Thank you all for your continued support – you're wonderful! Hope you enjoy this large chapter.
(25 and 26 renewed 10/18/17)
Opaque, grey, colors scuffed the perfection of a robin blue sky as the early morning sunrise became asphyxiated with heavy rain clouds. A sign which, Jasmine could only assume, meant a nasty downpour was near.
Jasmine had traveled at first light – having been able to only sleep a mere hour before anxiety of Aladdin's return woke her – but despite her efforts to make good timing she and her mare arrived several hours late. Perhaps it was the cold, which blew more wildly than last night, that slowed them down.
Exhaustion now was setting in for them both. If they got caught in nasty weather, in a deadly foreign element foreign and deadly, Jasmine feared it would seal their fate. Safed's white stoned city, which overlooked the valleys below, was about an hours hike up hill. Jasmine groaned, but tried to instill hope into the horse.
"Come on Honey." The golden pelt glided beneath jasmines hand, "We're almost there. It's not as far as it looks. Really, it's not – I bet Cyrus and Tzipporah will be so happy to see us that they'll even give us both hot tea! Oh, and maybe a fig cake! And some roasted nuts." Jasmine belly grumbled.
And I bet Jafar will give you hot iron across the face and add a few decorative bruises to your torso.
Jasmine paled at the voice and held her stomach.
As if in response to Jasmine's inner turmoil, Honey scuffed the soft ground, shaking her head with a whining snort, and started backing up.
"Oh Honey, I'm sure it won't be that bad." There she went again speaking to the damn animal for reassurance; although it was more for herself than the horse. "I'm doing the right thing, alright? It's my duty . . . Oh, I'm sorry. What am I supposed to do? Leave? Be with Aladdin? Overthrow the man I vowed my life to?"
Coincidentally, Honey shook her head again.
"Well okay then, I don't have many other options." There was a pause as Jasmine exhaled, her breath visible against the unyielding cold. "Honey . . . I can't do this alone . . . I thought I could – but it's bigger than me – the choices I make effect so many others. I need to pick a side, and right now my mind is screaming for me to go back to him. To do what's right. Even if it means . . ."
What would it mean to return? The first time she'd ran away Jafar nearly killed her. He killed someone else because of her. Who would he kill this time? Aladdin? Her?
Both most likely.
No – he's changed. You've felt it. You've seen it. It's so subtle but it's there. It has to be.
In exasperation Jasmine asked, "Why does it have to be?"
There was no answer from herself. No reassurance or closure to the confusion raging on. Jasmine believed there had to be some ripple of hope left, plain and simple. If there was no hope – if there was no possibility for redemption in this man . . .
Well if there isn't, then this can only be a mistake.
"This is a mistake . . ."
Cyrus hadn't peeled himself away from the frosted window for several hours. It had been the middle of the night when everything dear to him, every reason for his existence, had walked out the door, across the courtyard, and out of his life. Cyrus had wept silently by that window until sunrise, gaping out at the empty stone walls as if Tzipporah and his children would burst back through them again. Though the tears had dried up, their markings clung to the reams of his cheeks leaving behind swollen puffy eyes.
If only Lord, if only. Bring them back to me. Bring them back.
He recited internally, over and over like some sacred ritual, until the words blended together and none of it made sense. It hurt – oh God it hurt! His insides were withering – like dried slivers of meat hanging on a hook – so that every shallow breath became utter torment. If this wasn't death, then death itself seemed comforting, and Cyrus wished it would come.
It wasn't less than what he deserved, he knew. It'd been years before he told another soul of what he'd done – of the fate he'd sent his son's bride to. A fate which also took his unborn grandchild, and in the end, Malachi. Last night, Cyrus couldn't keep it from Tzipporah any longer.
. . . He told her everything.
He could still see it. The way she she pulled back from his with indescribable sadness in her watery eyes. He'd broken her trust with betrayal – an act, he feared, that could ever be healed by his might alone. Now – now he'd lost the remainder of his family.
There was nothing left.
Unless?
The heavy gate creaked open, a hooded figure, misshapen by the windows glass, emerged. And a horse! It was them! Cyrus leapt from the chair, dashed across his room, down the hall, bounding down the steps two at a time, and threw the front door open with a gush of wind, when – all joy evaporated. Time slowed again and the aching weight of despair settled in the pit of his stomach once more.
"Oh, Good morning Cyrus. I was just about to knock – that's. Umm, I hope I didn't wake you by opening the gate?"
Jasmine's face was pale, almost ghostlike, with dark eyes that sunk into her face and dry chapped lips that were lined with blue splotches from the cold. Even so, the young queen was a stunning beauty and managed to smile at him with a special warmth. Cyrus was slightly happy to see she had returned safely, but couldn't help but be selfish in wishing he could replace her presence with that of his family's.
Jasmine's shiver went unnoticed as did most of her breathy words. "I was gone last night, you see. I sort of left without telling anyone, but I know now it was a mistake."
Cyrus didn't budge from barring the door and Jasmine began to feel like an outcast unwelcome in their home. Very possibly running away from your husband was frowned upon here too, and she might be turned away altogether.
"Cyrus, Jafar and I had an argument."
"That's between a man and his wife. No one else." Cyrus didn't move but spoke little above a whisper.
"Please. I wish to speak to him? I shouldn't have left, I know that now. I was afraid and, frankly, stupid." The man's face remained impartial with glazed eyes that appeared to have been crying. Jasmine reached out, giving a light pat to the large knuckles that wrapped around the door post. "Cyrus – is everything alright?"
