Author's Note: This one-shot can be read as a sequel or epilogue to my full-length fic, Queen of Diamonds. However, it can also stand alone as an AU way in which Aladdin and his father might reunite. You do not need to read Queen of Diamonds to understand this fic.
Many thanks to Magic713 for betaing this fic!
Wild Card
As the door of the dungeon cell clanged shut, the King of Thieves felt like it may as well be the sound of his coffin lid closing upon him. He shook his head and ran his manacled hands through his grey-streaked hair.
Cassim, old man, you've really done it this time. You've finally got yourself into a corner you can't escape.
He was sure the scene would have made quite a sight for anyone who knew him. Cassim, the legendary King of Thieves, languishing in a cell after a job gone south. Not that he'd never had things go bad for him before—it's just that this time, it had all gone rather spectacularly wrong.
Well, how could he have been expected to know that an actual genie would show up and throw a wrench in the works? No one could have predicted that! Even that backstabbing meathead Sa'luk had been surprised when the shapeshifting magical being dove into the fray, lifting up an elephant like it was nothing.
Even with the interference of that genie, Cassim still might have succeeded in getting the Oracle if someone somewhere hadn't been a step ahead and figured out that he was going for the gifts while his Forty Thieves provided a distraction by terrorizing the guests at the new baby princess's birthday celebration. Someone had done the math and realized that there were only thirty-nine thieves at the party, and the fortieth one couldn't be far away.
Personally, Cassim had his money on the boy who had confronted him in the antechamber as being the one who'd made the connection. He'd faced Cassim alone, but with a confidence that didn't come from having been caught unawares. Which meant that he'd come looking for Cassim. Pretty ballsy, going toe to toe with the King of Thieves alone and unarmed, but the boy had got the better of him, and now here he was.
Boy—more like young man. God he was getting old if he could call someone who must be in his mid-twenties a boy. He wondered who the young man was. He didn't dress or act like a guard, and the palace guards had taken his orders and deferred to him. His clothing was demure but made with fine materials that smacked of wealth, so perhaps he was royalty, some relative of the royal family come to join in the celebration of the birth of the princess. There was something familiar about him that Cassim couldn't quite place, like he ought to know this kid from somewhere. It was really a bit unsettling, because Cassim prided himself on never forgetting a face. He couldn't afford to, not in his line of work. But he had no idea where he would have met a royal. Maybe he'd stolen something from him before?
Cassim felt restless, like he wanted to pace, but there was no surer way to drive himself completely round the bend than walking in little circles in a cell, especially while also chained to the wall by one ankle—like a dog that's worn a ring of bare ground around the post it's tethered to. Instead he leaned back against the cold, damp stone wall and tried to get a little shuteye. The attempt was doomed to failure, given how keyed up he was and how uncomfortable his accommodations, but it didn't hurt to try, he supposed.
Visions of the Oracle's staff danced behind his eyelids when they fell closed. He had been so close! Just one question, that's all he wanted. That's all the Oracle would give him anyway, but still. He didn't even want the Oracle, just what the Oracle would show him how to find. The little princess could have her gift back after he was done with it for all he cared, though a fat lot of good the Oracle would do a baby who couldn't talk.
Fat lot of good a celebration of this size would do a new baby at all, really. She wasn't even old enough to remember all the guests she couldn't talk to or the gifts she couldn't open or the food she couldn't eat. So what was the point?
Well, the point was for her parents to show off, of course. Cassim supposed he could understand that. When his own son had been born, he'd felt like shouting it from the rooftops for all the world to hear. If he'd been as rich as the Sultan of Agrabah, he might have thrown a giant party too, who knows? Rich people didn't have to concern themselves with things like practicalities.
That was a long, long time ago now, but Cassim still remembered how it felt to hold his own little child in his arms. No huge, splendid party for his son, no way. Just Cassim, his wife, and their new baby in their tiny, tumbledown shack in the poorest neighborhood in Agrabah. He'd been happy though. Worried about how in the world he was going to provide for his little family, but still. Happy.
Cassim's eyes flew open. Why the hell was he thinking about all this anyway? His wife and son hadn't crossed his mind in years, and why should they? They were both dead now; it was no good to dwell on it. He forced himself to his feet. No, this was not going to do. Sitting still was clearly out of the question; he needed to pace. Incipient madness was a risk he'd just have to take.
