A/N: This has been an exiting week. Lovely fellow Aladdin fic writer, Quicksiluers, author of Second Will Never Be Enough and Sickness of the Heart, and a few more people from Tumblr, such as We-Have-Jaams, posted links to this story, and it generated like 500 hits in like three days. So, be dolls, and go read those two stories and then follow them on Tumblr and sate your Aladdin fix. To those who got the word out and made such great recommendations, thanks a million for your help. You guys are some amazing readers!
COMPLETE 180 DEGREE SEGUE
This made me cry. Nothing I have written as EVER made me cry. I feel like I just survived a trauma. That is all I have to say. I have no words left. They all died alongside my heart. Go. Leave me. Leave me. (shoos you all away to die alone in the shame of what I have done)
The escaped cry of her name shredded his throat as it echoed off the stone bluffs. She was there, and then she wasn't. In the safety of his grasp one moment, then gone in the span of a blink. Gripping the edge of Carpet, his nails tore into the fabric so fiercely he could feel the individual threads pressing into his fingerstips. Or, rather he would have, had he been able to process anything beyond the shape of her falling body getting smaller as the silks of her gown whipped around her extended limbs. Ducking his head lower, he snapped Carpet like a set of reigns, and the rug dropped into a near vertical dive. But, despite his fleet maneuvers, Aladdin knew he wasn't going to make it in time. He had to think, act fast.
In the end, all he could do was trust.
Releasing his vice-like grip, his hands lifted under the rush of fast moving air, followed by the rest of his body escaping gravity as he left the security of his seat atop Carpet. Free falling towards the ground, he stretched his arms toward Jasmine's closest hand. So close. He could almost reach. Narrowing his shoulders, cutting the air like a blade, he stretched to his full extent, one knee digging into the back of the other as he drew into the small possible line.
Slipping loose from her shoulders, her veil took flight, wrapping around his face. Clawing at the obstruction, he tore it from his face, sending it flitting on an upward draft into the night. Almost. Nearly there. Then, he clamped his hand onto her wrist. Yanking her into his chest, he wrapped himself around her, cocooning her body and twisting himself beneath her to shield her from the impact. Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes, kissed Jasmine on the crown of her head, and braced for the punch of jagged stone piercing into his body.
It never came. Instead, familiar worn material caught him like so many storefront awnings had before.
A sharp exhale exploded from his chest, lungs burning from breath withheld. Immobile from shock, he slowly opened his eyes to confirm what he'd known by touch alone — cradled tightly against his chest, Jasmine was securely in his arms.
He'd caught her.
No, they'd caught her. Slipping his hand from around her waist, he moved it from her only enough to gently pat Carpet before his eyes closed again, heavy with relief.
"Thank you, old friend," he whispered.
Sending a silent prayer upwards to the heavens above his prone form, he thanked Allah too.
Panting, fighting to return his breathing to a normal rhythm, Jasmine rose and fell with every heave of his chest. But, she wasn't moving on her own. Yes, they had caught her. She was soundly in his arms. Yet, she was far from safe.
Skidding to a halt across the floor of the Great Hall, guards jumped into action and staff assembled, all drawn by the chaos and distress echoing through the palace halls. Hands were reaching for them to offer assistance, lifting him to his feet, helping him to walk as he carried Jasmine in his arms. But, Aladdin didn't want to be touched, to be helped. He wanted them to fucking move.
Cutting to the front of the clustered mass, Hakim shouldered and shoved his way through, mouth agape, eyes wide at the sight of his Prince clutching his languid Sultana. Offering to take the burden of her weight from Aladdin, Hakim tried to slip his arms under Jasmine so that Aladdin could re-compose himself, gather his wits.
"No!' Sneering as he jerked Jasmine's body away from the well meaning Captain of the Guard, Aladdin growled very much akin to her other protector, an angry snarl that sent the crowd back a few steps. "Summon Jibril! Immediately!"
Pushing forward through the mass, the guards scrambled about at Hakim's orders as Aladdin pressed the slack body of his wife tighter against his chest, taking the stairs two at a time. Some guards followed behind him, along with a few members of the palace staff. Maryam and Nasreen had been the first to follow Aladdin.
No guards were posted at the door of their quarters to open the doors — an unnecessary waste of manpower when the royal couple were not inside. Arms occupied completely with his unresponsive wife, Aladdin raised his boot and thrust the door open with a smash. Rocking into the adjacent walls with a crash, dust trickled down from cracked plaster and tile, the wood around their hinges splintering.
Darting around him into the now open room, Nasreen threw back the soft down blankets to prepare the bed for the Sultana, and Maryam disappeared into the bathing chambers, returning momentarily with a basin full of cool water and several towels.
