Hans arrives in Konstantiniyye! Here we explore what he did 3 days prior in the City. I've renamed the City of Istanbul to Konstantiniyye back in chapter 2, my thanks to the reviewer who pointed it out. To the reviewer who is looking forward to Hans and Elsa as a pairing, I apologize but it will not be so, I myself am a big fan of Helsa but I don't think this story would fit with the idea of Helsa. He already has his own true love in the story.
March 6th, 1844
The city of Konstantinyye was a sight to behold. Once the pinnacle of the now defunct Orthodox Byzantine Empire, its mighty walls withstood the Muhammedan horde for centuries before falling to Sultan Mehmet II in circa 1453.
Life under the Ottomans continued as per usual and the city flourished with its citizens able to practise their respective faiths openly. Once in a while there would be clashes between those of different faiths but it would simmer down after a few days. The Ottomans fell in love with Constantinople's infrastructure and building designs so much, they improved it and replicated its designs throughout various places of its empire.
Hans had arrived three days prior on a busy Wednesday morning and had plenty of time to explore the city. He was astounded by their friendliness to receive foreigners. Some passing strangers would smile and say to him, "Selam Alaykum," and promptly moved on, leaving Hans dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond. After a few times someone greeted him, Hans simply took it upon himself to smile and nod.
Breakfast was good, their cuisines heavily relied upon seafood, Hans loved seafood and there were local Turkish delicacies to go with, especially their delightful mint tea.
People spoke in Greek, Turkish and occasionally he would catch a smattering of broken Latin whilst passing through the markets. Hans himself was fluent in Latin and Greek and a little bit of English and Arabic. The strong smell of musk perfumes wafted in their air as traders competed for sales and customers vied for discounts.
He visited what the people called the Sublime Porte. It was called another name in Turkish. It was used by the Ottomans to receive delegates of distant lands, possibly Europeans. It was erected during the reign of the late Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent in respect to the French.
He had gotten himself a room for three nights at an affordable rate with meals provided at an inn run by a Jewish family. It was obvious they were Jewish from the dinner plate sized Star Of David plaque hung above the main door of the inn.
The innkeeper's daughter was Zeyra, who was very helpful in helping the exiled prince settle down. She would turn 21 on the last day of October. She had the bluest of eyes, radiating with such life and goodness inside them, her hair was strawberry blonde and ran down in curls. She's got her mother's hair and her father's friendly eyes. Always smiling at Hans even though he spoke not a word of Turkish and she spoke not a word of Norwegian. They communicated through the Modern Greek language.
Yes, she was beautiful but his heart belonged to Helena. Zeyra was a distraction, a beautiful distraction he grudgingly added in silence.
A year sleeping in the fields and abandoned buildings and finally settling down in a comfortable bed would need some time getting used to once again, after all his life was essentially over. He would forever be stateless, his portraits, the books the clothes he wore all would be burned. Every trace of him would be erased from the Southern Isles. But he cares not, right now, a throne does not appeal to him now as he did before. Right now, revenge was all that he could think of.
The sound of the Adhan, the Muslim call to prayer was something Hans had never heard of until when he first entered Konstantinyye. He didn't get the chance to listen to it in Egypt as he arrived in Cairo late at night and the ship he boarded sailed forth before sunrise.
It started somewhere from the hillside before several more voices echoed around him.
In a sense, it was beautiful, the melody and cry reached deep into his soul and nearly brought tears of remorse into him, Hans hated it. Hated that a mere echoing voice could bring out feelings Hans had confidently locked away many, many years ago.
Unlike Western European countries where the populace were becoming secular, the Ottomans kept up with religion whilst modernizing alongside the rest of the world.
He watched in awe as the call was made and people simply just…stopped. They stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads in respect. Hans didn't want to feel out of place so he did so in respect as a foreigner in an even stranger land. Once the call to prayer was made, people began leaving the markets in droves, possibly to their muhammedan church. Soon only Hans was left, a lone soul in an empty market.
March the 6th, today he finally meets Prince Mehmet face to face once more at the docks of Konstantiniyye no less.
He gave the innkeeper and his family warm smiles and thanked them in fluent Greek for the hospitality and promptly left. In order to blend in, Hans had swapped his choice of clothing to light beige robes, a red tunic, a red fez and kept his boots. His European features gave him the appearance of a muslim from the Balkans travelling the capital of the Ottoman Empire.
"The fashion suits you, Johannes," The voice was in poor Nyorsk. It came from the shadows. Hans paused his step and turned with a grin.
Prince Mehmet stepped out of the corners of an alleyway. He too was dressed in commoner's clothing, a dagger was securely fit to his belt and a pistol to his side. He returned Hans' grin with his own and embraced the younger man.
"Johannes,"
"Mehmet,"
"Bedir, you can call me Bedir, my friend."
"Of course,"
"How have you been? I heard about what happened in Arrendalle."
"…"
"Are you sure about this? Are the two monarchs of Arrendalle really a threat to my Empire?"
"Very. The eldest sister could manipulate snow and ice, I have seen her conjuring snow monsters at whim."
"And the younger of the two?"
"Just someone who meddled in my plans, I want her dead too,"
"So this isn't about the safety of my people then, its about your goals to bring down two monarchs who ruined your life! I should have known that an infidel would have no interest in my Empire and its people at all…"
"Bedir, those two ruined any chance I had at having a happy life with the woman I love, now I'm an outcast to my nation and- and-. Look, Bedir, just tell me if you will help me, yes or no?"
"Of course, I am in your debt and you have my support but it doesn't mean I agree with what you want to do. Johannes, you Christians have a saying, when a man goes looking for revenge, he digs two grave-"
"One for the big bitch, and one for the little bitch?"
Both erupted in laughter, startling some passers-by. "No, but its close enough. Come, I hope you brought a horse, it will be a 2 hour journey to the Palace."
Hans brought out Sitron and rode a little ways behind the Prince, letting him lead the way. Hans gripped the reigns of Sitron as hard as he could, bristling with anticipation.
'Get in, convince the Sultan for an expedition fleet, destroy Arrendalle. Easy,' thought Hans with a dark expression.
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