A/N – Because the world needs more Rodrigo-Ammar friendship
Disclaimer – I don't own Lions. Written entirely for pleasure, and not for profit. Don't sue.
The Nature of Kings
It was very late. The fire was dying down, and around them the men slept, Lain Nunez and Martin concealed as they stood watch. But Rodrigo and his unlikely companion sat awake, talking desultorily; circling ever closer to the strange affinity they had each discovered in the other.
They spoke of many things, and nothing: Al-Rassan, which Rodrigo had visited as a very young man, and where, strangely enough, he had first heard and admired ibn Khairan's poetry. Esperana, and its divided, ambitious kings and fractious lords. Poetry and strategy and the finer points of horse breeding, idle talk to while away the night, as normal soldiers do on campaign.
Power and command isolate. Rodrigo was used to standing aloof from other men. And yet, since Raimundo's death, no one but Miranda had ever drawn him so strongly.
"What was he like?" he asked, as the talk circled to Cartada and its famed crimson dyes. "Your king."
Ibn Khairan was silent for a long time. They said he had killed the last Khalif at Almalik's direct suggestion. Since then, he had stood at the king's right hand, enjoying the considerable benefits – and the not-inconsiderable risks – that came of royal patronage.
And then Almalik had turned on him, and ibn Khairan had killed him.
"He was my friend, I suppose," Ibn Khairan finally spoke. "Imperious, hot-tempered, charismatic; my companion of twenty long years, as much as one can claim such things of a king. Or at least I thought so."
Rodrigo said nothing. He, too, remembered a hot-tempered, charming, often selfish prince, and a great friendship cut short too early. Would he have killed an old, blind puppet for Raimundo?
And would Raimundo have eventually turned on him?