As his lids closed at the touch of Jasmine's delicate hand, both eyes burned with the threat of tears. It'd been mere hours spent in solitude but to Cyrus it'd felt like an eternity since anyone had offered comfort; this child's affection was almost too much to bear.
This little woman of sixteen, just a year above his own daughter, was noticeably worn and frail; having been drug through the dirt time and again, facing heartache that would've crushed any young soul beyond reconciliation. Regardless of her own situation Jasmine offered up all she could to lift his spirits and Cyrus gave a tearful smile.
"Come in – please come in out of the cold. I'll set on some tea and we'll get you a warm blanket."
It was surprisingly easy to care for someone else whilst enduring a time of sorrow. (Although, Tzipporah would've known how to better serve a young frightened child and what words of comfort were needed to mend a weary heart.) Still, Cyrus found that preparing a hot batch of refreshments, serving a slice of Tzipporah's cake, and making small chatter helped both Jasmine and himself to ease the burden of desolation. It wasn't until some anxious looks were cast over her shoulder that Cyrus picked up on her uneasiness.
Smacking his lips to lick tea off his mustache, Cyrus calmly offered assurance.
"He's not here, your Majesty."
Almond eyes widened and it was difficult to tell if the girl was assuaged or disquieted by Jafar's absence.
Nonchalantly Jasmine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, talking to her tea with uncertainty. "Is he, umm. He's not looking for me, is he? There's a storm coming and I didn't mean to cause problems – I didn't want him to come searching for me." She was still a piss ass liar.
"Don't worry yourself over nothing, now. Jafar left shortly after you did. But not to find you." He added at the end when her features tightened. "Jafar watched you leave, Jasmine. I swore he would've stopped you but he didn't move. Just watched from the parlor room as you led out the mare and kept watching even after you were beyond the walls. When I asked him why he didn't stop you he didn't give an answer. I'm not so sure he could, he was so . . . Distant."
"oh," Jasmine found difficulty forming such a simple word and put her head down, staring heavily at her nimble fingers as they clutched the china.
"They're gone too."
Cyrus nodded to the lifeless wooden seats and Jasmine's heartbroken look made him want to cry all over again. Stubby fingers ran over his peppered beard, then settled on his right, bouncing knee, as he offered an explanation.
"When Jafar had left – I don't know what came over me. Perhaps a force from God which worked against my better judgment - but I woke Tzipporah. I woke her and I confessed a secret that I had been holding onto for several years. A truth that has continually beaten my spirit and when I unloaded the burden on her . . ." Cyrus paused briefly to bring solidity back to his voice. "Within an hour she and the children were packed and headed off to Israel to be with her sister. I begged her to stay – I said I would leave instead, but I couldn't stop her." Cyrus whispered. "I couldn't stop them and now I've lost them forever."
Neither of them found the strength to speak for a long moment after, and Jasmine was thankful Cyrus didn't judge nor condemn her for leaving but instead understood mistakes all too well. (Not that she'd wish this pain on her worse enemy.) She felt guilty for believing he'd turn her away at the door when all this family had done was show her love abounding from the start. Jasmine held his hand on the table and kissed his knuckles, the two sharing a weary smile.
"The mountains," Cyrus sniffed.
The sudden break in quiet was slightly jolting. "What?"
"There's a set of mountains some little ways outside the city, heading north east. Maybe a fifteen, twenty-minute ride by horse. It's a tad rough terrain, but there's deep caves hidden within the steepest walls of the mountains. The horses can make it most the way, but the rest is done on foot."
Jasmine couldn't help but scoff as she went to take a sip of tea. "I can't imagine a man as regal as Jafar hiking through rough terrain."
As funny as the image was, an old one, of Jafar lifting massive beams and rescuing people in Agrabah, came to mind and all humor was quickly lost; especially when Cyrus had become deadpanned.
He was just in sending a stern look her way. Jafar safety could've been at risk in harsh trails in the dead of night. Had any ill fate befallen him there'd be no one to blame but herself.
"So . . . he's in a cave?"
"Undoubtedly. There's a certain cave no one else has yet to find, aside from the two of us. Found it as boys, and I still keep a stash of supplies and provisions up there for when I visit time to time. Helps to clear my mind."
"And Jafar needed to clear his, I assume?" Sure, or conjure up new diabolical ways to torture you given he ever seen you again.
The frown scarcly left Cyrus' face all morning, but now it had creased deeper around the whiskers of his mouth and the crow's feet near his solid eyes, as if reading her mind.
"Jafar wasn't always like this, Jasmine."
She'd try to play it aloof, "What do you mean?"
"Cruel. Calloused. Consumed with virulence."
Well, at least there was someone else who could confirm validity to her misery, but there seemed to be an underlying message here. One of which Jasmine wasn't sure she wanted to hear.
"When we were young I saw him for who he really was – and I still do. Beyond the scars, both physically and mentally there still lies the boy I once knew."
He had scars outwardly? She'd never seen them.
"His mother gave them to him," came another intuitive reply, "I don't recall her name, if she had one at all. She didn't even give Jafar a name – other than bastard or abomination."
"What mother doesn't name her child?" Did he have to name himself? Did her mother name him?
"That woman was no mother. The creature crawled from the gates of hell itself and from Jafars first draw of breath, forced him to live in a hell bo one should ever live." Suddenly Cyrus wished he were drinking something stronger as he recalled the demons of a past life. "I met her once, only for a split moment, but it was more than enough. Never had I seen so much abhorrence in someone's eyes. There was a presence in her soul – unnatural. Not part of this world." Cyrus ran stout hands over his tired face and leaned back in the chair, making it whine beneath his weight.
