The Small Print's Limitations
Chapter Three
Rain.
Jasmine kept her eyes closed for several seconds, feeling the raindrops fall down onto her face, sparkling on her eyelashes. The rain wasn't cold, and despite her clothes slowly becoming soaked, she didn't shiver. Instead, she felt comfortable – as if the rain was welcome, cooling her body down, from the hair plastered down on her head to the sand curling under her feet.
She frowned. The sand?
Jasmine opened her eyes, and sighed. And here she thought, that the rain was almost soothing. But there was nothing soothing about this dream, the dream that kept coming back, that became a little bit stranger and stranger each time. It had started with finding herself in the middle of the Arabian desert, under a starry midnight sky, for several minutes at a time. Then, she'd started to see the red lights in the sky, flickering in the horizon, racing across the sandy dunes as a rapid semi-circle, before disappearing onto itself. Then, as of the last time, it had started to rain.
She raised her face towards the sky, feeling the sprinkle of water against her skin. For a moment, despite the increasing feeling that these dreams were leading to something she was dreading, she was calm.
"Father! Father!"
Jasmine turned around in surprise, her long hair sticking to her cheeks as she did so. This was new; she had always been alone in this dream before, or at least, she had believed herself to be alone. But now she spotted her daughter running across the wet sand towards her – dressed in a violet harem outfit similar to her old turquoise one, her wavy black hair cascading in a long ponytail down her back.
But as Aziza ran closer, and Jasmine was able to study her face, the gentle pleasure at seeing her daughter fell into concern. The gentle rain ran into the bitter tears on her face, drawing dark tracks of kohl down her face, and she didn't try to push back the strands of hair escaping from her ponytail. She barely acknowledged her mother until she arrived besides her, the dream Aziza not out of breath at all from the run, but then she turned towards Jasmine with such speed, that she was taken aback.
"Please stop him," Aziza begged, her voice a whisper against the wind, and while Jasmine thought that her daughter was speaking to her, she couldn't be quite sure – Aziza appeared to be staring through her at something in the distance, rather than actually at her. "He'll listen to you, I know he will. He only listens to you."
"Who will?" Jasmine questioned, only for her words to fall on deaf ears as Aziza turned away from her, her attention focused back on the distance.
"Father... please don't..." Aziza murmured, her words meant for herself alone, but with a tiny amount of hope, Jasmine looked up to where Aziza was watching.
And her heart skipped a beat.
The man that who she hadn't seen in four years, the man that Jasmine would do anything for if he could only just came home, stood on the horizon with his back to them. He seemed hardly aware of their existence, as the wind and rain picked up his cloak against his shoulders, the black and red fabric bellowing over the sand. As the girls watched with wide eyes, he slowly swung a sword over his head, before pausing, as if he'd only just realised their presence.
Jasmine heard Aziza's breath hitch in her throat as he whispered words that Jasmine thought she'd never hear him say.
I'm sorry.
And with that, he swung the sword down fast and brutally at something in front of him that they couldn't see, causing Jasmine to wince at the sound of tearing flesh, the strange gasping sound at her husband's feet. Despite herself, she felt tears well up in her eyes, and while she didn't know what she was about to cry at, she knew it wasn't the sight of her husband after so long apart, or the cruel act that he had just committed.
Her tears weren't even for herself.
Wiping a hand tiredly across her eyes, Jasmine forced herself to turn away, to glance over the collapsed form in the sand that was her daughter, too stricken with grief over what her father had done to stand on her own legs. And just a little further over, she had a split second's glance of the edge of a white dress, with a bloody splatter ruining it.
"Leila!"
The flap of the dress froze, as the young woman started arriving into view, and the huddled form of Aziza began to disappear. As she watched her daughter fade away into the atmosphere, Jasmine turned to face the horizon in fear, and her fragile heart began to break as she encountered what she knew she'd see – her husband disappearing into the darkness from wherever he had came.
"He'll be back," said Leila gently, resting her fingernail-less hand on the Queen's shoulder.
"How do you know?" Jasmine asked sadly, watching the small space on the sand where her lover had stood.
"Because he loves you."
The reply was so simple.
Jasmine turned to face Leila slowly, and the dead woman shrunk back a little at the fury on her face, uncertain what she had said to cause Jasmine to become so angry. "He loves me?" Jasmine questioned, her voice undeniably sarcastic. "He's coming back because he loves me? He's been gone for four years, Leila! If he loves me, why hasn't he come home by now?"
Leila was quiet as the echoing of Jasmine's frustration and anger flew around the desert space of her dream, eventually settling. For several moments, Jasmine caught her breath in long, drawn gasps, trying to bury the emotions that were threatening to explode, all towards the one person – frustration, hatred, desperation, and a painful love that consumed her; a love that perhaps he still felt back towards her, though he had an awful strange way of showing it.
Of course, that was no different to how he'd been when he was alive.
"You know him as well as I do," Leila murmured, looking down at their feet – the Queen's, pretty and enclosed in gold slippers, and hers, skin flaking off and covered in blood and dirt. "You know what he's like... his arrogance gets in the way."
"I don't understand," Jasmine whispered to her friend, feeling no ill health towards her husband's first wife, like most women would. This was the only person who could even start to understand how she could love the devil, even if the Jafar that Jasmine had married was very different to the Jafar that Leila had married. "He told me he was coming back... what is he hiding?"
Leila knew exactly what he was hiding, at least, one of his secrets, at any rate. She knew Jafar still believed that Jasmine was better off not knowing how he'd died, even if Leila was convinced that it would give the Queen some sort of closure. But she knew that this was not what Jasmine was referring to, that she simply wanted to know why he hadn't come home to her. To this, even Leila could not provide the answer for – only Jafar knew in that twisted mind of his, and Leila was afraid of what she'd find behind all the shut doors if she went looking for the answer.
