A/N: Alright, confession time: I am a lying liar who lies. I promised a fluffy, romantic chapter... and it's coming, I SWEAR! I have spent the last couple of days researching information I need for later parts of the story, and I got sidetracked with some really helpful information. Then, thanks to a terrifyingly well targeted advertisement based on said research and YouTubing of Aladdin clips for reference, I stumbled across an a book called a We Hunt the Flame by Hafsah Faizal, whose Arabic inspired fantasy world and sweet romantic character interactions were, as if divinely sent by the universe itself, EXACTLY what I needed to help me write this story. So, that being said, I have lots of notes written for the fluffy scene I promised, and I ensure it will be worth the wait. Meanwhile, the part of my creative mind that wants to actually be a good writer started thinking about the pacing and outline of the story, and was like... have you considered trying plot? Needless to say, I was strong armed by my muse into writing something that was actually important to the story line, but I don't think you will be disappointed.
The fluff is coming. It is. But, I needed to set something up, and then we can have a lovey, mush-filled aside with levels of saccharine sweetness that will probably result in you developing Type-2 diabetes.
In the mean time, look! -waves jazz hands- A shiny plot driven distraction!
Everywhere he went in the palace, he could feel the eyes. They watched him, pitied him, judged him. He couldn't escape their gaze. He had left Sunil in the garden, and there would be servants making the necessary preparations for dinner in their suite, cutting Aladdin off from his customary retreats. The voice in his head seeped more poison into the back of his mind. Those silent stares spoke volumes.
They know you don't belong.
They know you'll never live up to the expectations.
They know you are a weight around her neck.
It would be easier on everyone if you would just slipped away in the night...
Truth be told, Aladdin didn't know if it was escaping those eyes, or an attempt to outrun the voices that drove him deeper into the palace. The hallways and rooms down here were less recognizable. These lower levels served more pragmatic, domestic functions as opposed to the opulent rooms upstairs. Still, that didn't mean they weren't ornate and grand. After all, they were still part of the palace. It was that they merely paled in comparison to the exquisite rooms he frequented as a member of the royal family.
Servants quarters. Storage for finery, dry goods, lamp oil. Passages for the staff to flit from one end of the palace to the other in a matter of seconds rather than cross the expansive spaces upstairs. A holdover from the expectations of Sultan's in generations past, they were passages for them to move unseen.
Certainly, Jasmine didn't expect such clandestine behaviors from her staff, being neither seen nor heard, like her forebears who had built the passages. Of all people, she knew personally what it was like to be stripped of your voice, your presence considered a vexing toleration until something could be done with you. The powers that be had tried to silence her, and they had failed, miserably. Jasmine could not condemn another being to such a fate. She wholeheartedly respected the service of the palace staff, and had taken great strides to make sure that anyone who dedicated their life to the palace was granted the respect and adulation that one was due for such loyal service to the state. She had personally overseen a raise in their compensation, ensured their duties were not overly taxing or dangerous, and that they had access to the palace physicians whenever they felt the slightest bit ill. After all, illness in the palace could easily spread.
Aladdin pushed the reminder of this morning's incident from his mind, and stalked further down the hall.
That's when he realized for the first time, despite having such usually keen awareness, he was suddenly registering his surroundings as more than just blurry outlines and colorful shapes. The same rugs and vases and mosaics were repeating. He was walking in a circle. He'd forgotten that the hallways in the lowest levels all connected back on each other. It made sense. There were no gardens or terraces or grand halls for the servants to use. No use for a path to lead anywhere other than their intended destination and back again with the most efficient means possible. Heaven forbid that a servant should keep a royal waiting.
Apparently, he had run out of places to hide. Perhaps he should take that as a sign return to the suite and wait for Jasmine to finish up with Dalia. He would follow the hall back around until he came to one of the stairways that lead up to one of the many palace wings. Pushing forward, he tried to shake away the last remnants of his worries. They needed to stay downstairs, hidden away like the servants of old. An evening of Jasmine's undivided attention was too sumptuous of a promise to sully it with these oppressive doubts. It had been far too long since they had been given the time to bask in the proximity of each other, to talk idly rather than with an agenda, to savor the simple joy of being husband and wife. He needed that desperately, and Jasmine needed to see he was well, that there was nothing to trouble herself about, and that all was right in their world.
A niche along the wall appeared ahead, and Aladdin quickened his pace, eager to scurry upstairs. But, to his surprise, with his agile feet out of practice, he skidded to an abrupt halt before nearly slamming into a closed door. Instead of the staircase he anticipated, a large dark door loomed menacingly before him. While he knew that he had been distracted while pacing the halls, unlike the decorations that adorned these halls, he couldn't recall passing it before.