Jasmine winced with the unveiling of Jafar's past, though it must only be the tip of the iceberg. What was the extent of his sufferings? And mostly how did he even survive!? For a lifetime Jafar knew only misery, only hatred, only rejection. How could a boy hold out to believe there was any kindness in the world after submerged in a world without a trace of compassion? And what role, if any, did her mother play in creating the iniquitous villain?
It wasn't that she wanted to know; she must know.
"To be truthful Cyrus, I had stolen an item from Jafar's tower a few weeks back and brought it here to Safed. A journal I believed was my mother's. He found it's hiding place and punished me."
"So, you ran away?"
The hard wood beneath her bum grew painful and Jasmine shifted to uncross and cross her legs. "It wasn't just that – I learned about him and my mother. Sahara. I know now that they carried on together in secret for years." She'd rather eat a clog of dirt than repeat such an embarrassing truth to a stranger, "Jafar wouldn't tell me anything more about her. No one ever discusses my mother."
Jasmine batted hopeful eyes, "do you know anything about her? About . . . Them." Ew. Ew. Ew.
Jasmine's apprehension was taken into consideration and Cyrus replied with as much respect as possible.
"Jafar and I had begun to drift apart slightly as we grew older. I joined a gang of thieves that traveled across the world, while Jafar, despite himself, remained with his mother, working for the palace to earn food and shelter for her sake. One night, when he was little older than you are now, he found the body of his mother – blood all over the floor."
Oh Allah no.
"She'd taken her own life so to, Jafar believed, escape the burden of having him as her son."
No! – How could he possibly take that burden upon himself?
"Your father, the soft-hearted man he is, allowed Jafar to live within the palace walls and presume his duties. Over the years the Sultana must've offered him the only source of love or compassion he'd ever known – whether it was a good kind or wicked, I'm not equipped to judge." Cyrus cut himself short trailing off and looking away.
"What else Cyrus. About her. Please speak truth to me, or else how am I to understand?"
He open and closed his mouth then sighed. "Sahara was a troubled woman Jasmine. Rumors spread that she sold her soul to a witch in exchange for magic. Black magic. Jafar's mother created a damaged man – but the fallen Queen had sculpted him into a weapon."
Jasmines jaw worked side to side as the brim of her eyes began filling with tears. He shouldn't have said anything – it wasn't his place. But clearly blatant honest was spreading like a fever and he couldn't contain himself.
Cyrus waved the air between them, muttering phrases that he himself didn't believe, "The past is the past Jasmine – it happened the way it was always supposed to, the way it was meant to. No sense letting it affect our present. Forgive and forget. Let it go."
A clear sheen of snot glistened on the back of Jasmine's hand as she dabbed at her nose in an attempt to stop crying. Crocodile tears poured out despite her efforts and she began trembling with a pinched voice.
"So, I'm just supposed to excuse Jafar for all he's done because of the past?" She squawked, "I'm supposed to forgive the unforgivable simply because my mother, and his, screwed him up? And now I'm what – I'm, suffering because of their evilness? How is that fair? They're both dead and still they're robbing me of my happy ending – Jafar is robbing me of love and of a future all because someone else did it to him!?"
She had begun pacing now along the kitchen floor, shaking violently as she shook her head in protest.
"I had a chance for happiness. I had a hope for what my life could be – but I'm supposed to forgive and forget!? Is that what you told Tzipporah when you broke her heart? Why do you men think this is okay? That we're supposed to lie down and accept whatever you throw at us!?"
Cyrus rubbed at his temples still trying to shake the sleeplessness off and think more clearly. Clearly upsetting women was also becoming a part of today's to do list.
"Jasmine I –, and she's gone." Jasmine bolted out the front door Cyrus banged the table with his knee as he jumped to go after her. If he'd know she was such a flight risk he'd have taken the seat nearest the exit.
"Jasmine wait!"
She didn't want to wait. She wanted to leave. Anywhere. It didn't matter. The right thing had been so clear an hour before, but now it was all static.
"Jasmine, oh Lord it's cold as hell! Jasmine, please stop! Where are you going?"
"It doesn't matter."
A massive drop of rain splashed on his forehead. "The storm is already upon us, you can't travel!"
"I can handle a little rain," Jasmine shouted above the thunder while ripping open the stable doors. Honey announced her disapproval and backed up against the wall, shaking her head back and forth with bared teeth.
Just then the skies cracked open to unleash a gush of water. They were instantly soaked and the pebbled courtyard began to fill up in massive puddles as the wind slashed viciously, making it difficult for them to breathe.
"Inside!" Cyrus' bellow was scarcely audible through the rain, but once he slammed the stable shut and pulled Jasmine alongside him, the message was clear.
Both were gasping, soaked to the bone after the long tread back to the house – a walk made infinite by the harsh storm – and Jasmine stood mutinously in a corner, dripping wet. Cyrus turned form the door, shrugging off his cloak to hang on a hook, and shook his head disapprovingly.
"What were you thinking?" He didn't mean to sound like a cross father, but maybe that's what she needed right now to gain perspective and common sense. "Jasmine there are floods and mudslides that have taken out full grown men. Not just women, or children, hard built, large men. None of us are a match for God's handiwork – hell bent or outraged, there is no excuse to run off all half-cocked like that."
He was right of course, but the scolding did little to make her want to cooperate. She was still heated, completely overcome with anger and self-pity, and it would take more than 'heavens wrath' to make her see clearly.
