Al-Sarmen is never far, even within Sindria. A sobering thought, but useful all the same, because when one wants a piece of Al-Sarmen, one must always start from the bottom rungs and work their way up.

Ja'far does this for three days. It yields little but the stench of their soured blood in his nose, and the overwhelming paranoia that no matter how well he's cleaned up after himself, there's a piece left behind, a little wriggling shred that's far more worm than man-but god, no matter the stress of the aftermath, nothing is as satisfying as plunging his blades into them when they tell him nothing of worth, as ripping them to pieces and coming away breathless, chest heaving and eyes too wide, too green-gold and pupils slitted.

He's no less angry, no matter the opportunity to vent, and no less knowledgeable, as his report begrudgingly shows.

It's to the point that he considers a drink to calm his nerves, as he's so obnoxiously anxious that he annoys even himself. Refraining from pacing in front of Sinbad's bedchambers is the least of his concerns-carrying on like normal is far more difficult, but it has to be done, with his own subordinates beginning to worry after a day's worth of paperwork piles up and turns to three. Finally tired of their whispers and gossip concerning perhaps the state of his health (or worse yet, his love affairs or lack thereof), Ja'far sends them away as politely as he's able, scrolls tucked under one arm as he attempts to retreat to the west-most towers and drown his stress in mundane finances.

Said attempt is cut short, when the sight of a familiar blue braid dangling down the back of a child comes into view as he rounds the corner and enters the open courtyard-ah, perhaps a bit less of a child now, when all is said and done-

Please tell me the timing is coincidence. "Aladdin-it's been some time!"

Aladdin stretches, his carpet folding itself neatly back into a turban as he does, turning at the sound of his name. His face breaks out into a beaming smile at the sight of the familiar face-Ja'far really hasn't changed at all, not even his clothes, no matter that it's been just about two years since Aladdin's seen him. "Ja'far!"

He notices, now. It's so much easier, after removing the stone in his arm, to see the pulse and swell of magic in the air as well as the rukh. The last time he'd been in Sindria, he'd had no idea how to read the magic levels of others; now, he sees just how much he'd underestimated Ja'far's skill and power. It only makes him smile brighter; good, that his friend can take care of himself. "I didn't think anyone would be up so early! I was, uh, kind of thinking of paying a visit to the kitchens, if that's okay…"

Normally, Ja'far is the last to look for a distraction and the first to punt them out of the window. Today, however-"I'll take you," he easily offers. "We do have some new staff, and I wouldn't want them to give you any trouble. Are you planning on staying for awhile?" How safe are you here, really? Damn it, the timing, of all things.

Aladdin can't help the way his smile slips just a bit, even as he readily latches onto Ja'far's sleeve. "I'm not planning on staying forever," he says first and foremost, just to make himself quite clear. "Alibaba and Mor weren't where they said they'd be so I'm trying to find them. I figured this was a good place to start looking! Have you heard anything about either of them?" A bit distressing, to have lost the man he wants to make king, especially after his stop in Balbadd.

Ja'far's own expression twists wry. Case in point, why Sinbad could never quite have this Magi in his grasp-a pity, that, because he's smart, and that alone makes him at least twenty dozen times more appealing than Judal. "No one is going to make you stay forever; we're just happy to have you for now," he reassures the boy as he turns to lead the way. "I have not heard from either of them, my apologies. I know Masrur has worried, too, but I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before they return… I can ask Sin about perhaps sending a… ah, no, he'll be busy when he wakes. I'll deal with it." And now the teeth grinding starts again.

"Ah, don't worry about it! I'm sure you're very busy. I don't mind looking around by myself," Aladdin assures the older man, already leaning a bit forward, nose twitching towards the smell of food wafting up from the kitchens. "I'm sure Alibaba and Mor are doing fine, and at least if I'm here for a while they'll have an easy time finding me!"

He does turn aside for a moment, even if his stomach growls loud enough to fill the whole hallway. "Say, Ja'far...are you okay? I know you're not at war or anything but you seem really stressed. Did Sinbad swap the sugar with the salt again?"