As The Prince, Aladdin didn't really spend much time downstairs. Naturally curious as he was, when he had first arrived at his new home, he had done some preliminary exploring. But, as preparations for the wedding, the coronation, and lessons in navigating the expected duties of royal life all increased the demands on his time, his explorations had taken a back seat to trying his best not to appeal like a proper fool.
Examining the door, he genuinely had no idea what lie on the other side of it. Otherwise unremarkable, the only difference if held from the other doors in the hall was its placement. Besides staircases which had been built on the left sides of the halls leading to the palace wings, it was the only opening on the outside wall, as opposed to the others all to his right, opening to inward rooms that made up the interior mass of the lower space. Interest piqued, he reached for the handle, and pulled. It was heavier than he expected, but with enough effort, it hefted open. Swinging slowly, it gave way to another passage, the length of which difficult to ascertain as it faded into darkness. Grabbing a lamp off an adjacent table, Aladdin slipped into the darkness pulling the door shut behind.
The walls inside the passage were very different than those in the last hallway, much more spartan and utilitarian. Made from a much less refined stone, they appeared to be carved directly into the mount on which the palace had been erected. Making his way down the passage, he came upon a stairwell that dropped abruptly into further darkness. A musty odor hung in the air, and a chilled dampness clung to his skin. One hand against the wall, the other holding the lamp far enough away from his body to illuminate the next several steps, Aladdin felt like he was descending into a labyrinth.
The minute his feet hit the bare, earthen floor, he knew exactly to where he had traveled. Formed in the shape of a circle, cells ringed a curved wall behind iron bars. Narrow shafts of light cut sharply through the dark from squat rectangles high on the ceiling, too small for even a child to squeeze through, and too high to reach even if standing on another man's shoulders. The windows, if you could call them that, served two obvious functions — ventilation to prevent prisoners from asphyxiating before a sultan could have the pleasure of putting them to death himself, and to remind those same prisoners that there was still a world outside, full of warmth and light, promising that the next time they returned to it, it would be the last thing they ever saw.
Turning away from the cells, Aladdin whispered a grateful prayer that in all the years he had spent agitating the guards, he'd been spared such a fate. Instead, he examined the opposite wall. A chair or two for the guards, a rack of hand held weapons to keep the prisoners in line, a set of keys hung from a nail. Then, he saw another door, smaller in shape than the last one, with a rounded top, made out of metal lattice rather than solid wood. Also, unlike the last one, this one was locked. A large padlock hung through a loop on the handle, seemingly excessively in size for such a small door. Peering through the holes in the lattice, the flame didn't penetrate deep enough into the windowless room to discern what it held or why it would be locked. Taking the ring of keys down from the hook, he tried each one to no avail.
No matter. Pulling out the bejeweled fibulae pinned through the fabric of his tunic, he wriggled the sharp point into the keyhole. Aladdin wasn't much for jewelry and finery. Even his royal attire was considered modest by most. But, the part of his brain that had been conditioned for mischief saw the unspoken benefit of wearing a piece of jewelry that could easily double as a lock pick. You could take the thief out of the market, but…
It was embarrassing how easy the lock fell open. Maybe he wasn't as rusty as he had assumed. Or, maybe he needed to have a conversation with Hakim about the real security of supposedly secured places.
Holding the meager source of light aloft, he noticed a few more lamps scattered around the space, their metal catching the flame with a dull reflection. Most still held a small amount of fuel, and sprang to life with enough coaxing. The opposite wall was curved as well, and Aladdin surmised that the dungeon had been built into the foundation of one of the many towers. From living inside the palace, he had forgotten that most of the structure was comprised of rounded towers, rising into the sky with their gilded domes. The interior of the palace was designed to subvert the circular shape of the walls within square rooms, making it much easier to place furniture flush against surfaces. It had been a long time since he had gazed longingly at the palace, wistfully imagining the grandeur of life inside, unaware he was actually staring at his future home.
Ignorance had sure been bliss back then. He should have listened to Jasmine when he had the chance.
Spiderwebs congested space, ensnaring everything. Dust adhered to objects like paste had been applied and they had been rolled in it. One table was covered in various kinds of glassware — vials, bottles, jars — their contents inside preserved for posterity. From the various ingredients and instruments, it appeared to be alchemical equipment.