"I just don't want to face him again." Jasmine hugged her soaking body. "When he comes back – I thought I could face him again. Maybe even try and have reconciliation, but it hurts too deep. Yes, I know it's in the past, but most of what's happened to me is still too present. Nothing can negate the pain I feel every time I'm around him. Every ounce of fear I have when I hear his name."
She felt other things too when she saw him. Heard angels sing whenever his voice rang in her ears, or the taste of his name as it rolled sweetly off her tongue.
More to the point! There was little distinction between loathing and love when it came to Jafar, so Jasmine clung to the one most certain.
"Cyrus, I – I can't. I mean I don't!"
Fuck, she could not stop crying! She was so deprived of sleep and now frost had settled beneath her skin. She was no match for being emotional distraught while physically overwhelmed and Cyrus helped steady her before she buckled.
"It's alright child – here, now. I'll make hot water for a bath. There's a tub in Tzipporah's boudoir just down the hall. We'll get you dry clothes, some food, and some rest. Come – come. We can talk later. It's barely nine in the morning. There's time left in this day yet – you can figure out what to do later."
Later came quickly at high noon when Jasmine rose from a deep, dreamless slumber. She tried to fight the odd sting that came when looking over at the empty spot next to her, and found herself missing Jafar's warmth as she had the previous night. She laid in the guest bed silently lolling over what little Cyrus had shared that morning. It was easier to process now that she was clean, warm, and rested. Although the vision of Jafar's agony as a child did churn her insides, Jasmine didn't feel like breaking down. She wasn't as angry at Jafar or her mother, but was more so with herself for being unable to see past her own heartache.
After another half hour of staring at the ceiling, Jasmine decided not to waste any more time and got out of bed. It sounded as if the rain had more or less stopped so Jasmine hurried to pack a small bag with some essentials, fixed up her hair and added a slight dab of charcoal to her eyes and crimson to her lips before finding a suitable outfit to travel in. If the caves were another twenty minutes north it would be even colder – plus, it might rain again – so she added a shawl and her thickest pair of shoes to complete the ensemble.
Cyrus was sitting in the parlor room, watching through the glass to the courtyard when Jasmine landed at the bottom step. He didn't seem to notice her presence and it might've been possible to leave the grounds without a note of discernment on his end.
"I'm sorry Cyrus," Jasmine tried, feeling impolite for watching an unsuspecting man as he mourned. He turned to give a wayward smile but resumed his watch. "Did she say when she would return?"
If at all?
Cyrus shook his head and gave the back of it a scratch. "I assume in spring . . . the garden is so beautiful then, and her favorite flowers grow along the base of the house."
That was at least six months out, but it still might've been a longshot to hope for a Spring arrival. Still, she wouldn't dare dampen his hope and Jasmine smiled reassuringly.
"I believe they'll return then too – it'll be warm again. There will be new life everywhere. That's when there's the most hope." Besides, where there was life growing, there was always hope.
"Yes." Came his small response. Cyrus peeled away from forlorn long enough to slap his knees happily. "How about some tea? We can have that little chat and maybe help clear this all up for you – help you better make a decision."
Jasmine caught his ogre like arm as he headed for the kitchen, stopping him with a small laugh. "Thank you, my friend. But you've done so much and I don't want to take any more of your time."
Cyrus glanced at the packed bag at her feet and chewed his cheek. "You're still going to leave him? Leave your palace and your people? Is there no way you can find hope amongst all this chaos?"
"I don't know just yet . . . First, I'm going to find Jafar. There is some information I gathered last night and I believe it's imperative for him to know. After that, I'll take it one step at a time."
"Information, you say? About the Forty Thieves?"
Jasmine inhaled deeply. "There's a man named Aladdin, that I ran into at the tavern. He told me he was working with powerful people – offered to take me to them and that together we could overthrow Jafar and take back my kingdom. . ."
Almost protectively, Cyrus cocked a brow and crossed his arms. "And what would elicit this man to tell a young girl such damning details?"
Jasmine felt her cheeks color and that nasty twinge of guilt came back. "We umm – used to court for a very short time. And . . . he kissed me last night. He told me he loved me still and wanted to marry me." Ewe, the reminder was almost as repulsive as the actual kiss.
"I see. Well, I don't know this Aladdin, but any man who pines after another man's wife isn't worth his salt." Such a stentorian grumble made Jasmine smile, which Cyrus returned and he opened his arms to embrace her. "Ah my child, Jafar will be overjoyed to see you again."
Bah! Right. And djinns and fairies will resurface from their hidden dwellings and come to grant world peace, prosperity, and infinite love to everyone!
She must've worn a smug grin as she joked inwardly, for Cyrus pulled a sideways frown. "Your majesty," Came a tone of clear reprimand, "Allow me to speak freely on this issue?"
It didn't look like she had much choice in the matter.
"That man – as twisted as he can be – needs you in his life."
"Jafar needed a marriage for validity among our people. Nothing more Cyrus."
"At first, possibly. But as I said, I still see the man beneath the scars; difficult as it is to reach him, he's there. I have faith in a promise for a better future for the both of you. You'll see. He needs you Jasmine, for better or worse, Jafar cannot function correctly without you." Cyrus patted his belly and stretched his spine with a vigorous nod as he spoke. He looked like a cuddly, overgrown cat – which, conveniently watered down his harsh reproving tone.
Cyrus went on, "Jasmine, if you want to leave you still can – although I don't condone it. But it would be better to go now when Jafar thinks you've never returned, then to show up at his feet only to give false hope."
