Precipice- Ja'far takes Sinbad's hand, and in that moment changes his destiny.
His hand is warm. It's larger than his, and rough from hard work. It's littered with scars, small and some a bit deeper. From this distance, Ja'far could smell the sea on him. If he had to guess, he was a young fisherman, trying to support his family.
Or at least he had been, before he decided to become king.
He plans on murder. He is an assassin, after all, but a bit of him falters. Something about him is interesting, a story not told. But he is an assassin. He must fulfill the job, or else he will be taken and beaten beyond his own recognition by his own men. He has to do it, for his own survival. Still… he has a feeling this death will haunt him for a while.
And then, before he can truly act, there is darkness and hate and everything bad filling him up. It feels like he's on a precipice, looking down at his future. His stomach is protesting, scared to go through. But what other choice is there? He looks down the cliff in his mind again, and sees himself murdering over and over and over again. He can see how he laughs, now, happy to rid the world of another soul. The white-haired man looks up, madness dancing in his cold, crazed eyes. Ja'far shivers.
He doesn't understand what's happening- he can only hear snippets of words and falling and rukh and subordinate and he cannot keep up a front any longer.
He sees their eyes- their cold, dead, lifeless eyes, staring up at him as if challenging him to keep watching and waiting. The worst is when he can hear the scream of their discovery, or when he sees children in the house.
But he never lets his weaknesses show, lest he be stripped of rank and honor. He remembers every life he takes, and despite beliving in no god or high power he prays for them. It's better to be safe than sorry, really, and maybe it gives him some hope.
But their faces still haunt him at night, glaring and crying and horrified at this small monster they can no longer see. It's the hate he can feel, what almost feels like disappointment from them when he takes their lives. And he's in a spiral, down and down and he looks out and sees nothing in store for him. There's no light, only pitch black and isn't that fitting, letting the darkness be seen and hate filling his soul.
And then that- that Sinbad is there, in his head. Somehow, he understands. Not in a, "I've been there before," way, but a "I know pain". He can understand enough, at least, or see enough of Ja'far's past to know what to say. He hugs Ja'far, and he feels tears.
Crying had always been for privacy, because the Sham Lash would kill those showing weakness. The last time he had cried with people in the room was when he was killing his parents, and they were both bleeding out. But here is this man, practically a stranger, who doesn't care that he's being weak, who only whispers words his ears refuse to hear in a calming tone.
Sinbad lets go, and reaches out his hand again. Ja'far can feel himself leaning towards the dark, to the future he can see. But then he looks back at Sinbad, and sees another version in his eyes.
It's full of sleepless nights and arguments and glares. It's full of hardship and war and blood and so many tears. But through that, he can see the overwhelming love in all of it.
So he reaches out his hand too, and grabs it again. He means it this time, and grasps it. He is pulled away from the edge, and he can see one last glance of that killing machine he's always been told he is. It's gone, then, and all he can see is purple as he falls away from the precipice.
And then there is light in the room. It's behind Sinbad, then everywhere, and then he opens his eyes. Sinbad is there, hugging him, and everyone in the dungeon is watching. He pushed Sinbad away, but hopes the man understands the look in his eyes.
Thank you.