure peace between the Vorta and others around them. But Gelnon always thought him weak to handle anyone stronger than they, including the Klingons. And Weyoun proved him wrong, except his wife was a weakness that he never knew he had.
A weakness he vowed never to let control him again.
So, it was settled. "Another wife would seize the opportunity and try to assassinate me, too," he said to Borath, finally turning to look at him. "If the woman in my dream can betray her husband as well as me, then all women can do so."
Borath looked shocked, even more than before. "But Weyoun, you will lose the Dominion and all it stands for unless you marry as quickly as possible!" he insisted. "You had only one bad experience; it does not mean it will occur again."
The hell it wouldn't, and there was only one thing to do in order to prevent it from happening again. "If I do marry...then she has to be executed."
Borath said nothing else, only continued to listen as the diplomat went on about how there would be a wedding, and then the wedding night to follow per custom - and then by the morning, the bride would be put to death. It was that much more logical and the quickest way to go. So to follow, all Vorta women would assume the same fate. But, no princesses of other races, for it would stem issues with the alliance to form. Weyoun sighed and wrapped his arms around another pillar for support as he felt himself getting weaker and weaker.
There was only one place to get a bride with no noble connections. "Take a girl from the zenana, Borath." Someone bright and happy - but no hope of a prosperous future - and in secrecy, to give the chief executioner and his Jem'Hadar the spare of trouble. No bride needed to be slaughtered by ruthless soldiers.
~o~
Not being of royal birth and the daughter of the Grand Advisor to the Dominion representative, she was free to roam the streets of Maduraa. The fresh smell of kava nuts and assorted seeds from sesame and on, mingled with the making of rippleberry wine and q'lavas on sale - it was magical even if she'd grown up amongst it all. When she was a child, she was sent away across the sea to Delhati for her schooling for the next fifteen years before coming home - and ultimately learning that the young boy she remembered playing with in the gardens had become the representative and second leader of their people.
Fresh fish and other sea catch dominated her senses, too. Melons and other fruits were sold by young women in revealing, colorful clothing showing certain assets while older females bore more covering garments. Men both young and old alike traded and sold the sea material. But in the midst of it all, she roamed the streets until she came to the one place she wanted to be. Kneeling down amongst the crowd, she stood out in her rich blue dress and tunic with the minor embellishments - where the storyteller himself was nearing the end of his latest tale.
"And so," he was saying, crystal clear to her perfect senses - to all perfect senses around him - and she pursed her lips as she relished it, "he was loaded with riches, but that is not -" He held up one finger. "- the end of the story. After Daban was beheaded, the emperor licked his fingers and turned a page in the dead man's book. He stared at the words and then slumped forward dead." He did so himself for emphasis, shocking some of the listening audience; the truth was that the majority of this lot only listened for the sake of it. They wasted precious time coming out here when they had other things to do.
But to her, stories were cherished more than anything on Kurill Prime, more than anything in the Gamma Quadrant - more than anything in the galaxy.
"The pages in the book had been poisoned, so that the emperor wetting his finger had executed himself," Deyos the storyteller finished, ultimately giving his audience the moral of letting greed kill you. It was by then when the others were getting up and leaving that he finally spotted her, remaining even after everyone was gone. "My lady, the sixth time this week," he stated even though he was smiling.
Kilana, daughter of Borath, nodded and stood to walk over and kneel in front of the man she'd grown fascinated by the moment she returned from overseas a few years prior. His stories were the focal of her decision to remain for good. "These people," she said to Deyos, "just sit here for hours, only listening. I call it a miracle what you do, you know that."
He smiled wider. "People need stories more than all the kava nuts and rippleberries in the universe. They tell us how to survive and to guide others along that path."
"Indeed," Kilana agreed. "We all have to survive, and there is always a how and why."
She left him not long after, picking up the needed necessities from the market and returning home in the upper part of the city, not that far from the Maduraa Headquarters because her father was Grand Advisor. She found him in the main lobby with the healer from the headquarters. "Sorry I'm late, Father," she quickly apologized, hurrying to the kitchen and placing the food down into the units before returning to him.
"This is my daughter, Kilana," Borath said. "My friend, you may speak freely in front of her."
The other Vorta nodded, then said hesitantly, "Ambassador Weyoun has been, I'm afraid...eaten by the worm of madness. I'm afraid I cannot cure him; only the Founders can do that."
Kilana closed her eyes. Weyoun, the young man she remembered, had almost been murdered by his wife and brother - both of him conspired to take his post from him, the betrayal sending him spiraling downwards into insanity. No one, not even her father, had been able to pull him back out no matter what. "Beginner's luck," the healer explained, while her father put his face in his hands and sat down before them. "That sort of experience can be very distressing for an experienced professional like the ambassador and myself as well."
"Doctor," Kilana said hesitantly, "when did Weyoun become so ill?" Borath looked up at her, his eyes pleading with her to not get so far, as Weyoun was not the one she remembered. But that wouldn't stop her. She learned a long time ago to never give up on anything. Her mother had that will when she still lived. "I played with him as a child, and he was always so happy. Everyone loved him."
And madness crept in unseen, flooding the soul, the doctor said. And so he left Kilana and Borath be, but the man himself collapsed in defeat. "Father!" she exclaimed, falling beside him. "Are you ill, too?"
She had no idea how sick Weyoun was in the beginning, and her father had done everything he could to make sure no one else knew - and now it was getting worse, it seemed. Borath was getting so himself, as he was dealing with the "worst kind of madman - the ambassador. A madman with power." She leaned against his shoulder as she began to wonder if anything could be done about the tormented soul who needed another kind of saving if not from the healers or her father's advice.
The word zenana is actually an Indian/Iranian word which is nearly the same thing as a harem, which houses the seclusion of women. It seemed right to have another word to fit in place of harem for the Vorta world.
In my research, I looked up the various names of cities in India, and the name of Madurai sounded fit, and I ultimately removed the "I" to make it into the badass-sounding Maduraa (which my boyfriend loved, lol). Delhati is a rearrangement of the known Delhi.
In the beginning before I began, I had to cast the right Vorta for each character from the movie. I knew Weyoun would be the suffering male lead, but I was torn between Eris and Kilana for the role of Scheherazade who will pull him from his darkness - I eventually decided based on personalities from the actual episodes from Deep Space 9. :) Deyos himself from "By Inferno's Light", or something like that, seemed perfect as the storyteller.
Reviews appreciated throughout. :D