He wakes up right at the crack of dawn, like always. After getting dressed and making sure he is presentable (and that his household vessel is securely coiled around his arms), he wastes no time in heading to the palace's kitchen and grabbing a light breakfast. 'Breakfast' meaning a small cup of tea, since food never did sit well with Ja'far this early in the day. He can always join the other Generals for lunch (or maybe dinner) later if the workload allows it. Never mind the fact that it rarely does.
As he internally mulls over the plans for the day (most of which consist of work), he sips his tea and greets the occasional servant or guard that happens to pass by him on the way to his office. By the time he arrives at the White Capricorn Tower, the civil servants working the night shift have already left, and it is quiet. Ja'far welcomes the rare silence and lets it relax him as he starts on the monthly tax reports. They are all finished within the next few hours, and he is moving on to the inventory list when the bell chimes and snaps him out of his work-induced trance. He glances over at the large sundial near the structure and quickly stands up to leave upon realizing that he has a meeting to attend in just a few minutes. Gathering a few necessary scrolls in his arms (and the rest of the inventory lists to work on later), he takes them with him downstairs to the room where Drakon and several of the higher ranking soldiers are waiting.
The meeting only lasts for an hour or two. It's mostly filled with discussions of how to improve the military's training regiment and the distribution of troops around Sindria's borders to better defend against invasion – something which has become increasingly likely in the past few months. Unfortunately, the meeting yields little success, and they only manage to come to an agreement about the training program before Ja'far is forced to apologetically dismiss everyone early in order to meet with a couple foreign dignitaries; one is from Reim, the other from Kou.
Neither of those meetings go particularly well, either. The head merchant from Reim is adamant on closing several of the trade routes between the empire's numerous states and Sindria, and convincing him otherwise is a struggle. It takes a fair amount of negotiation and bargaining on Ja'far's part to prevent Sindria from losing another source of income. The dignitary from Kou, on the other hand, is bloodthirsty. He comes with yet another proposal from the First Prince – in short, if Sindria cannot prove it still possesses a viable king, then they must surrender leadership to the Kou Empire or be prepared to face an all out war. The man is cocky, but Ja'far will not allow the kingdom Sinbad built to fall to the likes of Kouen, especially not over a simple broken down negotiation.
It takes several hours of carefully explaining to him the king's condition (and bluffing about the amount of support coming from other countries in the Alliance), but by the time night begins to fall the other man is finally satisfied and Ja'far can let out a sigh of relief once he's left alone. As soon as he regains his composure, he retreats back to the Purple Leo Tower and enters the hallway containing the king's personal quarters. He knocks lightly on the door and waits for a second before it opens and Yamuraiha pokes her head out.
"How is he?" Ja'far inquires. He's lost count of how many times he's asked this. He's also lost count of how many times Yamuraiha's answer has been the same.
"There is no change. He still won't respond to any outside stimuli. We've tried everything, but…" The younger General bites her lip and casts her gaze to the floor. "I-I'm sorry…"
Ja'far is silent for a few seconds before nodding and responding, "Very well. Why don't you retire for now? I will watch over him for a while." The water mage leaves after thanking him, and the advisor slips inside the quarters. It is tidy as ever within the spacious room, though a bit more cluttered with healing supplies than the last few times he's visited. Over in the far corner is a large bed, and Ja'far silently approaches it as if he might accidentally wake the king that lays inert upon it with one wrong step. Sinbad, of course, doesn't stir even when his right-hand man stands next to him at his bedside. He never does anymore.
Ja'far scolds him. "You know, you really ought to stop lazing about like that. You're starting to worry Yamuraiha and the others." There is no response, and he continues, "Is your aversion to paperwork really so overwhelming that you feel the need to go to this sort of extreme simply to avoid it? You must admit that this is a new low, even for you. Honestly…"
If the king hears, he isn't giving any indication of it. Sighing, the silverette picks up a comb lying near him, sits down on the side of the bed, and gently begins working a knot out of the long violet hair.
"We nearly lost another trading partner today," Ja'far says. "Scheherazade must have heard of your predicament. The Kou Empire is also becoming bolder. We barely avoided having another representative declare war on us. When are you planning on waking up, Sin? We can only do so much without you…"
His king remains motionless. Ja'far finishes untangling the knot, but lets the silky hair remain between his fingers as he sets the comb down. He briefly considers twisting the soft strands back up (the older man was always ridiculously vain when it came to his own hair; perhaps if it was messed up enough, then maybe…), but decides against it and instead allows them to slip back onto the pillow where the rest of Sinbad's hair pools around his broad shoulders. Even after having his precious mane touched, the king doesn't stir. It's almost as if the man has become a statue. Ja'far presses his lips into a firm line as he rearranges the blanket over his ruler.
"The others are losing faith in you," he mutters after a few moments of silence. "I overheard Hinahoho and Yamuraiha several days ago. They believe you're a lost cause. I've heard many others say similar things. Three guards even had the nerve to refer to me as their king yesterday. Me." The silverette scoffs here. "As if anyone could replace you. I don't know of anyone else who could avoid paperwork as much as you and still inspire millions, much less run a country successfully. You truly are a singularity, aren't you, Sin? How do you do it?" There is, of course, no response, which is fine since it was a rhetorical question. Still, Ja'far forces the heavy feeling in his chest away as he continues.