Cassim stumped back and forth across the cell, the chain around his ankle rattling with every step. The sound echoed off the damp stone walls in a funereal chorus. He could hear his death knell in each step he took. Cassim was under no illusions about what was in store for him. The sultan would doubtless have his head for the many crimes he'd perpetrated. What a coup for the relatively new ruler, capturing the infamous King of Thieves. The opportunity for a very public execution would be too good to pass up.
Cassim shook his head. He was not dead yet, and he didn't plan on dying like this. All he had to do was find some way to stay the sultan's hand. He had precious few resources to do that with at the moment, having been deprived of his weapons, his gang, and his freedom, but he still had his wits and his tongue. He would have to talk his way out of this. He'd done it before; he could do it again. He'd been in tighter spots. He couldn't think of any just at the moment, but he was sure he had been. He just had to figure out what to say that would make the sultan think twice about parting his head from his shoulders.
It was too bad he didn't know more about the Sultan of Agrabah, something that would give him an edge. Usually he liked to know who he was stealing from, but it was hard to get to know royalty if you weren't one of them, and this particular royal seemed to be more difficult to know than most. He was a mysterious figure by all accounts.
There were a lot of rumors on the street about this new sultan. The story went that the man was a prince of a faraway land who rode in from parts unknown and swept the princess off her feet. Some claimed that he was sorcerer and had used his magic to ingratiate himself with the royal family. Many more said that he defeated an evil sorcerer to prove himself to the princess and her father. That one may actually be true—Cassim had heard reports that the infamous Mozenrath, who was widely known to use dark magic, had gone to ground and that the sultan was the one they had to thank for it. He certainly thought that more likely than some of the other far-fetched rumors. Like, for instance, the one that claimed the sultan had not been a prince at all but a regular commoner before he married the princess. Cassim snorted. What fool could possibly believe that crock?
Whatever the real story was, the people of Agrabah seemed to love their new ruler as much as they loved the princess he married. The two of them had introduced sweeping reforms over the last few years that had apparently resulted in a dramatic reduction of crime and poverty in the sultanate. The economic outlook of Agrabah had never been better, and the common folk had their new sultan and sultana to thank for that. Needless to say, Cassim's decision to ruin the little princess's birthday had been a most unpopular one with the masses. Between defeating some of Agrabah's most powerful enemies and providing her people with bread to feed their children, it was no wonder that most of the rabble seemed to view their monarchs as the next thing to God.
Cassim knew better than to be taken in by this, though. The new sultan was a man, nothing more; a man like any other. And like any other man, he would have weaknesses. Cassim just needed the right leverage to get him where he wanted him.
Unfortunately, there was only one thing Cassim had left up his sleeve that might work. It was no use telling him where the lair of the Forty Thieves was. All forty of the thieves were either dead or captured, and though they'd laid away a fair bit of treasure in their cave for a rainy day, it was nowhere near enough to tempt a man as rich and powerful as the sultan. Nothing less than the possibility of ultimate wealth would ever persuade the sultan to let him live.
He was going to have to give up the Hand of Midas.
Though it galled him to think that, after years of searching, he would give up his treasure just on the cusp of success, he knew he had to do this if he wanted to live. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, he could still make off with the Hand if he played his cards right and managed to keep one hand on the wheel to steer.
The next few days were full of pacing as Cassim put his mind to what he might say—and how much he might safely conceal—to get the sultan to listen. He paced until he grew tired enough to sleep, then resumed pacing upon waking. He thought of as many plans and contingencies as he could until his head spun and his ankle chafed from the cuff.
So it was that on the third day, Cassim was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the footsteps outside his cell door until the screech of the key in the lock brought him back to reality. He watched as the door opened to reveal not the turnkey that usually brought his food, but the captain of the guard himself, along with four of his men. They clearly weren't taking any chances with the King of Thieves, which was wise. Cassim couldn't count the number of times he'd made it out of a scrape because he'd taken advantage of his opponent underestimating him.
The captain summarily informed the King of Thieves that he was to be taken before the sultan for judgement, which suited Cassim's purposes just fine. The guards then fastened his arms and legs in manacles and marched him out of the dungeons and up to the palace. He blinked and stumbled at the first time he'd seen full sunlight in days. It was a relief to breathe the free air again. Cassim was not a man who did well in captivity.