"I understand," Jasmine agreed quietly and meant it.
A sketch of a map was handed to her with scribbles that were meant to be mountains and a path that led between two large triangles. Forty paces left from the old dead tree and the entrance was along the right wall.
He wasn't exactly a skilled artisan, but Jasmine could make it out well enough. Cyrus walked Jasmine outside to Honey, who had eaten by now and was much more compliant with being lead out and saddled. With some help Jasmine mounted and rewrapped her shawl to keep out the wind.
"The storm isn't over yet, there'll be more soon enough so take caution on the slippery rocks, but make haste as well."
Got it. Fast but slow.
"And Jasmine, take time to listen to your heart. It has so much to say if only you'd get quiet and give it room to speak." His eyes were watery with red blotches beneath them and Jasmine took his hand in hers with a gentle squeeze. "Were only given this life once – don't miss out on what could be because of fear of the unknown. I know there's been a lot of brokenness, but, if allowed, new life can blossom through the cracks."
They shared a kiss on the cheek with farewell and promised to see each other soon. Then, when all her endeavors were seemingly a success, Jasmine was caught in the rain, lost in the middle of the mountains.
Jagged rocks and massive boulders made up the slippery, steep path. As the rains pounded, Honey became spooked and refused to step any further; which in turn forced Jasmine to take the path on foot while pulling the stubborn ass along. Jasmine had already slipped twice, scuffed up her knee, lost the map in a stream of mud, and was now wondering aimlessly around a scraggly old tree that had been drawn on the map. She couldn't remember which two giant walls to walk between either – truthfully it was all one large jumble from where she stood in a sea of rain. Besides, even if she found the canyon Jasmine couldn't remember how far into it she had to go before finding the entrance on the left. Or was it the right?
Oh, Allah this was hopeless!
It's a sign, isn't it? Another sign that I should not be here! Fuck, this goddamn horse! This ridiculous fucking mountaintop! And this godforsaken trip! She belonged In Agrabah!
Jasmine embraced a moment of petulance – when she'd traveled in yet another circle – to scream into her fist until her lungs gave out. Black ink ran from her eyes as soaked tendrils fell from the bun she'd so carefully crafted, and, to top it off, there was mud seeping into her shoes and forming grit between her toes, making it extremely uncomfortable to walk. As if things couldn't get any worse, a shattering roar of thunder bellowed, sending Honey to rip free of Jasmine's hold and take off straight ahead; ramming Jasmine face down into the mud. Jasmine scraped mud out of her hair and nostrils, trying to catch her breath and not cry. Her faced ached all over, tongue swelling a little from biting down on it, and a dribble of red mixed with dark mud, leaked from her brow bone.
"Great," Jasmine flung a heavy lock of filthy hair over her shoulder, "No, its fine, filthy animal! I enjoy this – it truly made my fucking day." Jasmine gave a hand signal to accentuate the perfection of it all and began marching in the direction Honey took off in.
The rain was falling moderately and helped to wash off some of the gunk from her head, but that was the only good thing about it, (when looking on the plus side of things.) If how shitty she felt was and comparison to her outward appearance, Jafar would surely see the wreck she was in and take pity on her, and pour out an apology of his own.
True, because Jafar isn't the type to beat a dead horse. He's not a kick-you-when-you're-down sort of man.
"Very funny," Jasmine replied, picking up the pace as the rain began to pour more heavily.
Blessedly, it wasn't long before Jasmine found a shallow covering where Jafar's steed was resting, and there with him, nuzzled up for safety, was her mare Honey. She'd found the entrance to the cave.
The natural underground spring was a godsend. The crisp, clean waters were constantly warm; it's stagnant waters heated by a dormant volcano beneath the mountain's core. There were massive crystals that lined the pool and hung from the shallow ceiling, their light a constant blue and green glow which illuminated the entire room. Allah, how he'd missed this place.
These waters were said to have mystical powers, that could heal the wounded and restore life itself. If only it could heal the places of supernatural darkness, undo the painful misery of his life. No. There was no escape for him and Jafar accepted his fate long ago. Jafar would settle for simply swimming in the refuge the waters provided.
The waves created from each stroke rolled fluidly over the sculpt of his shoulders. Spreading against his worn hands and face in rhythmic currents as he dove under water. He'd stay submerged forever if he could, hidden from the world, where grace allowed him to feel, think, breathe. Only here, in the dwelling of the caves, could Jafar find the same gifts everyone else took for granted.
Jafar swam to the far side of the stagnant pool then took another breath and drifted underwater to sit at the bottom of the deep quarry; all consumed by the weight of divine waters Jafar was allowed to forget the outside world. Nothing and no one else mattered now. Here, he found his rest and thought to fade away; sought the ability to take on the water's framework and absolve into pure nothingness.
Then he heard someone call him from above and his eyes shot open. He was losing his sanity! Even after she'd left him Jasmine's grip was so strong on his heart that Jafar now began imagining her voice. Curse that viperous woman! Even here in the one place he found solace, Jasmine penetrated his sanctuary and tortured him. Jafar closed his eyes tightly trying to remain hidden beneath the water.
Regrettably it wasn't enough to drown out the voice. The sweet dovelike song was like teeth against steel to Jafar; mocking his foolishness. Then again, and again she called and Jafar pushed off his feet and torpedoed to the surface to confront the ghost of his torment.
"Jafar?"