Too smart, Ja'far corrects himself, his smile twitching just slightly. "You could say that." If dinner was the sugar and Judal is the salt. "Ah, but I'm fine, Aladdin," he dismisses, pulling aside the curtain on the staff entrance to the kitchen's doorway. "Worry less about me, and more about making yourself at home."

People don't like being reminded of their own lies. Aladdin's done it enough times to know that. Sometimes they get angry, sometimes they throw things, sometimes they get very quiet and stop talking completely. The best thing to do, to keep everyone happy, is to just keep quiet.

"You're lying," Aladdin says, stepping into the kitchen nonetheless. "And you're really unhappy. You must be awfully worried about Sinbad to be that upset."

Only Aladdin would come to the conclusion of worried, and not intensely and disgustingly angry.

"… Worried is one word for it," Ja'far softly agrees, deciding that at its core, that is what it is. All of this could be solved by being angry, though, so says the troublesome, illogical part of his mind that wants to just pick Judal up by his hair and throw him out the window. He can't fly anymore, it would be useful this time. "A lot has happened lately. I'm sure he'll feel inclined to fill you in on all of it."

Fortunately for Ja'far, it's been a long time since Aladdin's had free run of a palace's kitchens, and his mouth is watering too much for any kind of speech. A roast pheasant passes by, and he's reduced to tugging mindlessly at Ja'far's sleeve and pointing, little begging noises coming from his nose.

Not simply running up and stuffing everything into his mouth. He's learned to ask first.

It's better if Aladdin is eating, and not talking.

A wave of his hand is all the permission needed, and Ja'far drops himself down onto a stool with a sigh, resigning himself to doing a bit of bookkeeping in the kitchens while Aladdin gorges himself. Maybe by the time he's through, Sinbad and that mangy alley cat will be up. Ja'far wonders how much stale bread he can get away with giving the wretch before it becomes obvious.

Eighteen oranges (and peels), four fishes, two loaves of bread, about half an ox, an amount of dates that can best be measured in handfuls, and a delicate fruit tart later, Aladdin burps, resting an arm on the wiggling contents of his belly. He can already feel it metabolizing, a proper feast like he hasn't had in years finally restoring the flow of magoi through his body, and his brain sparks and fizzles, the world leaping into new clearer color so bright he hadn't even realized it was gray before.

He looks up finally, wiping a hand across the mess that is the bottom half of his face. "Ah," he says belatedly, reaching for a bit of food left in one of the bowls and holding it out to Ja'far, "did you want some?"

They're going to need to modify the budget this month again, aren't they.

Ja'far delicately crosses out a zero. "No, thank you," he politely declines, smiling in open amusement. "You look happy, though. I suppose you missed our country's food while you were away?" Yes, Judal is definitely only getting stale crust.

"Sindrian food is the best!" Aladdin agrees readily. "Plus with all my magoi locked away I haven't been needing to eat like that in a long time. I forgot how good it feels!" One newly-pudgy hand reaches for a napkin, remembering the table manners drilled into him over the last couple years. "I missed you too though! And Sinbad and Yamuraiha and Masrur and Drakon and Pisti and everyone." He smiles, a little wistfully. "I guess I didn't really realize how much this place felt like home until I left."

Amazing, really, how much of an inverse this one is to Judal.

Ja'far would thank Aladdin for the wonders he's doing to his mood, but that's a bit too awkward, so instead he merely nudges the last bowl of dates in Aladdin's direction. "Well, you're always welcome to call Sindria home, regardless of where you end up traveling to. I know Sinbad has missed you as well-you'll have to pay him a quick visit before you run off again, at least." As long as the cat is kept in a cage. The thought of Judal somehow rubbing off on this one makes Ja'far nearly snap his quill in half.

He's done eating. Really, he is.

Well, all right, just a few more dates.

