A/N: This is related to Antiphony (chapters 16 and 18), but can stand on its own as well. There are a lot of stories out there about Aladdin meeting someone before Jasmine; this is my take on the scenario. Feedback and criticism much appreciated. Thanks to demonegg for beta-ing.
Song inspiration: Hallelujah (Jeff Buckley and Rufus Wainwright's versions are equally fitting)
Sunset
He breathed in evenly, familiar with the heavy, silent air of this room. A room he still refused to think of as hers. She shifted in his arms, and the rubies on her wrist gleamed.
"Why do you keep coming back?" she asked softly.
He wanted her to look into his eyes when she asked such questions. Her shame was deeply buried, but still there in her heart.
"Why are you still staying here?" he asked in return.
She said nothing, and her shoulder felt cold against his chest. She traced his palm with one hand, exploring the lines the fortuneteller had once read. He wondered if she still thought about that day, if it had become one facet of her ill-chosen path.
"There's more out there for you. More than this wretched life of mine." She turned slightly, resting her head beneath his chin. "You should leave."
He listened to her breathing until he knew she was asleep, then left the room. No one spared him a glance in the halls or at the curtained door of the den. A labyrinth, as he had come to see it, though the pathway to escape was clear. He hated the fact she would not take it.
x.x.x
The fortuneteller squinted at them both, a half-blind old hag with several missing teeth. Aladdin held back a laugh as Fara shot him a dubious look, reluctant to take a seat on the ornamented cushions.
"Your hard-earned coin would be better spent on food," she hissed in his ear.
He nudged her forward anyway. "Why do you care? It's not your hard-earned coin. Come on, it'll be fun."
"This old woman may be blind, but deaf she is not. Come, my dear, if you have a taste for truth," the fortuneteller croaked, beckoning with one wizened finger. "Then you may judge whether there is humor in it."
Fara moved forward hesitantly, glancing at him one last time before facing the hag. She extended her palm obediently, letting the old woman trace the lines with her graying nails.
"Ah…" the woman hummed, raising her freckled chin. Eyelashes fluttered over glazed eyes, cracked lips forming a crooked smile. "Comfort and luxury. We all seek what we have lost, this is true. But which path might you take to find it, hmm?"
Fara stiffened, clearly uncomfortable now. Before she could withdraw her hand, the hag let it go with a dismissive noise. "With narrower vision than this old woman, where might you begin to seek? Scour clean the heart, and see if your petty wishes do not change."
Aladdin caught her wrist before she could walk out of the dimly lit room in distress. The sound and chaos of the marketplace were waiting for them outside, and for once she strove to return there. It bothered him that he'd managed to upset her again, though perhaps it was her fault she was so difficult to please.
"Hey, at least let me have my turn," he insisted. She pulled her hand away and stood by the door, not looking at him. He turned from the sight of her brooding countenance, once again lost in bitterness. Shaking his head, he took a seat in front of the fortuneteller and dropped another coin on the table.
"A poor boy with a penchant for costly dreams," the hag said as she read his hand. She gave a dry chuckle. "But that is already evident from your willingness to pay."
She traced his palm more carefully then, staying silent for a long moment. Aladdin watched her curiously, wondering what kind of lucky truth or cryptic lie she might impart.
"Destiny is indeed a wild spirit," she mused. "Alighting on a nameless youth, writing his name in sand that will not shift in the wind. You will find greatness and riches, but none more costly than what lies within. A diamond in the rough."
Aladdin shrugged as Fara questioned him with her eyes on the way out of the fortuneteller's den. They were close to an empty wallet once again, but he was never worried. He could see the brimming of resentment in her gaze, and wondered why he found her more beautiful when she did not smile.