The throne room was just as sumptuous and grand as Cassim had imagined it would be, but it was surprisingly empty. The only people in the room when Cassim and his escort entered were two men standing on the dais in front of the enormous throne, deep in conversation over a heavy ledger that one of them was holding. They both looked up when they heard the doors open, and Cassim saw that one of them was the boy that had fought with him over the Oracle. The other man, paling at the sight of the King of Thieves coming towards them, abruptly snapped the book shut, gave a slight bow to the boy, and hastily took his leave.
The captain halted before the dais and announced the King of Thieves to the almost empty room. Then, to Cassim's very great surprise, he and his four guards bowed and departed, leaving him alone with the young man.
"So," the boy said, "you're the infamous King of Thieves." He lowered himself down to sit on the top step of the dais, which brought him eye to eye with Cassim. Now that Cassim wasn't fighting for his life, he had time to actually study the young man's face, which was still ringing a distant bell for him. Clean-shaven, wide dark eyes, strong chin and jaw—a handsome lad, to be sure, but Cassim just couldn't place him. "Leader of the Forty Thieves. It's said you stole the jewels of Opar, kidnapped the prince of Maldonia for ransom, and sacked the city of Getizstan. And that's only a few of the stories."
"And you're the one that put a stop to what would have been my greatest heist yet," Cassim answered, more than a little ruefully. "You seem to know who I am, but I cannot say the same for you, though you seem somewhat familiar to me. Have we met before?"
The young man smiled, as though enjoying his own private joke. "You mean, before you crashed the princess's party a few days ago? No, I don't believe we have. But your reputation precedes you."
Would that this kid's reputation had preceded him; then Cassim might have been able to anticipate his interference and plan accordingly. There were, however, a few things that Cassim felt he could safely assume about the person in front of him already. The others had bowed and deferred to him, but he was much too young to be one of the sultan's councilors, which meant he must be royalty of some kind. The simple cut and colors of his clothing would seem to belie this theory, but perhaps it only meant that his interests lay in other areas than the trappings of the royal court. He was also young, and obviously a man of action. Boys like him were always in search of the next adventure. Good thing Cassim was in possession of one such adventure, along with unimaginable riches thrown into the bargain.
"Given all your high-profile activities, I wouldn't have expected stealing from a baby to be of much interest to you," the young man continued. Cassim noted that he had not yet given his name. "Care to explain?"
Cassim almost smiled. So nice of the lad to give him just the opening he needed. "I suppose there is little point in concealing my reasons for crashing the party. I would apologize to the little princess if I thought it would do any good. Truly, I meant neither her nor anyone else harm."
The boy raised an eyebrow. "No, I suppose you harmed the party guests only because you needed a diversion in order to make off with the Oracle."
So the boy knew that the staff was an Oracle. All right, one point to him then. Honestly, it probably wasn't too difficult to figure out what it was under close inspection. Perhaps that genie had even told him of its true power.
"In truth, my lord, I would have been satisfied with merely borrowing the Oracle," Cassim said, truthfully enough. "Only I did not think that the Sultan of Agrabah would be interested in making a deal with a criminal."
"The Sultan of Agrabah has a long history of making deals with criminals, so long as there is something in it for him," the boy replied with a slight grin. "Perhaps you shouldn't have been so quick to turn to 'borrowing without permission.' It might have saved you a good deal of trouble." The young man's smile widened a bit. "Of course, if you want to make a deal, you must have something to offer. Something I'm guessing you need the Oracle's help to get."
Another point to the boy. Say, this kid wasn't half bad. Cassim wished he'd had a man like him in the Forty Thieves. They could be living like kings by now if he'd had a lieutenant with a brain in his skull. Good-looking, charismatic lad like him would be good at sweet-talking the fences too. Though Cassim had to admit that anyone would be better than Sa'luk, whose idea of negotiating was more threats than offers.
"So," the boy continued, "what's the job? Must be quite the haul if you think the sultan would be interested."
Cassim raised a brow at the young man's turn of phrase. "I had you pegged as royalty, but I never imagined that any member of the sultan's court would use slang like that, even when talking to a thief."
"Royalty?" the boy snorted. "I was born in the slums of Agrabah. I was a thief myself once upon a time."
