Disclaimer: Don't own.
Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. The passage in italics is directly from 1001 Nights.
Chapter 19: "Nur Al-Din Ali and the Damsel, Anis Al-Jalis"
"When the Wazir saw her she made him marvel with the excess of admiration, so he turned, perfectly pleased, to the broker and asked: 'What is the price of this girl?' whereto the broker answered: 'Her market value stands at ten thousand dinars, but her owner swears that this sum will not cover the cost of the chickens she has eaten, the wine she hath drunken, and the dresses of honor bestowed upon her instructor: For she has learned calligraphy and syntax and etymology; the commentaries of the Koran; the principles of law and religion; the canons of medicine, the calendar and the art of playing on musical instruments.' Then said the Wazir: 'Bring me her master.' So the broker brought him at once and, behold, he was a Persian of whom there was left only what the days had left: For he was a vulture bald and scald, and a wall trembling to its fall. Time had buffeted him with sore smart, yet was he not willing this world to depart."
The sun was setting over the rooftops of Tashbaan and the heat was making the water in the air dance. From her window Lucy could see half the city. She had a magnificent north-western view of the Great Desert. She figured it was just another taunt by the Tisroc. That she should be able to see the northern sky that quietly guarded her distant home, but would not even able to leave her room.
It was with sorrow that she admitted the severity of her grim situation. She was a prisoner. Of that there was no doubt. Also the threat of a visit from one of the Tisroc's sons was like a chain slowly squeezing her chest. It was making a fever spike. Fear and anger bubbling to dangerous levels inside her.
And through it all, the thing that pained her the most was the yet untold fate of her soldiers. Had they been killed, were they trapped in one of the other decadent rooms, or were they chained in the dungeons?
All these thoughts passed through her mind in the span of seconds as she looked over the city. But each and every one left her when she heard the door to her room open.
Lark lay in the quiet awkwardness that always lingered after her meetings, the last one no different. A soldier had visited her room and given her a quick thrust. She was sure he had gotten out of it what he wanted, but for her there was little pleasure to be had. The moaning confessions she had tricked from him during the act had made her forget her place. Worry had taken hold of her mind and now seemed to cast darkness on all her thoughts. By Tash, even the brilliant sky seemed darker since the meeting.
With a weary sigh she rose from her bed and made her way to the small desk. There she wrote a letter to a queen she had never met, to save another she dearly loved. She was acutely aware of the danger she was putting herself in, but felt there was little else to do. Finishing the letter, she sealed it and went to her mother's house. Her mother lived in a small shed not far from the pleasure houses. There she kept a cage of doves. Trained turtledoves that only flew from Tashbaan to Narnia. A gift from a mysterious noblewoman.
As she strapped the small letter to the dove's leg she only prayed that it made it through the empty Tashbaan sky. Her own life seemed of little importance compared to the successful rescue of a queen. As she released the dove into the air she watched until it vanished among the clouds. To her great relief no arrows shot out from the windows. Nothing stopped it as it transformed from a white fluttering mess to a tiny dot on the horizon.
She felt her heart soar in joy that help would come for the young queen she loved so well. She had no idea that eyes were not watching the dove, but the hands that had released it.
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Miles away, under the northern sky that Lucy so dearly missed, a man was watching it with distain. The captain scrunched up his face when tiny raindrops began falling on him and his men. He released his pigeon into the air and watched it fly south. Past the rainclouds and into dry, heaving desert. Oh how he wished he was that pigeon. His second rallied the men and called for march.
They left the valley they had camped in for the past four days. The inhabitants were getting suspicious and the captain had new orders. Jazir had asked him and a couple of his men to seek out the barbarian queen. He knew that was a bigger risk than Jazir had promised. He knew capture or death was very likely. So instead he chose to move his soldiers farther north. Closer to the grand castle on the edge of the sea. The one people called the Marble Temple. Cair Paravel.
