I don't own Magi or Xenoblade Chronicles 2.
Chapter 7: Freedom
I. Touch
Layla didn't think about it when she felt sick. Okay, it happened from time to time, that she couldn't eat anything, or just throw up. But during the past days, it became so frequent, that even Masrur started to show concern. And Sindria's queen knew, that the concern of the Fanalis was needed, when it was something important.
So she got herself checked and Yamuraiha was standing in front of her with a bright beam on her face and sparkling eyes. "Congratulations, Layla, you're having a baby."
In the first second, she didn't know what to say. Of course, the chance of getting pregnant was very high, since their intercourse was very regular and enjoyed on both sides. But pregnant? Seriously? That was no joke.
"Of course not. Do you think I would joke about something like that?"
Layla wasn't sure: was she happy? Surprised? Or just so baffled that she couldn't believe it?
On the same evening, she told her husband. His eyes lit up and he was just as baffled as her, but in a good way. "This is marvelous." He took her into his arms and spun her around, his laughter contagious. She joined in his laughter and as soon as he kissed her and lay his hand on her stomach, she knew it was probably the best thing in the world.
When she was two months away from the birth, Layla couldn't help but groan and shut her eyes together. It was a strong child, having the tendency to kick her in the stomach without any remorse. She wondered: would it be a boy or a girl? A strong girl like her mother or a charming boy like his father? Or even the other way around? A young girl who whose list of potential husbands was as big as Sinbad's strength?
A sigh escaped her lips, her face being pulled together in an uncomfortable way. Her little baby kicked again. And how much he actually did that. It was close to evening; wonderful, an owl instead of lark, like her. Her husband shot her a look. "Are you alright?"
"He's up, that's all and has probably your strength." Another kick, the heavy weight on her stomach made it difficult to sit up. "I swear, he will kick his way out of my body and into life."
Sinbad snorted a laugh. "That would be an interesting sight." But hey lay his hand on her belly and felt the raw power from the baby. And when silence overcame them, he snatched her right wrist and joined his hand with hers. Both their parent's hands were on their mother's belly and Layla felt the harmony that was between the three of them. They were a family and one touch alone was enough, to make look forward to it.
II. Lost
After Erol's birth, a message has been written and she asked Pisti to bring this to her tribe and father. On her bird, the general flew off and returned a couple of days later, with a reply. He'd come as soon as it was possible for him to visit his beloved grandson.
Two weeks later, he arrived with a ship and was greeted by some palace guards. According to a guard she recently asked, his face betrayed that of awkwardness. She had to hold back a laugh - Akhdir wasn't a man who you could call a typical queen's father. He didn't like the attention and left the palace as sneaky as always; no goodbye, no farewell, he just left and she knew he returned to her tribe.
She was just done breast feeding her son: full and satisfied, he looked around with these big golden eyes of his, pulling his arms close to his chest, Layla heard voices outside the nursery. "She is alright; the birth was exhausting, but she managed just fine."
"That is relieving to hear."
A knock echoed through the room. "Come in," she spoke.
The door opened and her husband and father entered the nursery, both eye pairs of them on her form. She softly rocked her son and a smile was put upon her lips, when she saw one of three Yambala leaders. "Father, it's good to see you."
"Likewise, Layla." His eyes found the newborn in her arms and this glance he wore the last time he visited them, which was six months ago, vanished. Layla knew why. She could already predict it, although it was rationally impossible.
Erol's face resembled hers when she was just a newborn baby. And this face brought memories he wanted to push away, to forget.
Standing up, she put her son into his grandfather's arms. Sinbad stood to her right, putting a hand on her left shoulder. He pulled her into his side and she felt his heartbeat on her skin. For preparation, Layla often went into the city and spoke to mothers, asking them how they felt about birth, how they prepared. The queen cherished the advice from all healers, but preferred practice over theory and spoke to women who already gave birth. She had to know how to prepare herself mentally. And she asked about reaction in the family.
So many women told warmly, that their parents were ecstatic to have their grandchildren in their arms for the first time. They were happy and proud and just...well, happy. But her own father wasn't.
It seems like, whoever ruled this world or her fate, her son was destined to look like his mother. Too look like the woman Akdhir has lost.
Something broke between and both Layla and Akdhir felt that. Their relationship, which has been dominated by mutual understanding and rare hatred, cut of and was destroyed, once and for all.