Aladdin sets the empty bowl down a little sheepishly, enjoying more than he should the feeling of having his magoi totally restored. It's been a long time since he's had this, the feeling he could do anything, could raise a dungeon or fly to the moon or suck the ocean into one big tornado, and that's well worth the way he jiggles when he stretches. "Of course I'll see Sinbad! I'm not running off that quick." His brow furrows slightly. Now that he's settled in, recharged, he can feel the odd pulsing of energy around the palace, more than can be accounted for by just Ja'far's bad mood. "Has something happened? I think maybe there's another reason I'm here that I don't know yet."

Well. He and Sin hadn't quite discussed what to tell Aladdin, if at all.

Normally, he'd smile and dismiss it and let Sin tell the boy whatever story he'd like to spin. In this case, however, not only is he annoyed with Sinbad, but the situation is too dangerous to toy with as far as he's concerned, and so…

"It would be best to discuss this privately," Ja'far says carefully. Sinbad is about to be awake whether he likes it or not, and frankly, Aladdin can deal with this situation far better than anyone else. "Actually, if I take you to Sin now, that would be best."

"Okay!"

Aladdin hops off his stool, stomach doing a few backflips to try and arrange everything. He can feel himself shrinking already, two years without a proper feast soaking up all the magoi in his belly, and by the time they leave the kitchen, he barely has to turn sideways to get out of the door. "I wouldn't want to put it off, not if something big is happening. Do I need to be ready for a fight?"

He only hopes Ja'far will answer him honestly.

"… I'm not sure," Ja'far admits, and no matter the seriousness of the conversation, he can't help but be amused at the sight of Aladdin practically waddling. "But more than likely, yes. Honestly…" He trails off, waiting until they are at least beyond the hearing range of the kitchens, walking deeper into the palace and toward the more private chambers. "Honestly, I have worried for your safety in this, since we've realized what happened."

Aladdin beams up at him, taking the stairs quickly no matter his bulk. After all, he's a lot fitter now than the last time he'd gorged himself so completely. "Then it's a good thing I stopped by! Don't worry, I've gotten a lot stronger since I left. But it's nice of you to worry about me." He tugs on Ja'far's sleeve, unsure. "Which way? I never visited him on this floor before."

"Ah, it's just this way," Ja'far tells him, letting Aladdin remain latched to his sleeve as he leads the way. Masrur, thankfully, still remains at Sinbad's door, unmoving and looking more bored than anything-a relief, as that means nothing out of the ordinary has happened. A light knock on the door's frame preludes Ja'far's partial entrance. "Sin? We have an important guest-"

Things included on a list of what he never wants to see: a far more vigorous Judal, wriggling his way up Sinbad's chest with his face partially buried in the king's neck, looking happy and content and ugh, can neither of them bother with getting dressed? Ja'far twitches, one arm swinging out to reflexively block Aladdin's view. "It's nearly lunchtime, put some clothes on."

A sharp instruction to Masrur dies on Sinbad's tongue, shifting to the slightly more (at the moment) unwelcome sight of Ja'far in the doorway-as it is most of the time, a reminder that he's misbehaving.

But really, is it misbehaving when he's worked so hard to get Judal to this point, relaxed and content?

(All right, it hasn't so much been work as it has been keeping the boy fed and letting him pounce whenever he feels like it, which is pretty much the opposite of work, but it's certainly required time nonetheless.)

One of Sinbad's hands comes to Judal's hair-nice and clean courtesy of several hours' work yesterday-and starts to urge him away, only to freeze at the sight of the second person in the doorway-and a very familiar shock of a bright blue braid, hidden behind one of Ja'far's sleeves.

Small hands come up to push at the sleeve, curious. "What's happening? Is it boobs?"

"It's far more obscene. Don't look, Aladdin," Ja'far flatly chides. It's worth it, almost, to watch Judal visibly tense up at the name, the sound of the younger Magi's voice, and to watch his face twist in something akin to stress and worry and shame and fear.

No, it's definitely worth it, especially when Judal is off of Sinbad in a second, diving underneath the bed coverings and promptly yanking a pillow over his head, to boot.

Ja'far tries not to smile, his mood suddenly infinitely better. "At least pull up a sheet, Sin." He might sound a bit too satisfied. Oh well.