Cassim's other eyebrow went up to join the first. "You seem to have done well for yourself."
"You could say I've done a little climbing of the social ladder. But you don't just forget living on the streets, no matter how much you move up in the world. You can take the urchin out of the streets, but you can't take the street rat out of the urchin."
Excellent. This couldn't be more perfect. The boy was a fellow thief. He might not have admitted to doing it anymore, but Cassim believed that once a thief, always a thief. People didn't change, not really. Hadn't the boy just said that? Cassim smelled an accomplice in the making.
Maybe this was also why the boy seemed so familiar to him. Cassim's stable of criminal associates was much larger than his circle of royal acquaintances.
"Well, that being the case, you'll probably like this," Cassim said with a smile. He now felt more assured of his chances of escaping this situation with his head still on his shoulders. Even if he couldn't convince the sultan, he could probably convince this kid to go along with his plan, maybe even to work against the sultan to spring Cassim from prison.
"Listen to this, my lord. There is a treasure. The ultimate treasure. Compared to this, a pharaoh's tomb is a pauper's grave. A sultan's fortune nothing but lunch money. And I am this close to it! I have been searching for it for years, nearly my whole career, in fact. But it's on an island that is never in the same place twice. A vanishing isle."
"And what is this 'ultimate treasure?'"
"The big one: the Hand of Midas."
The kid feigned nonchalance at Cassim's theatrics. "I hope you don't mean, like, somebody's actual hand. Because that sounds like it could be messy."
"Very funny, lad. The Hand of Midas turns anything it touches to pure gold."
A pause met Cassim's pronouncement. The boy seemed like he was waiting for Cassim to say something else. "…And that's all it does? Turns ordinary objects into gold?"
Cassim was agog at how underwhelmed the boy seemed. The King of Thieves just told him that he could lead him to a treasure beyond his wildest dreams and all he had to say was 'that's it?' "Isn't that enough?"
The young man stood slowly, rising to stand over Cassim on the steps of the dais.
"So that's what you're after. Gold. Limitless wealth." The boy's voice was soft, and was Cassim imagining it or did the kid seem…disappointed? "Well, perhaps if you ever find this Hand of Midas, you should touch it to your own forehead. After all, if you love gold so much, what could be more fitting than if you're literally made of it? Of course, then you'd just be a frozen stiff statue, but hey, at least you'd have everything you always wanted."
"This isn't a joke, boy!" Cassim was so astonished and even angry that this kid could take his life's work so lightly that his courtesies slipped for an instant. "I even have proof. I know of a place where the hand once was—a shipwreck, not too far from here. And the entire ship, from stern to stem…all of it—solid gold! Touched by the hand of Midas."
"And sunk by it," the boy scoffed.
Cassim was disappointed, to say the least. He'd thought this boy was smart, a man after his own heart! How could he turn down this opportunity?
"Laugh all you want, my lord," Cassim said, trying to fold his arms across his chest and in so doing remembering that he still had manacles on. "We shall see what the sultan has to say when he hears my proposal."
The young man laughed at that, though Cassim could not see what was so funny. "Tell the sultan?" he said as he turned and seated himself on the ornate throne. "Who do you think you've been talking to?"
Cassim froze. No…this boy—the sultan? But he looked to be barely in his mid-twenties, if that! His predecessor had stepped down in favor of a boy who hadn't even reached his thirtieth year yet? A boy who wasn't of royal blood, who had lived on the streets as a thief?
The sultan regarded Cassim's wide-eyed shock with amusement, brow raised. "Well?"
Cassim, too much surprised to think of a coherent response, blurted out the thing foremost in his thoughts. "I thought you'd be older!"
Instead of taking offense, the sultan laughed again. "Funny you should say that. I was just thinking that the infamous King of Thieves would be a bit younger. Why," and then the sultan paused, as if to emphasize his next words, "you're old enough to be my father."
And the way he said that and the way he looked at him as he said it had Cassim finally realizing why this kid looked so familiar. Those eyes, and the expression in them, were a dead ringer for his late wife! But no. It couldn't be. The Sultan of Agrabah couldn't possibly be his lost son Aladdin. That was ridiculous. He must be going crazy. Wasn't he?