He placed her son back into her arms and she felt the weight of the world inside them, on her skin. Those big, golden eyes looked at her with curious stare and she laughed quietly. He was a prince, bright, intelligent, optimistic.
Akdhir left the same day, going back to the tribe, without saying one word.
Standing on the balcony with her son, she saw the ship leaving the port. And for a moment, she had the feeling that their same colored eyes met in a second, just to realize that it was an illusion.
Pressing a kiss on her little boy's head, Layla made a vow.
That she'd never lose her relationship to her own flesh and blood.
III. Fly
She visited her mother's grave to the twentieth anniversary of her death. She was accompanied by Hosoya and Danyal, her two of her three household vessels, and Hinahoho, who understood the pain of someone's mother; he watched it at his children when Rurumu died years ago. It was a sad, but hopeful visit: she told her beloved mother about her son, about the birth, about her husband. The last time visited was ten years ago, just shortly before her departure with Sinbad. She didn't know why, but it needed to be done.
And when she exited the ship, thanking the captain and entering the palace gates, her eyes widened about a tenfold. Whenever she was gone, her son was on someone's shoulders to greet her, reaching out to her with his tiny arms. The last time, it was Ja'far. Although the counselor was obviously embarrassed, he was used to take care of young children. And for the child of his best friend and his wife, he made an exception.
But this time, he walked towards her, without any help. She could see her husband a couple of meters behind, Pisti and Spartos by his side. And when Layla bent down and held her Erol on her hip, he beamed at her and pulled her neck towards him, pressing his cheek against hers. "Mama, mama."
He learned how to walk. She heard his first words to be spoken, which was a gibberish 'mama', shortly before he fell asleep. A couple of weeks later, 'papa' followed, spoken like an admirer of a great hero. He cheered his father on, who was challenged to a duel by Sharrkan. And because he didn't want to get rusty, which was, by the way, impossible, he accepted. While they dueled with their swords, clashing metal was the only sound which dominated the space around them, until they got to an end. And from a sudden thing, he spoke the word 'papa'. Sinbad lost every cool and looked at him baffled. Although this was an amusing sight, the best thing was, when he spoke his third word.
'Jaja' and promptly he pointed to the white haired vizir, who stood still in his movement. The big smile that was on the prince's lips could sooth every cold heart and Ja'far was as red as a fresh and full tomato.
And now he took his first steps. How quickly he grew.
"Mama."
He looked into her green eyes, one of the few things she inherited from her own father, with his own golden, the most beautiful trait he took from the king. And suddenly, without any warning, he pressed a thick and wet kiss against her cheek, burying his face against her neck and closing his eyes. Seconds later, she felt his chest rising and falling. He fell asleep.
Just like that.
When was the last time she could do something like that in her father's arms? Right, never. Although it was a matter of course, it wasn't for her. Her son trusted her, loved her. Layla knew that, but on the other hand, she didn't. It was just like a revelation, something she had to learn.
With her son in her arms, she entered her home, the palace of Sindria and faced her husband, her love. And in that moment, Layla walked on clouds and was as free as a bird.
IV. Silence
Sometimes, Layla stood at the balcony and overlooked the city. It gave her a sense of peace and serenity. She felt in harmony, like nothing could actually put her out of this calmness. She wanted to be alone, nobody had the permission to trouble her. Leaning over the compound, she felt her brown hair sway in the fine breeze. In her hands, she held a piece of parchment, with ink written a report from Danyal. 'Harun has been sighted on a ship, which is coming towards Sindria. I managed to change the course, but he has his sight set on you.'
That bastard. That crap-eating, evil, devilish bastard. Even after thirty years, he still had the same goal as before. Destroy her and her family, seeing the blood flow and the light fading out of her eyes. He wouldn't dare to get close to Sinbad, he knew the strength the high king of the seven seas held. But he knew her weak point. And he knew that she had a son, who had the same face as his mother, the same face of her. And that was the problem.
The circle of hatred and bloodshed continued. And there was no escape. Layla looked up to the horizon, the sun has already disappeared, stars glittering on the firmament. Like the stars, this hatred couldn't be reached. The whole purpose was supposed to be unsolvable. And he aged old enough to put this conflict upon her son's head. Oh, how she loathed him. How she wanted to rip his head of his neck, wanting to see the blood flowing out of his mouth, the light fading out of his eyes-
"Mama?"