"You said it could be dangerous," Aladdin protests. "I can't even see."

Sinbad shoots Ja'far something like a glare, deigning under obvious protest to pull a sheet up to his hips. Never mind that he'll have to spend probably hours convincing Judal again that he's safe here, that he's taken care of, that no one is going to barge in and threaten him because after all, it's the High King's bedroom. "Talk of obscenity is rich coming from someone who feels no need to knock."

"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty," is Ja'far's drawl to follow as he finally lowers his sleeve, "but considering who our guest is and how dire our current situation, I felt it was imperative that he have an audience with you immediately."

"Interesting, that our situation is so dire when you've given me no reports of your activity in several days." Nevertheless, Sinbad stretches out, a genuinely warm smile on his face at the sight of the boy. "Aladdin, you've grown so much, and I don't just mean sideways!"

The rukh pulses around Sinbad-it always has, in a dance of light and dark, and Aladdin breaks out into a smile to see that the dark is no farther than the last time, at least not that he can see. "And you look exactly the same as when I met you," he points out, laughing. "And…"

The smile fades as he focuses-and focuses again-and again-on the quivering lump beneath the sheets. His breath comes shorter, and he swallows hard, a sudden lump in his throat. "W-what is-no, it can't-"

The rukh can't just leave someone.

"The written reports are on your desk, which you would have found if you had deigned to leave your bed," Ja'far blandly retorts, a hand lifting to Aladdin's shoulder to gently coax him further into the room. "Sinbad, if you would-"

"No!" It's a muffled protest, but high and panicky enough beneath layers of sheets and a particularly heavy pillow to be heard all the same. "Make him leave!"

Aladdin knows that voice, muffled as it is. Knowing who it is-knowing who the lump in the blankets must be-is even more frightening. His skin prickles, clammy in a cold sweat, and how can Sinbad and Ja'far even be in a room with something like that and not want to faint?

"It's Judal, isn't it?" he says, voice shaking, and not bothering to hide it. He looks up at Ja'far, confused, more than a little terrified, a hundred questions on his lips boiling down to a single word. "How?"

Sinbad pokes his head under the edge of the covers, taking one of Judal's hands in his own. "It's all right, no one is going to hurt you. I promised, didn't I?"

Ja'far thinks he should probably attempt to muster some pity into his expression, lest Aladdin think him entirely cold-hearted.

It's impossible, though. He feels no pity for Judal, even knowing what has been done to him. More than anything, the sight of seeing Aladdin so frightened spikes anger swiftly through his veins, and makes him want to hunt down another dozen members of Al-Sarmen and gut them while they still live, all for the sake of making sure none of them can lay a hand on this one and turn him into the shell that Judal is.

He takes a deep breath instead. "Al-Sarmen's power," he quietly explains, and he kneels, the hand on Aladdin's shoulder turning him from facing the bed. "They have methods of sealing a person's magoi entirely… I was unaware that they could do it to this scale, but obviously…" Ja'far sighs, shaking his head. "You see now, why we are concerned for your safety."

"-no no no no I don't want him in here don't want him to see me don't-" It's a mindless, panicky little run-on, and Ja'far glances over briefly to watch the lump shake that much more.

Aladdin couldn't move if he wanted to. The idea of someone's power being able to seal away the rukh, to cut off that connection completely, leave them without any access to the ebb and flow of the universe-it's monstrous, terrifying, and chills him to the bone.

Judal had been dangerous, before. If it hadn't been for Ugo, he might have killed Aladdin, or some of his friends. He tries to remind himself of that, but all he can see is Sinbad looking worried, petting the quivering, panicking lump, and his heart hurts. No one, no one, no matter what they've done or been in the past, should ever have to live without feeling the rukh.

He should ask permission first, he knows. But, well, he won't.

He closes his eyes, and the rukh swells at his command, fluttering about him like so many butterflies' wings. Go to him, he urges silently. Help him.

The rukh cannot find him. No one, they tell him, is there. Not a man or a dog or a rock. Not even the air is there.

