With a jolt, Gaara sat up. Though it was cold, sweat pooled on his forehead and under his arms. A thick blanket lie across his lap, pooled there from what he was assuming was his squirming. By his side his slave knelt. When Gaara moved he turned his head and said, "Good Morning, my liege. Shall I help you prepare for the day?"
Gaara did not answer him. The first thing he noticed was that the slave was not wearing the short , sleeveless vest from yesterday. Nor were his trousers the same. Instead he wore lined clothes, long sleeved, and in all dark green. Appropriate for to chill of the night. Gaara turned his head and noticed that the bag the slave had kept in his room has been removed.
He also noticed, that his room was unnervingly clean, though he knew it should not be. And the proof was the peak of sand that sat neatly swept by the window.
"What did you do to me," he growled. The man glanced at the small sand dune in confusion.
"My liege?"
"I do not sleep, slave. Clearly you have brought some trick to me to render me unconscious," he said. The slave turned and bowed his head, placing his palms down flat.
"It was not I... Pardon my frank manner of speaking, my liege, but surely your body knew you needed the rest! Far be it from me to force you to sleep, but rest is required so that you may live your day to the fullest," said the man. Gaara stared ominously down at him. He hoped the slave could feel his disdain, even though he could not see it.
"Are you assuming that my days are not full," Gaara asked. The slave's fingers trembled for a moment.
"They absolutely must be, as a god of all Egypt ...but surely you can have no true peace of mind when your servants do not serve you, and your eyes never close for rest, my liege."
"... What you are saying... Is that you had seen those things in me and used a trick to force me..?"
Gaara felt the same sickness he had when he'd tried an odd new fish from the east rise in his stomach. The slave shook his head wildly. For the first time on the dark of the room, Gaara's sharp eyes caught the shine of a fresh bruise on his cheek. His eyes caught and held its shine, even as it was hidden by the slave's glossy black hair.
"Never, my liege! I-I would never force you to sleep, but should you succumb to it, I would not wake you. My true intention is only to have you rest as you deserve, so that the brightness of your day is not hindered by fatigue!"
"Your face... Show it to me," he commanded, distracted from the man's pleas. The man paused, as if unsure whether it were a good idea. Then he lifted his head, eyes descending as he did.
Across his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his eyes, was a black, swollen bruise. His lip was cut where the bruise ended. Gaara sat silently staring at him, feeling something quiet drift into his head.
"Where did you get that?"
If he'd forced Gaara to sleep, then he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for. It served him right. Yet it was obvious that he hadn't been prepared for what Gaara himself was always fighting. Had he known? Even if he had known, how had he survived the beast?
"I-I... I have met my other master..."
"You are mine. Not his," Gaara said suddenly. He lunged forward, knowing he hated to have his personal space invaded. Yet, on this he needed emphasis to his point. Anger seared him like a brand, and he'd spoken before he'd thought twice.
"M-my liege?"
"You will only do as I say..! I am the master of my body, and you will serve only me," he snapped. The slave bowed his head, and his hair grazed Gaara's chin. It was feather light, like it'd been plucked from a bird and replaced onto him.
"As you wish, my liege. Shall I help you prepare for the day?"
"No. You've done enough. I will not be tricked again," he replied. He leaned back, rubbing his eyes. He also disliked the groggy feeling sleep gave him. The man made a distressed noise in the back of his throat.
"Please, my liege," he practically cried, "What use am I to you if I cannot serve you?"
"I have no use for a slave nor servant. Especially not one who uses tricks-"
"It was no trick," the man practically shouted, "Please pardon me for speaking out of turn. But I did not trick you. What I have shown you is not trickery but care and..."
"Finish, slave. Care and what," asked Gaara. Surely, after only what had been an hour at most could not give him care. The slave shook his head.
"Care... And affection."
"Have a care for what you say," said Gaara angrily.
"I speak no lies. When I was bought for you, my liege, I was informed that you were in need of care that exceeded all else. And I have seen it. I understand. You have not received what I can give you."
"I am sovereign prince of Egypt. I am a demon with power feared by all. Are you saying what I have is not enough? Do you judge me," asked Gaara. The quiet thing in his head had grown and shoved it's way down into his throat. His chest ached. He didn't understand. Why did the words of a mere slave make him feel this way?
"Not you whom I judge. Those around you. So lacking were you of the care that I gave you, that you put all your fatigue into my hands as I replaced your clothes, and let yourself rest. Be it me or any other man or woman, you still had not received it, and so would have succumbed to it."