So, she could only give the simple, honest answer.
"I don't know," she replied, trying to ignore the crestfallen look that crossed Jasmine's face. "All I know is that he'll be here, and he'll stay, when you need him."
"I've needed him every day for the past four years."
Leila wrapped her arms around Jasmine in a gentle embrace, the body that was exhausted from confusion and tiredness. It was time for Jasmine to go to sleep, and for Leila to return home, to where Jafar would be understandably furious to know that Leila had made herself known in the dream. "It's time to go to sleep now, the children need you, and you need your strength," she whispered, lovingly and sedated, satisfied as she watched Jasmine's eyes close slowly, slipping back into reality. "He'll come, I promise."
Jafar, you'd better not make a liar out of me.
*
Someday, Aladdin might learn the consequences of his actions.
By murdering the sorcerer, Aladdin hadn't only sent Jasmine into a depression, but the whole of Agrabah had fallen down with her. Razoul could never have admitted it to himself while Jafar was alive, but the city of Agrabah had needed him, and now the city was crumbling without guidance it desperately needed.
The Sultan had refused to select another Royal Vizier – there had been a few before Jafar, ones who had had no idea what they were doing, and anyone else after Jafar was only going to be sub-par. Of course, anyone else after Jafar could only have a more pleasurable personality, but when it came to the job itself, there were big shoes to fill.
So, without a Royal Vizier, the work that Jafar had done to bring prosperity to Agrabah froze, before melting into a mess of the citizens turning their backs on one another. Compared to Jafar, the Sultan had proven that he truly didn't really know how to run his city, and that he didn't have the sources to keep the relative peace that Jafar had built going – the Sultan had simply faded away after the disappearance of his daughter. The return of his grandchildren for a few months had brought some happiness to the palace, but after that, the Sultan had begun to go downhill, collapsing under mental anguish and ill health.
Due to this, there was one shining light – the bedridden Sultan had received a return letter from his daughter, who had finally decided that yes, she would come home, and with the children. It was clear to everyone that she was only doing this because she had to, and not because she had any desire to be there – even Razoul could see that there were too many painful memories in Agrabah for Jasmine, but at the end of the day, she was the Queen, and with Jafar gone and the children not old enough to rule, she was the only one able to take over after the Sultan's certain death.
Besides, it was either her or Aladdin, and the idea of Aladdin ruling Agrabah made Razoul sick to the stomach.
No one could quite believe that Aladdin still lived in the palace; the little ignorant sap living off the royal family for nothing. Razoul was surprised to this day that he had the gall to remain, for he, just like the Sultan and various others who had heard it underground, believed that Aladdin had killed Jafar. Aladdin had never admitted it outwardly, but the Sultan had confided in Razoul that he truly believed that if it wasn't for Aladdin, Jafar would still be ruling. And that Jasmine would still be in Agrabah, and that everyone would be happy. Except Aladdin, but Jasmine had long given up on trying to please everyone.
But hopefully she could please Agrabah, for to say that the city had fallen into unrest was putting things lightly.
It was the unrest that had started with Princess Aziza's birth – an unrest that a furious Jafar had tried to put out; say a bad word against the sorcerer's daughter, and you found yourself buried alive somewhere in the Cave of Wonders, Jafar's dumping ground of bodies. While Razoul could not blame the citizens entirely by being disappointed by another birth of a royal daughter, the second in a row, he could only view them to be stupid – if Jafar had been angry himself over being given a daughter rather than a son, then yes, the citizens could go mad; but Jafar was pleased no matter whether it was a son or daughter. Jasmine and Jafar had been delighted over Aziza's birth – even if Jafar's delightedness was hidden well, it had definitely been there.
And the people of Agrabah, to say it lightly, were not delighted. If anything, their behaviour after Jasmine and her children had left was disturbing. For Aziza's birth, it seemed that every woman in Agrabah was being punished.
It seemed to Razoul that there were several more men now in Agrabah than women, even though the birth rate had not changed. For some, he was certain it was because they had met untimely deaths by the male members of their families, but some, he just had the feeling that they were being locked away, behind closed doors. And even those that were still wandering around free, they dared not to walk the streets after nightfall, if they wanted to be able to go outside and see daybreak again.
And there was nothing that anyone could do about it. You couldn't exactly punish every man in Agrabah, or pick out which ones were in the wrong... and considering that in the depths of his heart, Razoul wasn't quite sure that the men were doing anything wrong by their supposed actions, he couldn't be the one to stop them. The sheep followed each other.
He could only hope that Jasmine would be able to restore some sort of order to Agrabah, a woman who before she'd given the city a daughter, the city had loved. But as Razoul set out to collect her and the children from the dock that they'd be arriving soon at, he could only wish Jasmine a lot of luck.
And very little else.
TBC
A/N: Firstly, many apologies for being so late with the third chapter – unfortunately, this story was punished when real life got in the way, and when I hadn't completely worked out where this sequel is headed. But hopefully now chapters will come a bit more quickly than a month, and hopefully you'll enjoy what comes out. And author's notes will now clearly be at the bottom of each chapter.
Deshwitat, thank you very much for the reminder of the rating! I meant to update it when I loaded chapter two, but clearly it had slipped my mind.
One small thing – I don't like negative reviews from people who have nothing constructive about my stories to say other than 'I don't like it'. If it's something about the spelling, you don't think the characters would do something that I've had them do etc, by all means, tell me. But if you simply don't like it because you don't like the plot, there are at least another six hundred other Aladdin stories out there to read. You know who you are, and you don't have to read this story if you don't want to.
For everyone else, my wonderful readers, reviews and lurkers, enjoy, and let me know what you think!