"What? It was just for fun. Doesn't mean anything."
x.x.x
Abu was unhappy with their new guest, a slender young woman with sad eyes. He could tell some tragedy had befallen her, for she carried the same slump in her shoulders as the other humans who dwelled in the refuse-filled alleys and begged instead of stealing. Because he could not see how she was different from the others, he had little pity for her. She was another mouth to feed and a drain on their ever trickling dreams for riches. If she had been a child, not a woman, then perhaps she would have been useful. Little girls were able to beg more coin, he had noticed over the years. This one was too old, even older than Aladdin. But his friend had never seemed happier, so Abu thought he might put up with it for a few more days. Certainly she would not become a permanent member of their team. Two was as high as an efficient band of thieves could go, according to the monkey's calculations.
But the days and weeks passed, and she did not leave. Aladdin was more attached to her than ever, even neglecting his responsibilities in cleaning the hovel and filling their canteens regularly. Abu grudgingly picked up the slack and made his dissatisfaction known as clearly as he could. Aladdin had become irrational and forgetful, and outright unreasonable.
Abu's list of complaints grew each week. He was tired of pilfering pockets alone in the mornings, without Aladdin to congratulate him afterward for his cleverness and stealth. He missed eating large watermelons, which were much tastier and sweeter than small ones, because he could not carry heavy items on his own. He was annoyed to find their coin reserves running low with alarming frequency as the hovel began to accumulate useless trinkets, items only human females would find interest in. Glittering chimes, perfume bottles, embroidered pillows.
One night he awoke to find her gone. Puzzled, he turned on his pillow and found Aladdin sitting by the large window, gazing forlornly over the lightless city. Abu's eyes widened. Had she left for good?
His question earned him a glare. "She just wants to be alone tonight," Aladdin almost snapped. His voice softened as he looked down at his hands, slowly curling into fists. "I wish I could do more for her. She deserves a lot more than what I can give."
Abu rolled his eyes and was about to turn around to sleep again when Aladdin continued.
"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been a good friend lately. I'll make it up to you, I promise. But you know Fara's special. She may not be good at stealing or lying or hiding, but she's beautiful in ways that are hard to see."
Hard to see? Abu thought sarcastically. He thought to point out his friend's shallowness, but decided it was useless.
He sighed. "I love her. You understand, right?"
Abu nodded in resignation. It was the first time his friend had ever fallen in love, and Abu hoped it would be the last. Infatuated humans tended to use love as an excuse for all unreasonable actions, big and small.
x.x.x
The public square rang with cries of indignation, anger that some scriptural law had been broken and a respectable family had been dishonored. At first the growing crowd interested him out of pure practicality. It was always easier to steal when large numbers of people were riveted on some spectacle.
He wove inconspicuously through the back of the crowd, first targeting the older men who would be slow to react if they discovered their money pouch was missing. Glancing about him, he calculated that he could collect enough to sustain him and Abu for several weeks. It was a lucky day for him.
But not for the person at the center of the spectacle, he soon found. Someone was to be stoned to death. His pockets were nearly full when he finally peered over the shoulders of those gathered in front of him and saw her for the first time.
The young woman stood, her slender frame draped with a long cloak that concealed her face. She was plainly shaking with fear, covering her eyes with her hands. He could not hear her weep over the deafening noise of condemnation around her. A man stepped forward with a stone in his hand and drew back his arm.
There was no question of what to do. He reached into his pockets, clutching a fistful of gold and silver, and threw it over the heads of the spectators. The coins scattered over the dusty ground and glittered in the sun, drawing a collective gasp from those nearby. Darting around the perimeter of the crowd, he emptied all that he had gathered into the center of the crowd, concealing his presence expertly when men whirled around, searching for the source of the riches.
The crowd broke as dozens surged forward to claim what was not theirs, not caring whether it was a gift from God or an idealistic thief. He took his chance and dashed into what was no longer the center of the crowd, grabbed her hand, and ran.