Like a small rabbit, she shrieked, turning around. Her son stood there in the shadow, stepping into the moonlight. He was close to his third birthday and her father decided to visit for this occasion. "Erol, what's wrong? Can't you sleep?"
His shoulders trembled, shaking his head. He didn't open his mouth, just staring into her eyes. Sinbad was gone, over in Artemya to discuss the further discourse and treatment of the Kou Empire. "Erol, darling." She stuffed the parchment into the fabric belt and left her position, crouching in front of him. Reaching out her arms for him, Layla smiled at her son. "What's wrong?"
He ran into her arms, snuggling into the fabric of her dress. She caressed his dark brown hair, which was cut short and curly. Another trait he inherited from that woman. "Did you have a bad dream?"
He stayed silent, but answered her question by nodding. "Mama... I'm scared."
"Scared? But of what? Nothing is gonna happen to you."
Stop lying about that, Layla, seemed a voice in her head, her best friend, to say. You know something is going to happen and it is nearly impossible to prevent that from happening.
"Big monster.", he mumbled and she knew that talking was pointless. Whenever a nightmare occurred, he just climbed into his parent's bed, between them and nestled down into the side of his papa. That's where he felt safe and protected. And when Sinbad put his arms around his son and pulled him into his chest, Layla had the feeling that he felt the same kind of sentiment she had when he was in her place. The beginning, when they spent their first night together, he pulled her into his side, her chin on his chest and she knew she was protected from every threat that lingered on the horizon.
With her son in her arms, she rose and walked to the balcony once again. The breeze was touching her hair. "When will our prayers be hard, high up in the sky above." It was his usual lullaby she sung for him. Although she wasn't a good singer and only hummed from time to time, she knew that a little song could soothe a child's fears. At least that was the fact, when her mother and Mona were still alive. "Soon fate will show us the place where we belong."
Inside this silence, Layla was sure that the madness was approaching fast and without any possible mercy.
V. Guilt
He stroked again. And she was powerless. Twenty-four years ago? Powerless! Every year on the same day for ten years? Powerless! Fourteen years ago? Powerless!
Today?
Powerless!
"Your son doesn't have any physical injury, your majesty." Yamuraiha stood in front of her, pulling her hands back after she checked the little boy on her lap, wet and scared of his life. As soon as he had the unspoken permission, he threw himself in his mother's arms and buried his face into her neck, his little shoulders shaking and trembling. "You should dry him up and put him into bed, or he'll catch a cold."
"Thank you, Yamuraiha. Truly." Rising from her position, her green eyes were set on the small head of brown hair. "I'll do just that." Her attention was put on the counselor. "Ja'far, please, do me a favor."
"Of course, your majesty."
"Could you write a message to queen Artemina? According to Raziel's last letter, she has been taking errands in Artemya. Ask her to find her and send her here. I have to talk to her."
He bowed. "Of course."
"Thank you. And you have my gratitude, Yamuraiha." She sighed quietly. "I think it would be best if we all retire for now. It's been an exhausting night."
The deep weigh that pulled down her heart laughed at her gloatingly.
She retired, dried of her son and gave him warm milk to drink. Even without asking him, she heaved him up and brought him into the chamber of herself and her husband. When she opened the door, he was at the window, turning around as soon as he heard the sound. His eyes were tired, bags apparent under his eyes. And Layla was confident that she looked exactly the same.
"Is he alright?"
"No injuries. Everything seems to be okay."
Okay? The black hand was once again on her shoulder. Are you kidding me? Okay?!
"We can be happy that it wasn't himself who tried to infiltrate the palace. Or else..."
Erol could be still alive. But he probably would have taken the eyes and one arm. Or he would have killed him entirely.
"We should get some rest now."
Despite knowing how tense her shoulders were, she didn't let them fall. But she joined her husband in bed, putting her little prince between them. He drew the blankets over them, grabbed her hand and closed his eyes. He tried to get some sleep.
She followed him. But he succeeded, she failed. Moreover, Layla knew that sleep was impossible to achieve. She lay awake, feeling the constant rising and falling of her men's chests. She felt it; an unseen weight sat on the edge of the bed, bending over and taking her upper arm. You know it, it seems to speak. She could only assume. You know what you have to do.
And yes, she knew. And it was her fault, that it even came this far.