If Jazir sent conflicting orders he could always pretend he had never received any. Lies were easy to uphold when vast distances separated commander from soldier.
Jazir watched a pigeon land on the bird perch next to three falcons and a raven. It fluttered its wings and cooed. Jazir watched the raven with a predatory curiosity. It was uncommon to see birds of prey this far from the mountains or cities. But perhaps it was scavenging. He waved for one of his servants to bring the pigeon to him. A young man brought it with a solid grip by its claws. It was then Jazir noticed the message attached to its leg.
He unrolled it and as he read his face reddened. At the end it was almost purple and the servant had wisely, and quietly, retreated. "The imbecile!" Jazir hissed. His captain was deliberately going against his orders and heading further north. But his anger settled slightly when he reached the part about the captain's intention of occupying Cair Paravel. He knew the army was still home, but had heard rumors that the Valiant queen had been captured by the Tisroc. Also whispers that the kings were missing. With one queen in captivity and two kings away there was only one left to protect the keep. The Gentle Queen Susan. Not a warrior. He smiled a little when the anger with his captain transformed to gleeful vengeance.
Even though the entire royal army was there, they were still only being led by a queen who had no practical battle experience. Victory looked easy just then.
"Mahar!"
The servant returned in a hurry.
"Bring a scribe."
Mahar darted back into the hot sun and fetched a scribe as told. Jazir recited a letter to his captain, saying that he was pleased to hear about the ingenuity of his plans and the initiative he was taking. He also made it a point to mention that he expected his army returned when their task was complete. Not one man short. The very last thing he needed was for this venture to fail and lose a quarter of his army. As he reached his slightly threatening conclusion he took a breath. The scribe was excused and Jazir walked to the edge of his tent.
There he saw Ashay Bilan speaking with one of his soldiers. Ashay was second in command now that the captain had taken to the north. He was every bit as smart as Jazir's son had been. He was tall and valiant. And very best of all, he admired his commander. So much so that he was inclined to believe even the most unfathomable fairytales as long as they came from Jazir's own mouth.
The two caught each other's eyes. Without having to move a muscle Ashay somehow knew his master wished to speak with him. He moved through the ranks like a mist through air. Why Jazir had not made this man his captain from the beginning, he did not know. But perhaps it was for the better this way.
"Al-Jazir," Ashay greeted respectfully as he entered the tent.
Jazir gestured for the young man to take a seat and did so himself as well. "I have something to discuss with you."
Ashay nodded, already riveted.
"It is true you are an orphan, yes?"
Ashay nodded again, a little less secure this time.
"You were forced into the Tisroc's army as a slave when you were only fourteen, correct?"
"Yes. They said I was blessed by Tash for surviving past my seventeenth year as a soldier." His big eyes inspired a profound sense of devotion in the old man.
"And you were given men to command as one of the youngest since Prince Rabadash."
"An honor that was bestowed upon me by Bismillah Ezo when he was still only Supreme General."
"Ahh yes, the Minister. A noble enemy," Jazir looked up from his private thoughts. "How old are you now, Ashay?"
"I am twenty this day, Al-Jazir."
"Still a boy, then." When Ashay frowned, Jazir smiled to placate him. "I mean no disrespect. Only that you are still in need of guidance occasionally."
To this Ashay nodded, somewhat reluctantly.
"Good. I am in need of someone to lead. I am a teacher with no student." He spread his hands and took on a mock-sad frown that made Ashay smile. "If you will let me, I should like to adopt you. Make you my son." Jazir clapped his chest proudly and sat back. He was pleased to see the shock on Ashay's face.
"You are already as a father to me. It would be an honor," His voice had softened to a whisper that let Jazir know the man was still in awe.
"Very well. So be it." He stood up with a quick slap on his thighs. "I will announce it tonight and all will celebrate."
Ashay stood as well, beaming. He drew a deep breath when Jazir moved over and embraced him like a son.