Someone shouted in anger, demanding that the guards seize them, but he knew they were too preoccupied with sorting out the mayhem he had caused. She stumbled and nearly fell, but he tugged her forward, hoping she was not seriously hurt. He did not know if the first stone had hit before the start of his diversion.
"What's your name?" he said breathlessly as the crowd grew more distant. The older men who had given chase were quickly tiring behind them. Their drawn swords were useless against youthful speed.
She must have thought it was odd to ask such a question in the midst of danger. "Fara," she answered.
He smiled at the fading sound of curses behind them. In the end, men were greedier for their own gain than for spectacles of punishment.
"I'm Aladdin," he said, and adjusted his grip on her hand. They could afford to slow down now that they were closer to his hovel. The entrance was not easy to find, as the refuse and odor in the alleys deterred most people, even the guards, from venturing near.
He could hear the exhaustion in her every step as they picked their way through garbage and broken clutter. They spoke little before they reached his home, as he concentrated on helping her walk without stumbling. His face was grim as he saw she had indeed been struck with several stones, for she was limping.
As an extra precaution, he piled several wooden beams at the bottom of the roughly hewn stairs. If anyone tried to pass, he would be alerted by the noise long before they could reach his room.
She sat down gingerly on the cushions where he slept, wrapping her arms around her knees and looking into his face for the first time. He tilted a canteen to her lips and urged her to drink. She took it from him with trembling hands, and water spilled over her chin.
"Don't you care that I was condemned?" she said. Her voice was delicate and soft, and he wondered if it sounded more solid when she was not in fear for her life.
He shook his head and smiled. "I paid enough to pardon you, didn't I?"
x.x.x
It didn't matter which way he looked at her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He admired the curve of her chin and the perfect contour of her nose, the long lashes that graced her dark eyes. He loved the wavy strands of hair that fell over her forehead whenever she moved. Though she lamented that her skin suffered from exposure to the sun, he thought a darker shade complemented her features well. He had found that her voice was indeed rich and nuanced when she spoke, and even more beautiful when she sang.
Her soft, full lips parted in surprise when he asked her one night if he could kiss her.
"You are a foolish boy," she said, but sat still as he leaned forward in the moonlight. The city was asleep beneath the window, a silent witness to the two young figures seated beside each other, each lost in their own way.
She was smiling when they parted, and he felt more lost than before. She touched his face with one hand and repeated her words. Perhaps she meant them as a warning.
x.x.x
The celebratory procession was larger than any he had seen. The rows of musicians, dancers, and acrobats drew deafening applause and cheers as they passed, followed by extravagantly decorated carts and carriages bearing gifts of gold, jewels, and fabrics. Finally, the litter bearing the married couple passed, lined with gauzy curtains and glittering beads. The young noblewoman waved, her dainty hand covered with precious gems. Her husband, considerably older than her, tossed handfuls of gold coins into the crowd, laughing merrily as people scrambled to gather his offerings.
Fara was silent when he returned from a few minutes of successful thievery, and he saw she was distressed by the whole spectacle. He followed her eyes and knew she envied the bride, a woman not nearly as beautiful as she but an inheritor of great wealth and status, neither of which she would have again. Aladdin wondered then if he should be grateful for having been born poor. At least he did not harbor the bitterness that plagued her heart, as a few mistakes had cost her everything. He looked down at his hands, turning over the last few coins he had managed to steal. They were hands built for theft and survival, not for power and glory. He could not return to her what she had lost.
She lingered as the crowd began to disperse in the wake of the parade, lost in memories that she would never have. He knew enough about her past to picture them.
She was that bride, sitting high above the common crowds that had turned out to admire her newfound happiness in the arms of the husband she had chosen. The first chapter of her life was over, and she gladly welcomed the next, where she would run her household with authority and grace. Her husband would be respected in the public square, perhaps even gain the favor of the sultan. They would have many children, and she would raise them all with loving care and discipline.