Gaara stood, stepping around the slave. He didn't usually give into anxieties but now he felt the need to pace. With every word, his throat grew with that weight.
"Indeed, you have all you could ever want. This illusion has fooled those around you into believing you have all you need. Please, my liege. Let me serve and care for you," said the slave. At the request, the lump in Gaara's throat loosened. Maybe... He always had done the same thing.
He did not like the pain and emotions he'd suffered in the past. His days were static, his relationships well kept. But maybe that was where he'd been wrong? Had he missed something? If the man hadn't tricked him into sleep (he'd watched him the entire time, hadn't touched anything the slave had, except the clothes, and Gaara knew epidermal sleep poisons were virtually non existent) then what he'd said was at least part right.
The slave had something Gaara had never experienced. Something that had let him sleep, without killing anyone. And who was he if he had not experienced everything life had to offer? Surely not a Pharaoh coming.
"... Stand, Slave... and begin preparations for my bath."
The man scrambled up, moving almost fluidly to the dresser from whence he'd pulled Gaara's nightclothes. From it, he pulled pants and a new shirt- this one a soft shade of seafoam.
"Please rest a while longer, my liege, I shall return shortly," the black haired man said. He zipped out of the room and across the hall. Gaara removed his sand skin, hiding the remnants in the already collected pile by the window. Already feeling uncomfortable, Gaara paced until he returned.
In his hand was the long white robe Gaara had been given to wear when he wanted to lounge in the sauna at night. He never did, mind you. At this moment, however, the man had found a good use for it. He place it on Gaara's shoulders so that the chill of the hall did not bother him as he walked to his bathroom.
Gaara liked his bathroom a lot even though he barely spent time in it. He had been lucky (or feared) enough to get a bathroom which faced the sunrise to the east. Since he usually was up before the sunrise, he could see the vast expanse of stars from his window wall. Morning was unparalleled in there.
But most mornings Gaara was ashamed to admit, he only showered before leaving for the day. It was too much of a hassle to fill the tub with hot water and keep it hot, and then clean it afterwards. Thinking on it, he could have had one of the housekeepers do it for him. He wanted to maintain the beauty of his bathroom.
It was a combination of the very old and the new. Stainless steel fixtures gleamed under the starlight, even through the thick, hot mist of the room. The pearlescent stones at the bottom of the sunken tub glimmered, adding an ethereal blue shine to the water. Gaara could see the sun's first rays on the horizon. The black haired man had lit some candles for visibility, but it was a perfect contrast to the natural blue light.
Gaara did indeed believe that this was how it was meant to be used.
The slave stepped around him and began to undress him. Gaara was wary when he did so this time, but nothing overcame him when he stepped out of his clothes. Except...
"Shall I bare myself before you as well," asked Gaara. The man closed his eyes and replied, "Should you decide to keep me and use me, I shall be your servant for the rest of my natural life. I will see things that you did not know you did not want me to see."
Carefully the man removed his pants. Gaara felt his face heat, but the man gave no hint that he was uncomfortable. Obviously on a roll, he started the shower and set Gaara's water seat down beneath it. He waited. Gaara noticed where his sleeves had been rolled up, a bright, purple and blue bruise crossed up his wrist to his forearm. Gaara chose to ignore it.
Rather obediently in his own opinion, Gaara sat in the seat. The man poured something warm across his back and began rubbing him gently with a brush. He worked methodically, from his shoulders to his hips. He commanded the prince to lift his arms, and he washed them, too. Gaara was washed to the tips of his fingers and toes.
Everything but his hair was washed. The slave said, "Unfortunately, you must wash your own hair, as I have no way to do so without touching you."
Gaara agreed, but a small part of him wondered what would happen if the servant touched his hair. Probably, nothing good, he decided, as he stepped into the shower to rinse himself off. The slave stood at the side of the tub while he got in, and then bowed.
"Please excuse me, my liege. I must fetch your garments for the day. Shall I also prepare breakfast," asked the man. Gaara shook his head, some still wet strands of hair loosing themselves from his skin and curling up.
"No. I eat breakfast in the grand hall with my father, as is necessary. After which, I will be attending my studies, as well as a multitude of other tasks. I will not return until this evening," he replied, sliding further into the water from his seat. The pebbles bottom felt good on his feet.
"Understood... and I thank you, my liege."
