A/N: I always wondered what Ja'far's story was, so I made my own. Might update as The Adventures of Sinbad continue...
I do not own these characters, If I did there would havebeen a love confession on page one.
Life had never really been that good before Sinbad. The abuse, starvation, brainwashing... It all led up to that day, the day he was free.
Ja'far still hadn't come to terms with it. He still remembered his days with Sham Lash, and the horrors that filled every moment from the time he was born.
He stood in front of a mirror in his bedchambers, looking at his body. The scars were still as vibrant as ever, marking his body like a map of hell. The jagged lines, crude stitch marks, and gaps where skin and flesh should have been...
He always bugged Sinbad about finally settling down and taking a wife. He was 30, after all, it was high time he did something. However, now then king's replies had turned to a series of why don't you's. Ja'far grumbled every time that the king knew exactly why.
No woman could love a man as ugly as him. Hell, no man could either.
He traced some of the scars, remembering his story.
He had been born into Sham Lash. His mother, a slave, had been sold to the organization while pregnant with Ja'far. All he remembered about her was that she was a beautiful woman... And he was forced to kill her.
Her last words still echoed in his ears.
"Be brave, my son! You won't see me again. I never got the chance to escape, but you, Ja'far... You most certainly will. Someone special will help you. You just have to wait for them."
True to her words, the mother didn't make it out alive, dying at the hands of her six-year-old son.
Every moment after that was spent training, training, training. Other children were present among the assassins, most of them poor kids from the slums, desperate for food and money. They were trained from the time they could walk, taught to spar with each other over even the most trivial of items. Many didn't make it as far as Ja'far had.
While the other kids fought, Ja'far stuck to himself. He didn't want to die over a rag doll or new shoes. He just wanted to live.
By age seven, he was sent into the field. He remembered it vividly. The target was an emperor thrown out of his country by his own people. He had fled to the woods and terrorized the villagers ever since. Sham Lash was hired to dispose of him.
Ja'far remembered being escorted to the woods and left there, knives in hand. He was to stick to the trees, strike from above... But for a clumsy seven-year-old, stealth was hard to achieve.
As he snuck above the sleeping man, hidden in the trees, his foot slipped. The branch cracked a bit as he almost plummeted from the tree. He caught hold of it though, and climbed back up. His weight, however, as he struggled to get back up, caused the branch to break free from the mother tree. He landed on the emperor's fat stomach with a thud, waking the man.
Others had to come in and clean up the mess he had created.
After being returned to headquarters, he was chained to a wall, and left there. Many members of the organization gathered around and waited for the cue.
His punishment was rape.
Countless men and women had their way with him throughout the night and into the next day. The pain was unbearable, and he prayed that he wouldn't wake up when they were done.
He didn't get what he asked for.
He was released in the morning.
It took him an hour to crawl painfully to a secluded corner of the facility all the members of Sham Lash shared.
He spent the next week training with adults. He remembered the brutal treatment, being stabbed and cut open. He wasn't fed or cared for. He wrapped himself in bandages and watched as his thin blood soaked through them.
Weeks passed. They turned into months, and the months to years. He recovered, but with each healed injury came two more in its place. He was sent to the field again, under strict supervision, until he lost all emotion, all realization of who he was.
He became a machine, made to kill.
He rose through the ranks quickly, until he led Sham Lash. Head assassin, the best of the best, a ten-year-old boy with nothing on his mind but destruction.
Then he got the announcement; he was to murder a boy, just four years older than him.
He agreed.
He found himself in the ceiling, peering through cracks as he watched the boy sleep.
"That's the next target," he remembered whispering.
But he didn't believe it. The boy, sleeping peacefully between two giants, seemed rather innocent, though mischievous. He dropped from the ceiling.
And then, he never went back.
The boy, Sinbad, had shown him great kindness. He nursed his wounds and healed his soul. Ja'far vowed to follow him always, and to repay him for his kindness. He helped him conquer dungeons, become a king, establish a nation... And he fell in love.
His reverie was interrupted by his king.
"What, do you get a kick out of seeing yourself naked or something?"
Ja'far glared in reply as he quickly got dressed. "No, but I know you do."
Sinbad stuck his tongue out at his advisor, leaning in the doorway. "So what? That's the least of our matters. We have to go to Baldadd before all hell breaks loose."