VI. Void
One week later, all three of them - Hosoya, Danyal and Raziel - stood in her office, without any word to speak. "Are you completely out of your mind, Layla? You can't do this."
She knew Hosoya since she was a newborn baby, has seen her taking her first steps and heard her first words. Layla was spectator of her first professional dance and was grateful for her presence. And her tendency to speak her mind clearly didn't leave her. "I mean, this is your life here. You can't just leave it, seriously!"
"I agree with Hosoya, your majesty." The only man between of the three, a traveling merchant, married, with four healthy children, looked at her in shock. "Are you sure you want to do this? It took you years to build this life and you want to throw it away?"
"My son's safety has top priority, way more than my own happiness. And yes, it took me more than ten years to stand here as the person I am, but it won't change my decision."
"Layla." Raziel, the last one to join her household vessels, was normally quiet and shy. "Erol can be protected. The generals will do their best to protect him."
"That's right, they are capable. For the living hell, we three will move here and start protecting him as well, we'll be your servants, no matter what happens. There are enough bars and taverns who accept dancers as their entertainment."
"I have no objection. My family can move here and Sindria is always open for new merchants."
It stirred her heart. Those three people, who agreed to follow her without hesitation and trust, were ready to throw away their dreams and passions in order to help her. Layla realized that it was the right decision to trust them.
"Thank you, but no." Her green eyes were focused on the light blue of Hosoya. "You're a dancer, Hosoya. You're not made to stay in one place for too long. Your life doesn't belong to a certain place, you need freedom. You should be able to walk out of a country without anyone protesting, because that's who you are. I can't put this burden on your shoulders, that you become a normal dancer who always performs in front of the same people. You need variety, new men who propose to you and try to bind you to them. You need handsome men with whom you can flirt and try to chase, just that you realize that a normal life is nothing for you."
Hosoya stayed quiet, but tears spring into her eyes.
"Danyal." Brown eyes this time, mixed with gray. "You're a merchant. You need the possibility to travel to foreign places. The same places with the same goods? That's boring and doesn't suit. Do you think the Sindria trading company would have come far if they stayed in Reim and didn't leave? They sought out new business partners, were always on journeys to Sasan, Artemya, to the tribe of the Imuchakk, Parteivia, Balbadd. You are one of the best and successful independent merchants, Danyal, and I can't be the one to risk this all."
And finally, the red eyes of Raziel. "You are a mercenary, Raziel. You need the adventure to take all kind of requests. And your people haven't known freedom for so long; I don't want to put you in a position where you have to stay."
The three of them looked at her with sad eyes; they knew the outcome. It was inevitable.
"You three are no people to stay in one place. I don't want to take your freedom from you. It is the last thing I want."
"Why aren't you trusting the palace guards? The generals? There has to be another solution for this, your majesty."
Layla would claim that she knew herself. She had known herself for thirty-one years and could predict the outcome. "If I demand the constant guarding of my son, it would only make every paranoid. My son shall grow up in an environment where he doesn't have to worry about going outside into the city. And Harun is patient; he has been patient for more than thirty years. I think he wouldn't mind if he'd wait for another twenty. And that would destroy not only my life or that of my son, but also my marriage." She breathed out, shaken. "And I don't want to risk this."
Nobody of these three tried to say one word. "Then what is the reason, why you sent us here?"
Raziel always had a very keen eye on these things. "I want to say farewell."
Shortly before midnight, she entered her chamber and saw her husband sitting in an armchair. Gold met green and absolutely no word needed to be said. They fell into each others arms into pure bliss and closed their eyes.
On the next morning, as soon as Sindria disappeared from the horizon, she pressed a kiss on her son's temple. From this point on, Layla knew that she was only a shadow of herself. Nothing continued to exist.
Nothing.
VII. Home
Her father was the one to greet her as soon as she reached the village.
He got old, she realized. His hair turned gray, deep wrinkles present on his face, especially on his forehead. They symbolized an always lingering sadness, affecting the corners of his mouth. He was still strong, still an imposing man to be seen, but he lost his pride. Time seemed to run out of his fingers. And when she looked at him, she knew she'd end the same way he would. Thirsty for revenge, filled with blood lust and without any peace. Torn apart by malevolence. He didn't remember what love is: he lost two members of his family and he's stuck with a daughter like her.
All the tears for him were shed. Her gaze was cold, her heartbeat slow.
"Layla." He didn't hug her, just looked at her with those pathetic green eyes of his. "It's good to see you."