"I know you are not the type to stay still for such extended periods of time, so it would be in both your and everyone else's best interests to wake up soon, if only to prove to them that you are able to. In such an event I might even be willing to lift your alcohol ban…as long as you drink sensibly, that is. Drink any more and I swear you will never see another drop of that cursed liquid again. Or any of those dancers you're so attached to. And I will ensure you do your share of paperwork from then on. You wouldn't want that, would you?" He lets out a sigh.
"That said, once you do decide to return to us, I want you to be more careful. No more risking throwing your life away. Not for one person, not for another country, not for anyone. Your life is more important. When so many others are depending on you, dying from anything barring old age is unacceptable. If it takes me repeating this everyday to get it through your thick skull, then I will do it gladly. No one is taking any pleasure out of seeing you this way. If you ever have the idiocy to do this to your own people ever again, King Sinbad, I swear to Solomon that I will kill you." He lets go of the sheets and flicks Sin's forehead lightly. "And this time, I mean it."
With those words, the advisor rises to leave. The next maid's shift should be starting right about now, so the king will not be left alone. However, Ja'far does not hear her footsteps coming down the hallway yet, so he stays for a few moments, simply observing the rise and fall of his majesty's chest.
The sound of a pair of blades hitting a borg, a manic laugh. The blast of magical energy is heading directly towards him. His feet are stuck to the ground with ice, he can't move away in time, he won't survive it at this range…
"JA'FAR!"
No, wait, don't-!
But it's too late.
The blast never reaches him.
Ja'far's breath hitches in his throat.
Blood. Lots of it. His robes are stained red with it. The man in his arms is unmoving, his Djinn Equip fading away as the life leaves his body. Sin, I'm so sorry, I failed I failed I failed…
Abruptly, he reaches a pale hand out to Sinbad's neck. He breathes a sigh of relief when he still feels a pulse; it's strong as ever, despite its owner's unconscious state. Of course it would be. Only Sinbad's heart would still be beating after an injury that severe. No doubt it reflected on the man himself. Ja'far manages to will himself to pull away just seconds before a voice comes from the doorway.
"My lord…?"
The white-haired General glances over his shoulder, surprised at being snuck up on but not showing it. It's the maid showing up to begin her shift, albeit slightly late. She has a bucket of water and a couple of towels in hand to bathe Sinbad with. She couldn't have been moving very quickly or quietly – he must have been deeply distracted by his thoughts to not have noticed her presence sooner. Had the woman been a threat, Sin might have been wounded further by now. He'll need to keep his guard up more if he ever wants to keep anything else from happening to his king. He cannot fail a second time.
Useless. Entirely useless. Can't even hear a maid approaching, much less get yourself unstuck from a little ice in time. Useless.
The corners of his lips turn up in a small smile and Ja'far says, "Ah, yes. I was just about to leave. I'll leave you to your duties." The maid moves closer to the bed, and just as the advisor reaches the door, he turns back to Sinbad and bids his king goodnight. He pauses for a moment, almost daring to hope for a response but knowing he won't receive one. Still, his half-grin falters when Sin doesn't even twitch. He also has to push the ever-growing sense of hopelessness away as he steps out of the bedroom.
His king will wake up.
Despite what the other Generals may be thinking, their king will be fine. The man had been through worse and had always come out with a big smile and only a few new scars. Why should this time be any different? Their king will be fine. Why can't anyone else see that?
Taking a deep breath, Ja'far shoves all these thoughts to the side, where they will inevitably plague him later. He has other matters to focus on at the moment. New meeting schedules, preparations for oncoming guests, reassuring the populace that yes, Sinbad is still alive and Ja'far is only a temporary stand in, etcetera…He cannot afford to get distracted and slow down now, for that would only cause more harm to Sindria. It was Ja'far's failure that nearly cost the people their king; it will not be his failure that leads to the country's downfall. Ja'far will make sure of that. But if Sin never wakes up because of his mistake…
The silverette quickly shakes his head. Thoughts like these will get him nowhere. Sinbad will be fine, it just may be a longer wait than usual. If it takes another several months for those eyes to open, then so be it. In the meantime, Ja'far will keep running the kingdom in the older man's stead. He has no other choice.
And now, his nightly visit with Sin over, the advisor walks back towards the White Capricorn Tower.
It's late, and he has work to do.
Hi, guys! This is my first time writing a Magi fic, and I'm trying to see if I can write the characters properly, so please be patient (but still tell me) if they're a little OOC or the oneshot itself felt as choppy to you as it did to me. This thing took way longer than it should have to write. It was supposed to be shorter in length, too, but oh well. Also, in case this thing ended up becoming confusing (I was a little tired when I wrote parts of it), basically what happened is that they were fighting Judar (for some reason that I'm too lazy to think up) and Sinbad (since he figured his Djinn Equip would protect him from some of the damage) ended up taking a shot meant for Ja'far (who definitely would have died if he had gotten hit) and ended up in a coma. Ja'far is ruling the kingdom until he wakes up, but that doesn't seem like it'll be happening any time soon, and the other Generals (and Ja'far to some degree, even if he doesn't want to admit it) are beginning to lose hope. And since Sindria is technically without an official monarch at the moment, the other countries aren't exactly being super helpful. Meanwhile, Ja'far is also feeling stressed out and guilty the entire time. Poor baby, he can't catch a break. (Come to think of it, I don't think he ever ended up eating anything after having that cup of tea…) D: Anyway, I apologize once again for any OOC-ness or general problems this story might have. Please read and review, but be gentle with the criticisms - however, if you want, as long as they're constructive, then have at me. Thanks again!
Oneshot word count (not including author's note): 2, 134