With none of the hostile regard he had shown to every person and obstacle between him and the bed, Aladdin delivered Jasmine to the mattress. Gently, reverently, he lowered her down, slipping his hands from where he had cradled her shoulders and knees. Free to finally examine her, his hands moved quickly, checking her again for fever, moving clothing to inspect her covered skin, placing his ear to her chest afraid of the silence he might find instead of the comforting beat that had lulled him to sleep earlier that day. Blessedly, she was breathing, but it was barely perceptible. Other than that, she hadn't moved since she had slipped from his grasp.
An irrational void, his mind swirled with questions and accusations. Inside his own chest was an emotional wasteland of misplaced anger and debilitating fear. Jasmine's saving grace — the adrenaline that had given him such acute focus and agility — was waning. In its absence, cortisol leached into his veins, keeping him on edge without any of the benefits. Sweat beaded on skin twitching from overstimulation. Muscles formerly as taut as an overtuned oud string now ached with fatigue. Ears primed to discern the lowest register, every sound was a cacophony. Pupils dilated, all light was a blinding effusion.
Dropping uselessly to sit at her side, one hand shielded his eyes, the other squeezed her small hand. It felt lifeless and cold despite the fever. Guilt traded hands with confusion. Nothing made sense. They'd all taken such careful precautions when working with the sick, remaining covered, cleaning themselves before entering the palace. Besides, they were repeatedly checked for signs of the illness.
No, this was something else. Jasmine didn't have the plague. She hadn't left the palace since the day of the dedication. It had to be something else.
"Your Highness?"
Remembering the others in the room, he acknowledged the use of his title by raising red eyes just above the edge of his index finger. Nasreen peered back at him, worrying her hands.
"She'd be more comfortable if we removed her gown and dressed her for bed." He could tell from her apprehension she was anticipating an outburst like she had seen when Hakim had tried to render assistance. "The physician will be able to attend to her much easier that way."
"I will help Nasreen, my prince." Maryam stooped next to him. "Here. Drink this."
Pressing a cup of sweet smelling date wine into his hand, he hadn't even realized she had pried it from Jasmine's own. Steeling his nerves, it took every ounce of control he could muster not to slap it from her hand. It was irrational— these women were loyal attendants to Jasmine. They had done nothing wrong. Striking against Maryam and Nasreen would fix nothing. But, inside, he was screaming for answers, for someone to pay. Gazing into the amber liquid, it rocked in the cup, and he gripped it tighter to steady his hand. Throwing it back, he downed the rich wine in one long pull. When he lowered the cup, Jibril was standing in the wrecked door frame inspecting the path of destruction that Aladdin had left in his wake.
Instantly at his feet, he met Jibril halfway. "I don't know what's wrong with her — she's unconscious, she has a fever... she fell. She just crumpled over and fell."
"Ladies," Jibril nodded to the young women who stood by silently on the verge of tears. "Continue seeing to the Sultana while I speak to the Prince."
A gentle hand at his back began steer him away towards the open air of the balcony.
"Forget about me!" Aladdin shouted, flinching away from Jibril's touch. "Why aren't you looking at her?"
Pausing on the second step of the balcony, Jibril swallowed, taking a deep breath to collect his words before speaking. "... Because I don't need to examine her. I already know of the Sultana's condition."
It was the courtyard of the madrasa all over again. Liquid fire raced through him, and he pressed his boots into the tiled floor to keep from launching at the physician.
Jasmine doesn't have the plague. She hasn't left the palace. She hasn't been exposed.
Disbelieving, he stared at Jibril, memories coming back to him, information collecting, coalescing a revelation in his mind.
When he had run into Jibril, it had been an unexpected surprise. With the exceptions he had made for council meetings, the physician did not like the leave the bimaristan unless he was ordered. He had returned earlier that day because Aladdin had been under duress. Only an unavoidable emergency or summons from the Sultana would have urged him to return a second time in a single day.
Another piece of information loosened from the recesses of his mind.
Something had been wrong with Jasmine. When he arrived she seemed stunned to find him, even a bit confounded as she tried to explain the circumstances that had brought the physician back to the palace. He had never seen Jasmine comport herself with so little poise.
Another piece.
When he'd apologized, the expression he'd mistaken for resolve had been something else. He had seen it before, but not here on the steps of this balcony when he had offered her a chance to escape, to show her the world. He'd tried to forget, to repress ever having to see that look of despair on her face, but it came rushing back to him like a scene from a nightmare. Eyes lined with unshed tears she refused to spill, an ardent look pleading with him from the depths of her soul for him to stay beneath the mask of a princess who knew the dream must end with her beloved fast-talking thief having to walk away.