"For what do you have to thank me," Gaara asked, peering out of the sparkling water. Even through the mist, the prince could see the man smiling down at the marble tiled floor.
"You have filled me in on your schedule. It shall make my assistance to you all the more easy," said the man. Gaara scowled, not understanding why this meaningless thing could make a man so far below him so pleased.
"I won't have you accompany me today. Bought for me or not, I did not want you."
This seemed to dampen the slave's attitude. He looked as though he would have liked to protest with all his might, but instead he replied, "I understand, my liege."
"To mention it, who was it that bought you," he asked thinking of how he would lie them out later on. The man shook his head slowly.
"I am forbidden to tell you."
"Forbidden by whom? You follow this order, even when it means disobedience towards me," Gaara snapped. The man shook his head again.
"On the contrary, my liege. It is your very question that forbids me. The sound of your response, as well... Please excuse me. I shall retrieve your garments immediately."
The man zipped out of the room just as quickly as the mist, leaving Gaara dissatisfied. He should know now that the man was stubborn. He could even threaten to have the man expelled or killed and he still wouldn't give him the answer.
When he returned, Gaara was putting away thoughts of the fool and organizing the ones for his day ahead of him. It would be as long as yesterday, but he relished the fact that he'd spent time in the bath, and that there would be no war meeting tonight.
The slave hung his garments on the rack by the shower and knelt once again. He waited patiently for Gaara to extricate himself from the water so as not to become light headed or wrinkled. The slave handed him a bottle.
"What is this," he asked, eyeing the viscous liquid in the clear bottle.
"Creme. To keep your skin hydrated through the heat of the day."
Gaara scowled, but the man watched him patiently while he applied it to himself. When he was done, the man dressed him just as patiently. The slide of the clothes felt most intimate and made him uncomfortable. He shifted away when he was done.
The slave led him back to the room and helped him replace his shoes. The man didn't even flinch when the prince covered himself again with his sand. He watched intently as the fine grains of sand rolled across the floor.
"Is there anything else you require, my liege," asked the man. Gaara gathered his parchments and gave a minute shake of his head. He ignored the slave's farewell and stepped out.
The slave was waiting patiently when Gaara returned.
"Welcome home, my liege," he said, "I understand you had a meeting after supper. Would you like something to eat?"
"No," said Gaara. He eyed the room curiously, noticing first and foremost that the pile of sand was gone. It was the same with all the rooms he'd checked. The bathroom showed no signs he'd used it. The kitchen sparkled and smelled of cinnamon. Many of his sitting rooms were the same. His study, which was usually askew, sat with the books and parchments neatly stacked.
Unfortunately, nothing was stacked in good order so he'd have to go through it and arrange them again. It irked him, but not as much as knowing his private house had been cleaned. The traces of several handfuls of people going in and out of his house was evident. Gaara was solitary for a reason.
Not only that, but the slave sat as though he had never left the room. Had he slept? Gaara wanted to know his weakness.
"Do you not understand, slave?"
"Pardon me, my liege?"
"I live alone. Servants are not allowed in my quarters. No one is allowed the compound when I am not around."
The slave didn't say anything for a long time. Then he asked, "Has it always been this way?"
"What other way would there be for a demon? And shall continue to be through my own will. I will not have my peace trampled upon by the likes of you."
The man was trembling so hard he looked as though he might be having a medical fit. His lips were turned down harshly, his lower lip jammed between his teeth. His eyes were closed, each ball flicking behind them, back and forth.
"Please... Please, my prince, my Pharoah. I wish to be in your service until I am but dust. Do not send me away because it is all you know," said the man, in a voice that warbled on the edge of tears.
The same contrasting emotions Gaara had felt when the man said he'd take care of him rose in Gaara. Anger accompanied it.
Why? Why did he not feel victory? His intention had been to weaken the slave. Instead, he felt weak.
"Undress me," he said coldly. The man did so. Though it seemed his whole body shook, his hands were steady and gentle still. It was unbearable. Yet his face betrayed no tears no matter how hard Gaara looked up at him. Worse yet, even though it was virtually impossible not to catch a glimpse of the Prince's face from that angle, his eyes remained closed, or seemed that way.
He dressed Gaara, and the prince moved away from him. He could not help but feel the stilted movement from his slave.
When he sat down to read at last, the slave knelt beside him. Though his body was still, his shoulders giving no sign of a shake, Gaara's sharp ear could hear the patter of teardrops on his open palms.