It'd be even better if you were dead. If that was his thought, or intention, or his wish, nobody could tell. "Likewise, father."
He motioned her to enter the village and she received words of condolence and sympathy, people were staring at her with sad eyes. They decided to throw a banquet for her, to welcome her back and to greet her son; son of the Yambala.
Layla decided to scratch the word 'Sindria' out of her memory. She wouldn't need it anymore.
A tent was prepared for her and Erol and she sat on the dusty ground, her son next to her. Instead of other times, he insisted on walking. So they got off the ship on the port and they walked together all the way to the Yambala. He was courageous, determined, intelligent, optimistic.
He was her son. And it was painful to know.
In the evening, the celebration took place and a great fire was lit. Dancing, eating, holding conversation, laughing. It seemed like a normal celebration from the Yamabala. And she was happy to know that. Erol laughed for the first time in weeks, after some older girls, maybe nine or ten years old, asked him if he wanted to dance. He looked with those innocent eyes at her and she allowed him, because there was no reason why he shouldn't. And while she watched him dance with those girls, the only boy in a group of four girls, he laughed. He made the others laugh why he tried to dance like a professional: the same movements Hosoya made while she performed once during a Maharajan. And he was good - he was graceful, rickety and uncertain on his feet, but he managed to be good.
But the joy was interrupted when she felt the ice cold presence of her father. He sat next to her. "You did the right thing."
He was the first one to say this. "I don't know."
"Don't doubt your decision. If he's coming here, then this will be our chance to strike."
He never considered the loss for his grandson. He didn't even think about the lost memories that he could never have with his father or his many godfathers and godmothers. That country lost its prince and as long as this man wasn't dead, he'd never go back.
He had patience. Harun had much patience.
"You-"
She wanted to say something against Akhdir, but decided against it. Layla didn't have any right: she was selfish, she dragged her son into this mess. And there was no escape. The decision has been made.
When the Yambala retired, she followed with Erol, who slept like a log. He was drenched in sweat, from all the dancing he did on the evening. When she put him into blankets and made sure that he wasn't cold, she looked up into the sky and got reminded of the day over twenty years ago. Bleeding, with tears running down her cheeks and a throbbing pain on her neck, she looked into the cleared sky and into the moon. And she asked herself: why.
Welcome home, Layla.
VIII. Duty
When Erol was seven, he caught a big cold. He awakened with heavy breathing in the morning and refused to eat anything. His coughing got worse and when he went to his mother and put his head on her lap, Layla knew that he was sick. She let him lie down and asked the three leaders to delay their departure, until her son is healthy again. They gave her the okay and she was the whole day by his side. She watched over him.
The healer, one of the elders, checked him and assured that it was nothing out of the ordinary, that every child caught a cold like this. There is no need for her to worry about his condition. Just a couple of days to rest and he was as healthy and vital as always.
But there was no chance to stop the voices in her head. You failed, you destroyed it, you couldn't protect him. He. Will. DIE!
"Mom?" Sewing the holes in his pants was forgotten, when Layla heard him speak. Erol's locks were wet, sweaty and he was pale. And that was so surreal, since he had the bronze complexion of his father.
"How are you feeling, Erol? Do you want to drink something?" She bend over him, checked his temperature and asserted that it was cooler than the last time. A good sign.
"Mom, can you tell me something about father?"
Layla did her best to mention his father from time to time. It wasn't right if Erol forgot him because of her. "Of course, Erol. What do you want to hear?"
Just in that moment, Hosoya entered the tent, carrying a bowl of fresh water in her hands. She smiled a little and turned her attention to switch the two bowls. She left them their privacy. "How was father?"
Hosoya twitched, she clash d against the wood with her fingers. Silently cursing to herself, she continued with her task.
"Your father was the bravest man I ever got to know."
"Even braver than grandpa?"
He didn't know. And she'd only tell him if he were old enough.
"Braver than every man on this man. He faced many dangers and never hesitated to face them. There was absolutely nothing that could frighten your father; he was determined, strong, optimistic about the outcome. He had a big dream, one which the majority considered madness, but he turned his back on them and realized it. And especially", she bent down and whispered in his ear, "do you want to know what made him the bravest man in history?"
He shook his head, eager to know the answer.
"He asked your grandpa to marry me."