But now that he'd seen it, Cassim was finding more and more similarities to himself and his wife. Her eyes, his cheekbones, her chin…And what he'd mentioned of his past lined up with what little Cassim knew about what had happened to his son. Not to mention that the sultan himself seemed to be confirming his realization without outright stating it. His gaze was fixed on Cassim as though waiting—waiting for him to make the connection, to come to the right conclusion. But was this the right conclusion?
And then a little boy came dashing into the throne room from a side door, pelting toward the throne as fast as his short legs could go, and the bottom dropped out of Cassim's stomach. The child was the spitting image of his little boy Aladdin when he was that age. Cassim was surprised to realize that after all these years, he still remembered what his son had looked like.
"Papa!" the child called as he ran straight into the sultan's arms. Cassim had to pinch himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming. It was real. This was really real. He had found his lost son at long last, and apparently his son was now the ruler of the entire sultanate.
And the father of his grandchild.
Cassim felt frozen, inside and out. He didn't know what to think or feel about all this. In truth, he hadn't given much thought to his son in the last twenty-odd years, ever since he'd made the journey back to Agrabah to visit his wife only to find her dead and in her grave and the boy gone. He'd tried to find Aladdin then, but no one knew what had happened to him in the year since his mother's death. There were tens of thousands of people living in Agrabah, and hundreds of urchin boys. Cassim's search had been doomed from the start. And he'd felt sure anyway that his son couldn't have survived at such a young age alone. The boy was more than likely dead.
He remembered his devastation over their deaths. His family had needed him, and he hadn't been there. His wife and child were dead and he hadn't even known about it until almost a year after the fact because he'd abandoned them. Cassim wasn't a man given to feeling guilt or dwelling on such things overmuch, but he did feel guilty for that. He'd soon after put it out of his mind though, and refused to think about it any longer. The past was in the past. Wishing it were different wouldn't change anything.
Only now to find out that his son had lived—and thrived. He felt a strange mix of pride and shame, happiness and sadness well up in his breast.
Finally the sultan's attention, momentarily distracted by the unexpected arrival of his son, turned back to Cassim when the child, now perched in his lap, asked about him.
"How come that man is chained up?" the boy asked his father.
"Because he is a thief, and I am to pass sentence on him," the man answered his son. He did not mention what he surely knew: that this thief was the boy's grandfather. At first Cassim did not know how the sultan had come to this realization—he wondered if his son had any memories of his father at all, he'd been so young when he'd left—but he was sure that the sultan knew somehow. And then he remembered: the sultan had the Oracle. The Oracle could tell him anything he wanted to know, anything at all—including where his father was. Had he really used his only question to find him? Shame curled in Cassim's gut. He hadn't even thought to use the Oracle to discover what had become of his only child. Granted, until just a few minutes before he had been all but certain that the boy had perished years ago, but still…
The little boy was regarding Cassim with new interest. "The thief that tried to steal my sister's presents?" Sharp kid, to have made that connection already. Cassim felt ridiculously proud for just an instant before he remembered that he had no right to it and quashed the feeling.
"Yes," the sultan said, confirming the child's guess as correct with a small, proud smile of his own.
"Is he guilty?"
"Without a doubt."
"What are you going to do with him?" Good question, kid. Just what I'd like to know as well.
"I haven't quite decided yet." Hasn't decided? Hasn't decided whether he wants Cassim beheaded or hanged, probably, but doesn't want to say that in front of his kid. Then the sultan said something that surprised Cassim. "What would you do with him?" he asked the boy.
The little boy looked at Cassim, regarding him with an intensity that was strange on the face of one so young. Cassim drank in the attention of his grandson. "You ruined my sister's birthday party," the boy said. "You tried to steal her presents. How come you did that?"
Cassim did not know how to answer that question. How to tell his three-year-old grandson that he had tried to steal from his infant granddaughter because he wanted money and power? Confessing his sins to this little boy, who looked so much like the son he thought he'd lost, was in a way the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He realized in that moment what exactly he had given up in his quest for riches and adventure, and he wondered if he had made the right decision after all. He felt heavy, as though he carried the weight of every one of his fifty-three years. "I suppose I did it because I am a thief and a bad man," he finally answered. "I have been a bad man all my life."
"Are you sorry?"
In that moment, Cassim realized that he was. He had seen himself just now through a child's eyes, his own grandson's, and had come up wanting. "Yes, I am, my prince. I am truly sorry."