The dreams faded as he tugged at her hand, signaling they should go home. He felt a chill at the look she gave him then, the bitter poison within her heart coloring her eyes. Did she resent him for the new life she had unwittingly accepted from his hands? Did she blame him for the fact she could not return to her old life, full of adornment and security?
She did not sleep beside him that night, wandering alone outside. He stared at his hands once more, regret slowly tearing at his insides. She was wrong to demand more from him, anyone could see that. But still he felt angrier at himself than at her, for his inability to change their circumstances, and for his outright foolishness in loving her.
x.x.x
He came close to losing a hand because of her. The precious bracelet was tucked securely into his belt; that was all that mattered for the moment. He ran and fell and rose to run again, ignoring his injuries and cursing himself for his clumsiness. The merchant he had stolen from was not known for his mercy, and twice the regular number of guards had given chase this time.
He avoided them by a hairsbreadth as a lumbering cart of wood passed in the middle of the street, dividing their paths in the nick of time. He escaped easily then, making his way back to his hovel by a back route. Abu chattered excitedly as he drew out the ruby bracelet, his eyes lighting up at the sight of so many encrusted gems. But his enthusiasm quickly turned to sour disappointment as he realized why Aladdin had risked his life to steal the rare item.
She's not coming back, the monkey said exasperatedly for the umpteenth time.
He refused to hear it, arguing that Abu didn't know her at all, that he had hardly even talked to her when she had been with them because of his petty jealousy. His friend retreated after that into angry silence, and the rest of the afternoon crawled by as neither of them was willing to apologize. He didn't let himself wonder if she was worth it. He would do anything to get her back, to pull her out of the hole she had willingly fallen into.
x.x.x
"Tell me," he repeated as they lay beside each other on the roof of his hovel. The stars twinkled overhead, a clear night for her secrets to be laid bare. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed.
"Why do you want to know so badly?"
"Why don't you trust me yet?" He stroked her hair lightly. "Haven't I earned it?"
She nodded in contemplation and remained silent for a minute. Her voice was still hesitant when she began; it was as if she were reciting words from a text.
"At birth I was betrothed to a man ten years my senior, from a family of higher status and wealth than mine. As I grew older and got to know him, I dreaded the thought of marrying him and begged my father to break off the engagement. But my father could not afford to renege on his word, as he would have to pay a hefty sum to back out of the agreement with any bit of honor.
"There was another man I had fallen in love with. I was foolish and thought no one would discover us. I was wrong. We were discovered, and my family was publicly shamed because of me. The man I was set to marry immediately broke off the engagement and demanded that my father pay back double the bride price his family had given for me all those years ago. My father did not have nearly enough to pay, but a settlement was reached where he would pay back half of the bride price at once, and continue to pay in increments for the rest of his life. He quickly disowned me, and I was to be stoned to death."
He could sense her broken smile. "And then you, foolish as you are, threw away your stolen gold to save me."
"I'm sorry," Aladdin said simply, drawing her closer. "Thank you for telling me."
Leaning on her elbows, she looked down at him curiously, her dark gaze ever a mystery. She kissed him softly, and as he ran his hands through her hair, he thought he felt a tear fall against his cheek.
x.x.x
He returned one evening after a successful stint in the marketplace to find that she had prepared a meal for him.
There was only so much one could do with loaves of bread, small fruits, and bags of nuts and beans, but she was more inventive than he gave her credit for. She smiled a rare smile as he complimented her for the meticulous arrangement of cushions and a wooden board, prepared as if they were dining in a real house. He reached over the assortment of food she had placed on the makeshift table to hold her hand, grateful for the unexpected gift.
For one evening they spoke as if they owned much more than they did, as if he were more than a poor boy with nothing to his name, and she a proper lady flattered by his attentions. Her laughter was reserved as always, but it did not bother him as much then, for it was clear she was opening up to him, learning to express her gratitude and care. Perhaps she was overcoming her discomfort with the coarse, nameless life she now lived.