Erol loved his grandfather and admired him, respected him. But he also knew that he was grouchy and grumpy. He burst out into giggles and he imagined his grandfather's face.
She continued to tell him the tales about him and five minutes later, he was softly snoring in his cocoon of blankets. She tucked the strands out of his face and watched him. He was an angel; an angel he didn't deserve.
"He's amazing, isn't he?"
One of her household vessels took place next to her. Her light blue eyes were cast upon the peaceful face of one son of the Yambala. "He still remembers them all, doesn't he?"
"He does."
The look of pity hurt. "Layla, I know it's none of my business, but why aren't you taking him back? Maybe Harun is dead and we don't know it."
The sound of that name sent a shiver down her spine. "I've already thought about it. But I can't."
There is no going back. She can't. And as long as he didn't have both of his parents, it was her duty to take care of it.
IX. Rescue
On the thirtieth anniversary of her mother's death, Layla sat patiently in her tent, her spear on her lap, caressing the golden star on the silver blade. It was a quiet morning, fog spreading over the lands. Damp air filled her environment, sending shivers down everyone's spines. And she waited. And waited. For the same procedure every year since she returned.
Her son was still sleeping, twelve years old and slowly mirroring his mother's features and habit. He was sometimes very shy, liked to stay in known surroundings and rarely helped to get provisions. He preferred learning how to use the spear, just like his mother did.
And then, Renka, the youngest and newest chief of the Yambala, stormed into her tent and looked at her with wide eyes. "Layla, you have to come, immediately!"
She followed, unsure what to think. And then she saw his face.
Distorted by pain and anger, sadness and void. He seemed to be in a shock state, his green eyes wide open, haunting her with the same look he shot her years ago. For the moment, past seemed to be present: violence, hatred, rejection, everything seemed to be inside those dead, green eyes.
Her father was dead. Akhdir was dead, the Yambala lost one of three leaders. She sent Renka to fetch the third one. And while they were gone, she lay a hand on her fathers arm and felt the icy cold skin.
What irony. Her mother died in the flames, her father in the cold.
The three of them discussed the outcome: he was dead, they were going to burn and cast the ashes over the grave of his dead wife. The successor should be discussed after the funeral.
Erol cried, a lot. He cried in her arms, not leaving her side and forgetting everything else. She told him the good stories of his grandfather, how courageous and free he was, independent and headstrong, willful and straight forward. She told him of his brave and reckless quest to achieve the heart of his grandmother, a noble's daughter of Reim, who decided to leave her family behind and entering the unknown. How he raised his daughters and how he protected them from every evil being that approached them.
Until he turned out to be one of these evil things.
The other one's were forgotten, not fit inside the atmosphere that was contained with sadness. It took her another four years to tell him the real story of her father and what happened between him and his mother. She didn't defend him, but just told the story like an objective spectator. It didn't change the love he held for his beloved grandpa.
One night before the funeral, she knelled right next to him and closed her eyes. "Suddenly a gleam of dawn. Can you feel the power of the faith? Our native land, here we stand as one..."
The old song her mother used to sing and that she inherited from her, humming it to Erol when he couldn't sleep.
The wonderful memory of her mother rescued her from becoming a mad monster.
X. Forget
"Now, I can finally forget you." Those were the last words she spoke, before she pierced the top of his head with her spear. The tip of the blade came out of his chin.
Erol sat on the other side of the tent, looking at her with those wide, golden eyes and abruptly, he was the son of Sinbad, prince of Sindria. The words she banned from her head reappeared, came back and she knew.
He can go home now.
Her breaths were heavy, his blood on her face. Her now short hair was pointing into all directions. Now being forty five, Layla had seen many things in the journey of her life. Erol, being seventeen, had his mouth wide open. The disbelief on his face broke her heart, but her soul was wide awake and screamed in joy. It was over. It was finally over.
The black hand disappeared and left her alone, assured that she'd never come back.
She collapsed, fell on her knees and her hands were set upon her thighs. Her chest was heaving, breathing heavily, but peacefully. She saw his corpse on the ground and she heard the feet coming closer to her tent. And when they entered, Erol's lover with them, who immediately fell into his chest and put her arms around his neck, they all asked the same question. "What happened?! Are you two okay?"
