Hello lovely AoS fans! I started this fic over a year ago, and recently came back to it. I'm not sure how often I'll have time to update it, but I will do my best! Essentially, it's a crossover of sorts between AoS and a novel called "Red Queen," by Victoria Aveyard. I kept all the characters and settings from AoS, but infused plotlines and circumstances from the novel to create a different take on the series. Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Adventures of Sinbad or the novel Red Queen, just having some fun with words :)


Order. Duty. Divine Right. It was all Sinbad knew. It was all he had ever known, all that the world around him was built upon. The boards beneath his feet creaked with it, his brother's mangled leg limped with it, the sun on his face burned with it. The very rocks on the shoreline bled with it.

And yet, such propaganda was utterly meaningless to him. The queen who ruled over their continent from her glittering throne was more of an idea then she was a person to him. To any of them. Her husband, her daughters, the entire city of Baghdad with its privileged, magic using populace was distant and surreal, like a dream based out of the pages of a storybook. It might as well have been, given how vastly removed it was from the life he knew. His life of servitude, of poverty, of endless debt to rulers who could care less if he lived or died. And all because he was unfortunate enough to be born 'Without.'

The Without lived their lives under the purview, the 'protection' of those with magic. Those with fine silver blood, rather than dirty red. Those who were able to defend the continent from would be usurpers in other lands, similarly blessed with power and thus privilege. Not that it really mattered to him though, he reflected bitterly, as he gripped the Nomad's tiller with more ferocity than was required. He'd always be little more than a slave, regardless of which banner he sailed under. Those with magic had no reason to value people like him, beyond the limited set of skills they could provide. He may be a good captain, but he was replaceable. All Without were replaceable.

His brother Doubar was evidence enough of that. Fate was needlessly cruel to those that didn't matter. It wasn't enough that both their parents had died within months of each other, one from fever, the other at sea. Not enough that he had to become a father to Sinbad when he was scarcely more than a child himself. Not enough that he had lost out on his opportunity to apprentice under his father as a sailor and merchant, forced instead to use his unusual strength to perform backbreaking labour around their decrepit town for equally decrepit folk, to ensure they had always had clothes on their back and something to eat.

Because when he turned eighteen, he was eligible to fight in the endless wars waged by their magical oppressors. To become a chess piece in a game played by godlike beings, whose blood and lineage were far too important to risk spilling onto the sands they sought to claim. Doubar was lucky to have come home as a cripple. If you could call it luck to live life as a broken memory of a man who might have been. Many others returned in a box, or not at all.

"Copper for your thoughts brother?" Doubar prodded, moving to join his sibling at the tiller. Sinbad offered him a half-hearted smile, struggling to put his brooding countenance aside.

"On second thought though, perhaps you should keep them to yourself. They seem heavy enough to sink this whole damn ship," the big man admonished, as he rubbed at his chronically sore leg.

"My apologies brother," Sinbad answered abjectly, not wanting his bitter mood to burden the man who had given up so much of his life so that his would be better. So that he could even survive into adulthood. "We should be home to Basra by nightfall. I'll be sure to treat you to the finest medicinal ale from your preferred tavern of healing. Who knows, perhaps we'll even find you a lovely 'nurse' to give you a massage," he teased.

"Huh," scoffed Doubar with no small amount of amusement. "If I can find a woman willing to help massage out this hideous thing, I'll see if she wouldn't mind tending to me in a much more 'holistic' fashion.

Sinbad laughed as he clapped him on the back. "Now that's the spirit brother. It's been a long few weeks at sea. I'm sure Aiden won't mind that you indulge in a bit of home-grown comforts."

"You're sure he won't still be at sea himself? That storm we hit a few nights back was enough to capsize a ship, never mind cause critical damages. It hadn't been for your unholy skill and luck with storms, we would likely still be stuck on some godforsaken, war torn isle struggling to make repairs and to not be killed in the process."

"He'll be back Doubar. After all, who do you think taught this sea dog his tricks? Besides, he had less cargo stops left than us before the ceremony."

"Well, I hope you're right. I cringe just thinking about the fury to be rained down upon the Captain who would dare be late with provisions for the royal family's great spectacle," he scoffed. As it is, you cut it awfully close yourself."

"Yeah well, the Trial of Princes isn't until tomorrow evening," Sinbad assured, eager to put aside his brother's worries. "I'll have this cargo ready to sail up the Tigress to Baghdad at first light. They'll have their boundary closed by the time we reach port tonight anyways."

"Aye, that's true. Heaven forbid a single grain of Baghdad's sand be contaminated with our filth without a hundred sentinels on hand to manage it," the big man laughed out mirthlessly.

Sinbad could hardly contain his grimace, as he thought of his least favourite place on the seven seas. "They can keep their city and their cargo. The sooner I can offload it and be back at sea, the better." He no more belonged amongst its opulent streets and magical bloodlines than a canary did amongst birds of paradise. He was born Without, he lived Without, and he would die Without. And no amount of ire or bloodshed would change that intractable truth.