Jasmine could be heard from the opposite cavern only a few yards away. She was real? She was here? Something lurched in his chest drawing painfully tight against his skin. He wanted to run to her – no he wanted to banish her forever. She had left too many times. Then again, she had come back for him.
Or returned for an entirely sinister reason.
Jasmine never before had seen something so beautifully crafted as she did upon entering the caves dwellings. The passage wound profoundly into the mountainside with a vast duration of the journey done in blinding darkness. Her hand ran along a smooth wall for guidance into the open cave. The room was no bigger than her own but with vaulted ceilings that reached higher than her own palace did. The walls were bluish grey and glistened with specks of crystals so magnificent they could outshine the stars. It held an omnipresence of warmth and a fragrance of fresh rain water and earth. And the weight of everything sloughed off her shoulders and dissipated into thin air.
That was, until she spotted Jafar's clothing and staff neatly put away in a far left corner.
Slender shoulders rolled forward, chest caving slightly, as Jasmine embraced herself. Further finding little reason to believe this would have a good outcome.
I can still go – wherever Jafar is he hasn't seen me yet. The storm might be clearing – You could get on a ship. Escape everything and let fate take its course with Jafar – with Agrabah.
"Pathetic," Jasmine exhaled with a roll of the eyes.
No matter his reaction Jasmine needed to face this man; for better or worse. Even if 'worse' was the constant.
From where she stood Jasmine took a quick glance around the room before taking off her wet, dirty shawl and small bag. On the left there was a makeshift bed, although barely large enough for two, appearing comfortable with an abundance of pelt blankets and pillows. To the right was a small pit catering to a burning fire along with shelves that, given their appearance, had been crafted decades ago. On them were assorted cups, dishes, a kettle, jars labeled as spices and tea leaves and at the base of the rickety structure were dusty books of mixed varieties. A rug lay in the middle of the floor, which needed a good beating, as did some bags, which Jasmine recognized to be Jafar's. And straight ahead from where she stood was a tall slender crevice in the wall, plummeting into a depth of darkness Jasmine dared not enter into. If jafar wasn't in the cave it was possible such a dark man dwelled within such an ominous space.
With timid staccato Jasmine called out. "Jafar?"
He'd paused just before entering the light of the caverns dwelling, lingering deep enough in the shadows of the crevice to go unnoticed for the time being. Jasmine had given up calling out, now deciding to wait in silence – evidently, giving herself permission to snoop in the process.
Jasmine casually dusted off a book, perusing the title before setting it down uninterested, and began taking down the tangled swirls of hair; then off went her shoes to be set near the exit. Even from a distance Jafar could tell Jasmine was ice cold, with a white washed complexion, chapped lips, a blood smear above her brow and dark rings beneath both eyes. She was filthy head to toe in burnt umber that masked the once violet clothed garments.
He'd rarely seen 'her majesty' in such a mess before, but each time whenever Jasmine had appeared less than put together, Jafar still was found gawking at her beautiful features. (Similar to now.) Jasmine had found a small sketch of Cyrus' wife on a round table and smiled endearingly at the parchment. A smile that, little to her knowledge, had captivated the darkest man in Agrabah. Jafar studied the manner in which she gazed upon the crystal ceiling, her eyes surpassing the diamonds beauty. He fawned over the way every smooth curve of her body moved to angelically carry out the simplest of actions. She was bred with confidence and superiority and flawless perfection – and even after all he'd done to assert his power and worth, Jafar still felt like the poor boy in the river without a name, without a purpose, without value, while in her presence.
Despite his loathing, Jasmine had planted seeds somewhere inside him to sprout roots and produce fruit of longingness and compassion. Everything Jasmine was, Jafar longed to be himself - courageous, strong, devoted. She was all these things and she was . . . she was touching his staff!
Damn wench!
"That doesn't belong to you," Jafar's stentorian accent echoed from the shadows in slow precision, sending Jasmine to flail about in panic and knock over the serpent rod.
Shit! Jasmine panicked cursing under her breath as the staff hit the back of her head then crashed into the unforgiving floor. (Every deity in existence must've been on her side for the staff didn't shatter upon impact.) Jasmine fumbled to pick it up and place it where it was, careful to make sure the angling was just right, then practically jumped two feet away from where it stood.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were watching." Jasmine said, slightly puzzled when she didn't see anyone.
"Well," a disembodied, humorless, breath set the tone for an infamous bite of sarcasm, "Why should you behave if you think no one is watching? Perhaps it is I who should apologize for interrupting the things you do in private. There has been so much Jasmine does when no one is looking. Isn't that right, princess? I suppose I should expect nothing less from your character by now and thus renounce any ill thoughts sent your way for each moment you spent committing acts of wrong doing. After all, you didn't know anyone was watching. Prostitution. Thievery. Lying. Treason. Where will it end?"
"Running away from a husband isn't treason." That was a shitty defense and sadly she had none for the other charges against her.
"It is indeed." She could feel each word turn up at the corners of his mouth viciously. "I could tie you to a cart and have your naked body drug through the streets of Agrabah for what you did and not one person would stand at your side in protest."
Fear was a bitch and it snatched her ability to speak articulately. Jasmine thought of several retorts, areas to which she could place blame and call him out on all the wrong he'd done. The evidence was damning against him more than it was against her!
Still…
Yes. Still. Be still. Be quiet. They had fought enough already for one lifetime and now was not an opportune moment to place blame. Not to mention it was frightening enough to hear the man speak of torture so freely she didn't need to give further reason to his madness. He sounded like he'd come from the crevice – she called it – and Jasmine crossed her arms and cocked her hips, pretending to see through at him.