As he pulled back from the embrace he placed his hands on either side of Ashay's face and looked deep into his trusting eyes. "The humility you feel in this moment will be nothing compared to the pride you will feel when you are leading a thousand men into battle."
The two looked each other deep in the eye. As Jazir smiled, so did Ashay, though both did it for very different reasons.
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The door to her chamber opened and she saw a peak of two, heavily armed guards outside as her visitor entered. It was not a stranger as she had considered, but a man she knew very well. "Rabadash." Her voice held no fear as she addressed him. After seeing him cower before Aslan, after being transformed into a Donkey, she had little respect left for him.
"Queen Lucy. You've grown."
Though she had long since thought of Rabadash without fear there was still a whisper. She controlled her shiver at the sound of his voice. It was greedy almost. "As have you," she said softly, scanning his face for subtle signs of aging. There were few. Crowfeet around the eyes, callouses on the hands, slight sun damage on his nose and cheekbones.
"And so perceptive you have become. I remember meeting you in battle," He pointed and ventured further into the room. "The queen shouting war and expecting her subjects to follow." Obviously her performance then hadn't scared him as much as she had hoped. But then again that had been one of the first real battles she had attended. "I remember the skinny girl who somehow commanded the respect of an entire legion. Who lit up the field like a torch." He sounded almost in awe.
"And I remember a young man who could've been king had he only listened to someone else's advice."
He sneered and stormed forward with his hands on her shoulders. With the momentum he slammed her back into the wall and pinned her there. She was almost as tall as him. "Were you even remotely as beautiful as your sister I would have taken you as my wife. You would have spent your life waiting on me hand and foot."
Despite his invading closeness Lucy didn't feel as much fear as she did anger. "And had you been even the slightest bit smarter I might actually have said yes," she hissed.
His open fist shot across her face. The slap echoed through the room along with a little surprised yelp from Lucy.
"How dare you-"
"You will do well to remember that prisoners of war have no rights. Even if they are queens."
"My brothers will kill you for this." She pulled back and covered the aching cheek with a hand whilst Rabadash stood before her, heaving deep breaths.
"Not if I kill them first." he hissed and released her abruptly. "And to think I came here to help you." He backed into the middle of the room, still sneering at her.
She watched him from the corner until he was out the door. When it closed the shock began to lift and she started drawing deep breaths. Her eyes whetted and her breathing became sobs. She closed her fists and slammed them against the wall. She could feel the confines of her room shrinking in about her. Making her pant.
This was an outrage! She felt like an animal. Trapped and subjected to the whims of her belligerent masters. She slammed the wall behind her again. She started pacing the room until she went to the window on a whim. It was very high above the ground, but directly below it was a slanting roof that led to an even lower roof. The fall would definitely cause damage, but her cordial- Her hand went to her side when she remembered that the potion had been left at home. She hadn't wanted to bring it to Tashbaan for the Tisroc to ogle. She had left Father Christmas' dagger as well or they would surely have taken it. They had seized the ones she had fought with, but hadn't found the one she kept up her thigh. And only because the guards hadn't dared to impose upon her honor in such a way.
She walked back to the door and leaned her ear against the teak surface. If felt smooth against her chin. She listened to the sounds from outside. At first there was nothing, but then she caught the very faint sound of someone shuffling their feet. The guards. She huffed and pushed back from the door. Had she been a little braver she would have picked the locks and attacked them. Her hand went to her hip where she usually kept a tiny set of lock picks. Had she still had her lock pick. She sighed and went back to a spot behind the bed. One that hid her from view.
She didn't doubt that her brothers would kill the entire royal family for what they had done. She just wasn't sure if either of them would realize she was missing until it was too late. Her only hope was that Ash, the Pigeon, had not been killed before he delivered the message to Lark. That she had gotten word to the north somehow. That she was even still alive.
AN: Hope you enjoyed. It's getting deeper into it. I thought I edited it before posting, but re-reading revealed that I was indeed wrong. If there are any more mistakes I apologize and hope they don't interfere with the reading too much.