Okay? This was the understatement of the year. This was not only okay, but magnificent. Marvelous. Wonder-full. Not describable. Hatred, nearly forty years filled with hatred and revenge and everything is over. This game of survival, of eat or being eaten, is over. Harun is dead. The man who destroyed the sanity of her father, who ended the life of her mother and Mona, who aimed for her son and brought her to leave her husband behind, is dead. Dead. Never will he be able to take one more breath. Because there was no need. No air would fill his lungs again, no poison would be caught while he breathed out. He was finally put into the sleep that she deserved, that Layla needed. Everything came back now.
The night of fire when she was nothing but a child. The constant pain and blood. The fear, the anxiety. Everything. It just stopped to exist. It vanished. Escaped her fingertips. And she was never happier about it.
She found her son by her side, he put a strong and calloused hand on her shoulder. "Mama?"
Mama. He hasn't called her that in ages. Just like he unlearned to call Sinbad 'Papa'. Sinbad. Finally, Erol could return home.
And when she looked into those golden eyes, she knew.
Layla could forget the pain.
And this was the beginning of the end.
XI. Freedom
She was tired. So tired. It was shortly before sun fall and the warmth that was present during the last couple of days turned into a comfortable breeze. She sat on a chair, having her spear on her lap. Her necklace was in her hand; the stars burned brightly, but the gold started to flicker. It became weaker. She became weaker.
"Mother?"
She rose her eyes and watched her son wearing boots, one of his good pants and a very good looking tunic. "I'm going out." Right, since they were in Reim right now, Erol decided to visit one of the bars with his beloved young woman. "Do you need anything? Shall I go and get something for you?"
He was so handsome. From the little boy that she used to carry around on her arms, who said 'Mama', got tricked by his parents by pretending that she was asleep, who was a papa's boy, who greeted her with his first steps, who loved his grandpa so much, who said 'Jaja' as his third word, who was rarely sick, who asked her to tell him stories about his father.
She leaned against the fabric behind her and smiled. "Erol?" His name was a melody in her head and she remembered how she held him for the first time in her arms. Warm, light, but as heavy as the weight of the world. He fitted perfectly into the crook of her elbow to her wrist. He was little, too little in the average. But he was beautiful.
And he kept that beauty. He turned out to be a handsome young man, bright, intelligent, optimistic. A warrior, a hero, a prince, a king. She imagined him wearing the Sindrian Crown, right beside his father. The young lady he decided to court next to him, as his queen. During a Maharajan.
But, Layla realized with a tired smile, that wasn't her decision to make anymore. Now, it's the boy's time.
"Erol?"
"Yes, mother?"
"Thank you for being my son. Thank you for staying with me always."
A smile was on his lips and he bent forward, took her hands. "Thank you for being my mother."
Her limps became heavier. "I'm sorry for being such a cruel mother."
He shook his head. "You never were. You always did your best to look out for me. And we will go back to Sindria and look after father."
"Thank you for your life." She lay her hand above his and closed her eyes slowly. "I'm taking a nap, Erol."
"Of course, mother."
Her son, so little and fragile, was shortly before falling asleep. Putting him in his cradle, she caressed his brown hair. "Mama..."
"Good night, Erol."
"Good night."
And true freedom welcomed her.
Two minor things.
First is this an AU Story, because I haven't read the manga yet (I know to the Point where the Anime Ends). So I hope it is understandable.
Second: The lyrics for this lullaby Layla spoke of were some lines of "Shadows of the Lowland" from Xenoblade Chronicles 2. I love this song and it helped me to write these two oneshots.
So the whole relationship thing is done now. Hope I could entertain some of you witht these two oneshots. I'd be really curious to hear your opinion about Layla, since she is an original character and I'm really unsure what to say. During the middle of this I had the feeling that it really sounded like some strange cliche drama, but at the end, it was really fun to write.
The next one will be Sinbad's proposal and the upcoming years.
The newest one I had, besides the interactions with the generals, was some conversation with our main cast (Aladdin, Alibaba, Morgiana and Hakuryuu). With that, I'd take the freedom and would introduce her three household vessels. If you are interested, please let me know.
Thank you starrat for your review. But to be honest, I'm not really sure what you meant with crying: the good kind of crying or the one where I have to hide because my writing is so bad?
If you have any wishes or suggestions for oneshots (it can also be the craziest situations between the king and his flower girl) you can send it to me and I'll look what I can do.
Please review and tell me what you think: exaggerated? Okay? Or just horrible?
Thank you for reading this oneshot, I appreciate it.