He dreamed that night that they were royalty, master and mistress of a luxurious palace where they had hardly a care in the world, and there was little to do each day but enjoy each other's company. She laughed freely, and though her eyes remained an enigma, there was no longer any tragedy in them.
x.x.x
Her cheek stung from the blow, but she knew better than to cry out or try to defend herself. Somehow she had allowed herself to fall again, and this time she could not expect anyone to save her.
"Where is it?" the man roared, dragging her up from the floor. "Did you spend it all, you greedy bitch?"
There was no answer she could give that would free her from punishment. She nodded, unable to raise her eyes.
"I should throw you back on the streets where you came from," he sneered, one hand clamping around her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Haven't you been treated well enough here? I've given you a fucking palace to live in, silk and cashmere, perfume and rouge, everything that trash you like you doesn't deserve, and you dare to steal from me?"
The other women stood still behind him, called from their respective rooms to watch their master punish a whore who had broken his rules. He shoved her to the floor and spat in contempt.
"Don't think that your pretty face earns you extra currency around here. No matter how much of a name you make for yourself, your pathetic life belongs to me." He pulled her up one last time, ordering her onto the bed. "Let's make sure you don't forget that."
x.x.x
She slipped the ruby bracelet onto her wrist, admiring the way the jewels reflected the dim light. Her hand began to tremble, but she willed it to be still. Another piece of his heart uselessly thrown at her feet. She watched him with a masked expression, one she had learned all too well in her trade.
She did not ask where he had managed to pilfer such a valuable item, or how close he had come to losing a hand to a vendor's sword. With sadness she realized that he would never lose hope, idealistic and foolish as he was, that he would keep stealing for her and trying to win her back, unable to face cold reality. There was no turning back on the path she had chosen. Scattered handfuls of gold and quick feet would not be able to save her this time.
He moved over her gently, trailing kisses down her face and throat, and she remembered how different he was from the men who arrived at her bed with more gold and shallower intent. He was still a boy in many ways, inexperienced, hesitant, endearingly gentle as if he might hurt her. There was much he did not know about the world, though he had walked its miry depths since birth. Life was simple for him; he enjoyed the lot he had been given and only took as much as he needed, which was pitifully little. After all this time, he still could not understand that she was not the same. She thought of how she had ruined him, drawing him into her complicated world with her bitter dreams and hardened heart.
He asked her again why she stayed, why she would not go back with him to his crude hovel and stolen pennies.
"There's more out there for you. More than this wretched life of mine." She turned slightly, resting her head beneath his chin. "You should leave."
x.x.x
He stood in crushed silence before the barred door, hardly feeling the rough hand of the guard on his shoulder as he was shoved back.
Get lost, street rat, the words drifted in slowly, as if through a filter. Your whore's dead.
He wandered the streets for answers, uncaring of the dangers an unarmed young man like him faced in that quarter of the city. He needed to know what had happened to her, why he hadn't known earlier of the threat, why she hadn't asked for help, why he hadn't saved her.
Why hadn't he saved her?
Never learned her lesson from the first time she stole.
Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. All that matters is the master thought she did.
He was drunk when it happened. Lost control.
She isn't the first to lose her life to his temper.
The women's words speared through him, and he did not know how long it would take to remove the thorns. He had to move on, Abu said. He had to move on, and learn.
What was there to learn?
…
What was there to learn?
x.x.x
"You have a pretty name," he commented after he had shown her around the hovel. It wasn't much, but she seemed to accept it readily enough. Already he was calculating how much more he and Abu would have to steal to accommodate her. He didn't want to pressure her to stay, but he hoped she would.
"Not as noble as yours," she replied, gazing at the tattered curtain over his window. The sun was setting outside, casting warm hues over the majestic walls of the palace.
They sat together and watched the day draw to an end, and he noticed how the rays of light lingered in her eyes.
"Fara," he said. "Will you stay with me?"