Fucks sake can she see me? She didn't say anything more but kept watching where he stood with such intensity Jafar began stepping backwards. He was pathetic but highly under dressed for her company. Besides, if she stayed much longer he couldn't be sure which side of him would burst with emotion – he'd either embrace her and plead forgiveness or smack her senseless for ever leaving. Nonetheless, he wasn't yet equipped to face the consequence of either outcome and barked at her to get out.
Jasmine laughed nervously, "Get out? But I - I just got here."
When Jafar didn't respond she became more adamant.
"Do you have any idea what I went through today to get back to you?"
Nothing but the chill of rejection.
Jasmine looked right and left, rubbing the backs of her arms. "Jafar, it's pouring rain – I'm exhausted, I mean look at me! Please try and understand."
"Ha," he coughed and Jasmine wrinkled her face at the faceless man.
So, he wanted to make snide remarks and sulk in the shadows? Fine. She knew how to get him to talk.
"You're right." Jasmine practically chimed, throwing up her hands. "I was wrong, I made a mistake. But you admit that every single moment spent in my palace has been full of wrong doing on your end. You know as well as I that my father made the biggest mistake of his life when he believed a man like you could be worthy of anything good. That includes me."
When Jasmine tossed her stringy hair, and turned on her heel, Jafar whirled her back around to bellow in her face.
"How dare you disrespect me!?" Spittle decorated her parted lips, though Jasmine didn't move to wipe it away. "I have proven my worth a hundred times over! I am now and forever will be your king! I won! I defeated my fate! I deserve everything I have! What makes you think you're better than me? . . . Answer me, Jasmine!"
She couldn't even pretend to have heard a thing he'd said.
There was no turban on his head, no shoes, no shirt, nothing except some damp silk pants that were clinging generously to the shape of his manhood; it's generous shape locking with jasmines eyes for several brazen seconds. Her inconspicuous concentration with his crotch had left Jasmine so engrossed with analyzation, that even when Jafar had cleared his throat – and blushed – Jasmine didn't notice.
But could anyone blame a girl for ogling!? By Allah! Firstly, and most importantly, Jafar had hair! A fucking shit load of thick onyx hair shellacked back in place, say for the few dangling strands above those large deep eyes, and at the temple, a silver touch of color that made Jasmine's belly clench and pool with warmth. Glossed eyes followed its length, which rested above well sculpted shoulders, and again, Jasmine became entranced by his beauty.
His torso had been forbidden fruit the entirety of their union and now – Allah help her – now she anticipated the taste of such a ripe, exquisite delicacy. Jasmine could never get enough! Those muscles strong, sinewy, flexed; the cape between his neck and shoulders, oh god almighty! His broad chest and swollen biceps! It was a mind fuck to behold him in all his glory. Every swell of breath in his lungs kept her attention fixed; the orange hue of the fire picking out glittering specks of water on cinnamon skin. Bronze skin that lead all the way down, guided by the v-cut tendons beneath his belly; dipping lower, beneath the cloth, pulling Jasmines mind to climb beneath the fabric, and swallow the bulge between his legs.
"Jasmine?"
"One minute." She murmured and his eyes shot up hoisting thick brows into his hairline. Jafar cupped both hands in front and lengthened his spine to address her as seductively as possible. "Yes, my dear. Get an eyeful first then let me know if you need any help finishing."
His smirk reached his eyes and Jasmine snapped to attention with an inward cringe that heated her entire face.
"For a woman who claims to be 'repulsed by the beast', sure has a lustful look about her when in his presence." Jafar's sarcastic droll was exuberant. "Couldn't keep away for more than a night, hmm? Had to have it your way, one last time."
Mockingly Jafar stroke beneath her chin and Jasmine smacked his hand away.
"Please – you've looked at me like that a hundred times over." Not that she minded. "You should keep narcissism to a minimum. Doesn't bode well for you."
"Why are you here?" Jafar bit, working his jaw.
Jasmine adjusted the defensive banter to come across sincere. "It's where I need to be."
"Not anymore it isn't."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I already told you to get out. You're no longer a welcome sight."
Jasmine scoffed batting her eyes disbelievingly. "You're joking?"
He was not. "Stay with Cyrus tonight. In the morning I'll send for the Royal guard to escort you home. Once there, get your belongings from the palace, then you and your father will be put on a ship and sent out of the country."
Her mouth twisted down. "You're serious?"
There was another deadpanned pause and Jasmine reluctantly filled it with nervous laughing, scoffing, rolling her eyes, shuffling her feet and ultimately pacing.
"So, let me get this straight? You force me into marriage? Torture the hell out of me and make me as miserable as possible so that I run away. Then when I decide to suck it up and do the right thing and come back, you're actually telling, no no, commanding that I leave you forever?"
Aptly Jafar leaned an ear forward, "I'm sorry was there some confusion in there?" Then sneered crookedly giving a wink. (Which, albeit rude, nearly blew Jasmine into an erotic frenzy.)
"Jafar," his name was an exasperated whine as she took the liberty to plop down at the edge of the bed. "I don't want to be here, and in fact I have countless reasons to be anywhere else. But this is where I belong – I know that now. You can be pissed off all you want, and punish me however you see fit, but no. You can't make me leave. I won't allow it."
"Is that a challenge, girl?"
"I wasn't challenging you." Allah almighty! ". . . look, I mainly returned because I needed to warn you about the Forty Thieves."