"Do you promise never to do it again?"
Cassim knew that he was an old man. He'd been a thief all his life. He did not know if he had it in him to change. But he couldn't let his grandson down. "I promise, my prince."
The little boy nodded sagely, frowning with a gravitas that he could not quite pull off with his chubby cheeks, and it almost made Cassim want to smile. But this was serious. "Okay. I believe you." He turned to his father, the sultan. "Since he's already been inna dungeon, I think he's been punished enough. You can let him go. He promised not to do it again."
It was a child's sentence passed by none other than a child. From the innocent point of view of a three-year-old, Cassim had received his punishment and now he knew better. It was probably the way this little boy had been disciplined all his short life, and from his limited perspective, it was fair.
The sultan had so far kept his face blank so that Cassim could not see what he might be thinking about his son's conversation with his grandfather, but Cassim thought that maybe he saw just the slightest smile and a hint of sadness in the man's eyes when the boy finally passed his childish judgement.
As the little boy finished pronouncing his sentence, an extraordinarily beautiful but tired-looking woman holding a baby came into the room. She called to the boy, a stern yet gentle look on her face that only a mother could master.
"Ali, you know better than to bother your father during official business. You come with me now."
"But Mama!"
"Come at once, Ali!"
The boy turned to his father. "Will you let him go?"
"I'll take your advice under consideration, my son. Now go with your mother." The boy hopped down from his father's lap and shuffled over to the sultana, who smoothed back his hair with one hand and told him that he could help feed his sister and put her down for her nap. Cassim tore his hungry gaze away from his infant granddaughter and caught the woman's eye. One glance was enough to tell him that she knew exactly who he was and didn't like it at all. He supposed that he really couldn't blame her.
Once the sultana had departed with her children, Cassim and the sultan were alone again. The sultan let the silence stretch for a long minute, allowing the weight of everything unsaid to fill the air between them. Cassim could barely breathe with how heavy those words weighed on his breast, but he would not say them. It was not his turn to speak. His chance to tell his son that he loved him and was proud of him had passed him by a long, long time ago.
Then the sultan rose from his throne, purpose in every movement. This was it then—the moment Cassim had been dreading. The sultan would now sentence him. God, where had his life gone so wrong that his own son should have to order his execution? Regret that his self-centered ways had put his boy in such an awful position filled him with bitterness.
"You have stolen from many, and hurt many," the sultan began. "In your last act you moved against my wife and children for your own gain. You have hurt them. And you have hurt me as well." Cassim knew that the sultan wasn't just talking about stealing the Oracle. The sultan paused, then continued, "My son does not understand the scope of your crimes. Yet his words have wisdom. Mercy is the only thing that could save you now." His son's voice grew soft. "I forgive you, for everything. You are pardoned. You have my leave to go."
The breath Cassim had been holding left him in a rush. He could hardly believe his ears. He was expecting death by beheading or life imprisonment at the very least. After abandoning his wife and son for a life of crime, he deserved nothing less. He would not fault the sultan for wanting to see him get what he most assuredly had coming to him. He bowed deeply, not trusting himself to look his son in the eye, and tried to force his paralyzed tongue to say something as the Sultan summoned the guards to escort him out.
"But know this, King of Thieves," the sultan said just as Cassim felt the guards' hands on his shoulders. "My mercy has its limits. If you were to break your promise to my son, even I could not save you from the fate you deserve. Know that I never want to see you brought before me again."
Cassim knew then that he was about to be escorted from his son's life, never to see him again. His son had banished him from his home and disowned him, and Cassim couldn't even blame him, not one bit. He had abandoned his son first. It was no wonder that he, now in a prominent position of power and surrounded by the love of his own family, did not want his degenerate of a father to sully that. If Cassim were in the sultan's shoes, he probably would have done a lot worse.
But his son had given him all that he was able to give in that moment, and it was something that Cassim sorely needed. "Thank you, your Grace," he said. His tongue stumbled over the man's title, but he forced himself to say just that and no more. "Your mercy and your forgiveness mean more to me than I can express."
The sultan only nodded, his eyes grave and sad. "Then farewell, King of Thieves," he said as the guards began to pull him away.
The door of the throne room shut behind Cassim with a resonant finality, and a tear escaped his eye.
Goodbye, Aladdin.