In the middle of the space, a short wall rose up, revealing what appeared to be a well set into the middle of the floor. Walking the perimeter of the well, he leaned over, the light unable to reveal the depth within. He didn't want to imagine how far that meant it went down. The image of a gaping tiger's mouth flashed inside his mind's eye, reminded of a tumble to what he thought would surely be his death. Out of all the stumbles, trips, and falls he's taken while trying to evade the guards, that had definitely been the worst. Just thinking about it was enough to knock the wind out of his chest all over again.
Then, the memory triggered an idea, which scanning the room felt like the beginning of a revelation. Pieces were falling into place. Across the room, a set of shelves rose upwards from another table workspace, stuffed with scrolls and books. Gliding the light horizontally across the rows of books, the the dust dulled titles weakly caught the flame on their gold lettering.
Luma'at al-Nuraniyya. Kitab al-Mawalid. Ulum al-Ghyab.
Dozens of books, all with similar titles, shelves stacked with a small library consisting of a single topic: sihr.
Magic. They were all books about magic. Treatises on theurgy, alchemy, nature, divination, astrology, and now, no surprise that he had puzzled out who the collector of these volumes had been, the darker arts. Confirming his previous assumption, Aladdin felt his chest tighten at the realization that he now stood within Jafar's abandoned lair.
On the table, one of the books lay spread open to the last page the malevolent Vizier had read. Brushing away to accumulated layer of dust, Aladdin squinted in the semi-darkness, trying to read the scrolling text of the passage.
'Upon seizing a wild djinn, the creature can be subdued and compelled into obedience with the following incantation: Azamatu Alaykum, I command you. If the name of a djinn can be ascertained by the sorcerer, the djinn can be summoned directly, and bound to talisman or inside a vessel. Neither capturing or summoning a djinn is an easy feat. Many seeking the magic of a djinn find better use of their time and resources by seeking to obtain an already bound djinn.'
This was the book that had lead Jafar on the quest for the Cave of Wonders, that had forced their paths to cross. A strange feeling was pooling in Aladdin's stomach, and he was amazed to discover the feeling was excitement. The desire to prove his worth had driven Jafar to learn magic, which had in turn lead him to Aladdin, leading Aladdin to the lamp, and eventually to a new life as the Prince of Agrabah. If the threads of his fate had been woven so intricately with Jafar's thanks to the knowledge in these books, perhaps it was also his fate to find them.
Aladdin had witnessed Jafar's power first hand, even before the powers he wielded had been magnified by the Genie. The staff the vizier had created was strong enough to coerce any being, and that magic had come to him long before he had acquired it through three wishes. From the conversation they had, just two street rats side by side in the vast desert, he knew the lengths to which Jafar had gone to acquire and maintain his power. From these books, Jafar had learned how to wield al sihr. But, Jafar had held grandiose, vile ambitions. Magic in the hands of someone like Jafar was dangerous. In the hands of someone with pure intentions, with the consideration of a kingdom and its citizens first in their mind, with the desire to be a good leader rather than acquire power for the sake of power, then perhaps…
The lamp light in the room began to flicker and fade, the scant oil reserves of the lamps having been consumed. How long Aladdin had remained here, mesmerized by the books, by the knowledge contained within, by potential promise the held, he didn't know. It could have been hours. It could have been minutes. Either way, he needed to return upstairs. Snuffing out the weakening flames, he slipped out of the metal door, clicking the lock firmly back into place. Now, upon the discovery of its contents, Aladdin realized why it had been locked in the first place. Fighting the nagging quandary about why they hadn't just been destroyed, he wondered, if like his unintentional discovery, that its survival had not also been by design.
Reinserting the fibulae, he knocked the accumulated dust from his tunic, and made his way back up the stairs. From the length of the dungeon entrance to the first staircase he crossed, he caught himself counting steps and noting the direction.
He wasn't really sure why.
A/N: Alright, so, my inner history nerd came out on this one, and I have been doing some in-depth research. Most of the information I used for this chapter came from three articles on magic in Islam and djinn lore... that I can't fucking share with you b/c no matter whether I copy-paste or use html, the hyperlink address formatting gets totally fucked when I save and becomes complete gibberish. I even tried taking a screen shot the links from a doc... but I couldn't insert the picture. Wtf, ?
fibulae - a decorative pin that served as an ancient safety to hold the drape of clothing
Luma'at al-Nuraniyya - "Brilliant Lights" - discussed the occults powers of wielding the name of God, and how to make talismans and amulets
Kitab al-Mawalid - "Book of Nativities" - ancient Middle Eastern astrology
Ulum al-Ghyab - "The Occult Sciences" - not necessarily the name of an actual book, but sure it sounded like it could be one ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
sihr - magic