For the first time since she arrived Jafar's expression showed one of slight interest; though the look of disdain didn't vanish entirely.
"I found a tavern last night in the middle of nowhere. While I was there I had a visitor," she tiptoed around that fact careful not to screw it up. "Anyway, it was a member of the gang that came through Agrabah. He went on about how they did what they did, and said they were coming back to Agrabah to finish the job and take over. That they have a source so powerful even you can't defeat it."
Carefully Jafar listened adding a couple questions here and there and Jasmine got the sense he knew she was hiding something.
"I don't know – he was just talking to me."
"Why you? Why share all this with some woman, when it could destroy their plots against me?" One brow cocked and the other lowered heavily as Jafar squinted cynically.
It was getting hard to breathe.
"Who was it Jasmine?"
She couldn't meet his eyes.
"Who Jasmine?"
She whispered Aladdin's name and from her peripherals saw Jafar take a step back.
"What else?"
The truth was as putrid as bile but she didn't want to lie anymore.
"We kissed."
"You kissed him?" Jafar repeated like a wounded viper, "What else?"
Looking at the rug beneath her dirty toes, Jasmine dug her grip into the side of the bed for support.
"Aladdin told me he loves me; that he wants to marry me and asked me to join the Thieves in overthrowing you."
"That fucking rat!" Jafar hissed landing at her feet with a raised back hand.
Jasmine flinched covering her face, "Nothing happened! I didn't betray you I swear!"
The blow never came and when she felt safe to look at Jafar he was the one now pacing, running a hand over his thick hair and down the contours of his hardened face.
"Haven't betrayed me." He echoed first to himself, then her. "Haven't betrayed me? Jasmine you have done everything to betray me!"
Jasmine sprang off the bed in protest. "I've betrayed you!? Trust me pal, betrayal is not a something you are authorized to condemn. This is about Aladdin, isn't it? About your jealousy!"
Heavy eyes flashed at the accusation and powerful fists formed at his sides, veins bulging from his neck and biceps. "Jealous? You think I'm jealous!? You vain, small, woman! You may have led their army right to me and you think I am concerned with jealousy regarding your attraction to sleazy rats!?"
She never felt so small minded in her life. No wait – that was a lie. Every moment since she could remember Jafar always had the dexterity to undo her confidence and reduce her to rubble. Only now she couldn't punish him during those moments of humility.
Jafar was right of course, there were far more pressing matters at hand; but damnit she couldn't let this go just yet. (She knew for a fact no one had followed her, Aladdin was clever but not when it came to her.) Jasmine strode over just before he could walk away and pushed on his shoulder, too worked up to keen over the feel of his skin.
"Hey! You're telling me that none of that matters? That another man who proposed to your wife doesn't upset you in he slightest?"
He leaned in baring large teeth. "You're not wanted anymore so what should any of it matter to me!" Jafar shouted, "I am sending you and that twat of a father away and that is final! My word is law!"
"Fucking liar!" Jasmine jeered humorlessly with a shriek. "You expect me to believe that after everything you did – the scandal with the fake princess on the balcony that day, the lengths you went through to ensure you married me meant nothing to you? That all the years you've known me – after watching me grow up, being a part of my life, of my family, that my worth to you is so insignificant that you can throw me out just like that?" Her fingers snapped in his unblinking face.
"I've done far worse to people far more important to me." His outwardly coldness was calculating, but within Jafar was trembling with guilt when Jasmine's face twisted in pain.
He was so busy trying to remain impassive he didn't see the smack coming.
"How can you say that when you took everything from me! You became a part of me! Even if it disgusts me and I hate it, you have become the center of my world!" It was excruciatingly embarrassing to be left this vulnerable, but what else did she have to lose? "I refused to run away with Aladdin for two very simple reasons. I didn't want to abandon my city to the hands of thugs like the ones Aladdin had turned into. And secondly, I had this sick gnawing at my stomach from being apart from you!" She was crying again and in her anger Jasmine shoved Jafar's chest. "All I wanted was for you to burst through that tavern, pull me away from that jerk, and take me home with you. To protect me and care for me because that's your job! As my husband and my Sultan, you should protect me but instead you punish me! And push me away and refuse to give me room to love you!"
Jafar rocked back a little on his heels finding it hard to swallow. Protect? Care for? Love?
There was no room for that in his life; which meant there was no longer room for Jasmine. No good could manifest from what she was asking and Jafar turned from forbidden emotion to facts.
"That, is precisely the reason I've grown weary of your company. Myself and my City need only a reliable Sultana. Not this," he gestured with a long condemning hand, "weak, emotional mess of a child." Stepping in, he hissed further insult, "You're just like your father. A pathetic excuse for a leader and I want you out of my sight," then pushed past towards the bed where his clothing laid.
She was not weak! Wanting something good, someone to love you wasn't weakness! She refused to accept that or the way he talked about her father. What the hell did he know anyway about love? You didn't always find it right away, but everyone deserved to feel it. Just once!
Some tears splattered soundlessly on the Persian rug as Jasmine spun around to follow him again; then covered her mouth with astonished horror.
Jafar's bare back, was coated in deep, disfigured, devastating scars from the tops of his shoulder blades all the way down to the base of his torso. Every inch, every space that could be filled, was. In some areas it appeared the assaulter doubled up, slicing on top of old wounds when there'd been no where else to cut. Or whip. Or flay. Or beat.
With the chest hair thing Jafar has none because, unlike America and Europe, the Eastern civilizations did practice shaving and removing most, if not all, body hair long before it was a trend in other cultures. (Men and Women)