Aladdin sits down on the floor, all the blood drained from his face.

"Aladdin-" There's no guilt felt in terrorizing Judal, but this sort of a reaction from Aladdin-that's different. Ja'far sucks in a slow breath, wrapping one arm around the boy, scrolls discarded in favor of pulling him close in an attempt to reassure him. "Let me help you outside, you need some fresh air."

"Can't you see?" Aladdin's voice is higher than it should be, just on the verge of hysterical. "Ja'far he's-"

He clings to the older man's robes, still not steady on his feet, on the verge of passing out even as he begs the rukh, try again, please!

Sinbad's eyes narrow, knowing full well what Ja'far has and hasn't told Aladdin-which is to say, pretty much nothing. "You didn't warn him."

"It was my mistake." He really is becoming too petty. Ja'far's jaw clenches as he simply wraps both arms around Aladdin, scooping him up as he climbs to his feet. "Let's calm down before you try again," he quietly tells the boy on his way out of the room. "You need to think about what to do first, if you really want to help him." He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder before the door shuts at his heels. Get dressed, Sin, and join us at some point. Your stray cat can shiver by his lonesome for five minutes.

As soon as the door shuts, Sinbad wraps his arms around the shivering lump that is Judal, bedclothes and all. "They're gone. You can come out, it's just me, I'm sorry, I didn't know Ja'far was going to do that. I didn't even know Aladdin was in town." God, how long is it going to take him to get Judal back to the smiles of this morning? Patience, that's the key. Patience is almost always the key.

The utterance of that name makes him shudder anew, no matter how the lump tries to wriggle its way closer to Sinbad, burying into his chest. "Don't want him to see me," is the muffled whisper. "I… not him."

"Fine."

Sinbad carefully folds back the covers, exposing Judal's face so he can see they're alone, holding him close to his chest. "Just the two of us, see? I won't let that happen again." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Unless...if you think he could help…"

Judal's head shakes firmly, eyes darting around briefly just to make sure before he reaches up to grab hold of Sinbad's hair. "He can't." His lower lip trembles. "No one can, that's what they said. It's better-it's just better if I don't have to see him."

Well, of course Al-Sarmen would say that, Sinbad wants to say, but lets that pass for the moment. Badgering the point wouldn't help at all, not when Judal is so delicate, so shaken. If Aladdin can figure something out, he'll give the boy another shot-after he's talked Judal into it, and gotten at least nominal permission. For now, the most he can hope for is calming him down.

He places gentle kisses over Judal's forehead, the edge of his mouth, holding him close. "Fine. Just us. No one else."

"Ja'far wants to kill me," Judal adds, suddenly so tired that all he can do is sag, flopping forward into Sinbad's chest with a little, lingering shudder. "If you ever don't want me to stay anymore, just let him."

"Don't say that." It's an immediate reaction, but no less of a knee-jerk. He buries his nose in Judal's hair, hands stroking slowly up and down his back. "Al-Sarmen," he says quietly, "lied to you from the day they ripped you out of your mother's arms. And when they told you your only worth was in serving them, that was a lie, too."

Judal's head shakes slowly. "Being a Magi was the only thing I was good at," he mumbles into Sinbad's shoulder. "And I guess… I wasn't very good at that, either, if they could just throw me away. Maybe just magic, then? Dunno. Either way, I'm not good at anything now. I'm not worth anything, to you or them or anyone else."

It's a dark part of Sinbad's mind that knows Judal is wrong-he is still of use, as the most potent source of information they've ever had about Al-Sarmen at the top, about their powers and their capabilities, and oh, if he could figure out how to seal someone's magoi the impending war would be over before it started-

But more than that...just the way Judal lays on him, buries his face in Sinbad's chest… "You have worth to me," he says quietly. "Just as you are. Or I wouldn't be here."

"You're stupid." Muffled, a little cracked around the edges, but sort of affectionate, too, even if there's disbelief in every word.

Sinbad laughs, and tugs the blankets over both of them. "Probably."