The last piece— so obvious if he had only been willing to truly listen to what she had tried to say.
You were right, Aladdin. I should have stayed in the palace…
I should have stayed. Not I should stay. Not a sentiment of agreement, but rather an admission of guilt.
The empty cup clattered to the floor as his body went completely slack. The physician's hands caught him by the shoulders, keeping him on his feet.
… no.
No.
No. No. No. NO!
Wincing to conceal the tears, he whispered, "When?"
"Only just today," Jibril replied, a tone practiced in the art of delivering bad news.
"That's impossible!" Aladdin sobbed. "It takes days for symptoms to appear."
"When the infection is spread by vermin, yes. But, when the Sultana heard you talk about the samaritans from the mosque refusing to help, it was the last her conscience could withstand. She confided in me, said that she felt guilty that she was willingly standing by while others fought to save her people. Unbeknownst to anyone, she slipped out of the palace while you slept to deliver food to the sick trapped in their homes."
At Jibril's words, a spike drove into Aladdin's heart, haunted by Maryam's words after serving his meal.
Shortly after leaving you to sleep, she returned to her study, shutting the doors and commanding that she was not to be disturbed. He'd known then something was amiss. Jasmine never shut out her people.
"To her credit, Her Majesty tried to take precautions."
"Then what happened? I still don't understand how it can develop this fast!"
"There was a young woman with two small girls… Jasmine was helping to feed one. The little girl coughed up blood. The Sultana had removed her covering…" Closing his eyes, Jibril sighed. "Once it enters the lungs, the infection spreads much faster."
"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you begin treatment immediately?"
"She insisted on telling you herself. I was to remain with Hakim at the palace, close at hand. I figured she had until morning. Besides, we both know there is nothing I could really do but make her comfortable and let the illness run its course."
Head heavy, Aladdin turned back to the bed. Nasreen and Maryam were pulling the blankets back over her. She looked as if she were only sleeping. There was a numbness creeping in, finally dulling his senses, blunting the emotions that were impaling his heart. Unmercifully, in the raw fabric of his soul he had felt everything and nothing all at once.
"There is something I'd like to try. I've been reading about the healing properties of fermented liquids…"
The words reached him. His mind processed them. But, nothing Jibril said truly registered... until suddenly it did.
"... the council will be here early, and I'm sure the nobility will be banging down the palace walls once they receive news of your appointment."
Eyes still trained solely on Jasmine as she slept, he shook his head to clear the fog, and asked Jibril to repeat himself. "My what?"
"Your appointment." He repeated. "To Regent."
Jerking sharply back to the physician, his response was nearly inaudible. "Wh... what?"
"Your Highness," Jibril furrowed his brow. "The Sultana is incapacitated, and the elder Sultan remains on his diplomatic trip to Sherabad. As Prince Consort, you're the only member of the Royal Family left who can serve in the capacity of Sultan."
Was it possible to choke on air? To strangle on nothing? Aladdin's throat closed up. His chest was compressing, restricting. The room was spinning out of control, yet he wasn't moving. A deep terror had taken up residence in his gut, emanating impending doom.
"That's… no… it's impossible. I can't! You can't expect me—"
"In the morning, once you have slept and eaten, we shall handle this," Jibril encouraged, a hand on his upper arm, giving it an affirming squeeze. "Together."
Aladdin shook his head. "Please… don't leave."
Embracing the shaking Prince, Jibril whispered, "She is strong, Aladdin. Have faith in her. She came into this world fighting, and she hasn't stopped since."
Releasing him, Jibril bowed, and stepped away, motioning for the women to follow him out. Slow, measured steps brought Aladdin back to her bedside.
His father. His mother. Sunil… Jasmine.
One more person he loved was going to leave him. Once more, left behind, alone in a world that did not want for him. A sobering truth he was finding inescapable — to be loved by people was only temporary. Love for him was not meant to be permanent. In the end, it was only ever him. He was the only constant who remained.
Now, he was losing his princess. His last wish had freed his best friend. His second wish had spared his own life, granted, it had occurred with some authorized assistance. But, his first wish, had been for her. The words he had spoken— Genie, I wish to become a prince — had only been directions to be followed, a means to an end. The wish he held in his heart even Genie could not grant.
Please… let her love me.
A princess who loved a thief. Who married him, and made him a prince. It seemed almost as impossible as surviving the plague.
Collapsing to his knees at her side, his knees hit the tile so hard either bone or ceramic cracked. Drawing her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, pressing it to his cheek, he pulled it to his chest as he slumped into the bed, tears soaking the sheets as he sobbed into the mattress.
Habibti… you promised.