FIC: The Desert Prince 8
Nov. 4th, 2003 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Title: The Desert Prince: A Fable
Part: 8 (Back to Part 7.)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Other info and cast list: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Eighth
Long was that afternoon, and long were the streets of the citadel under my wandering feet. No doubt the pinnacles glinted with gold as they had when I first rode into this city -- but my eyes saw them not. And no doubt the fountains played as they had the evening before and the birds sang in the walnut trees -- but my ears heard none of this, and I no longer marvelled at the splendour of the fortress. Everywhere lurked danger. Every tiled courtyard harboured a threat; every shaded arcade was a trap.
During those first hot lonely hours, I saw no guards at all. I heard no soldiers' footfall. No lance stopped my progress. No arrow hissed through the sultry air. Small sharp shadows fell across the deserted lanes, and from far away I smelled braised lamb and heard the hubbub of people at lunch. Soon, though, all fell silent. It was the hour of midday rest, and the only things that stirred were my heart within my breast and my legs upon the pavement.
'Keep on the move,' my beloved had said, so I kept on the move. I walked aimlessly, in feverish circles and loops, spiralling ever deeper into the labyrinth of the Duke's fortress. And my thoughts spiralled in similar hoops, in and out of the shadows of my mind. They touched upon the dear face of my beloved Sean, upon the memory of the citadel as seen from afar, a vision on the horizon -- was it really only the previous day that we had arrived here? They dwelled on Uncle John, on that morning's trade, on the hand I had seen from the window, the boys I had spied on in their garden, and finally, although I tried not to permit them, my thoughts crowded around the memory of the Desert Duke's gaze. Those terrible eyes had burned themselves into the back of my head as if they were two glowing coals pressed into the sockets of my own eyes.
The last thing I came upon at the very core of my soul's maze was the Desert Prince.
The memory of him rose unbidden into my thoughts, like a cloud of smoke curling upwards from a candle just snuffed. It was the memory of his proud face and of the curl of his lip. It was the memory of the spread of his fingers around the hilt of his sword. I remembered that disdainful brow which surely meant destruction as clearly as did his father's Eye. I remembered those fingers which could probably draw his sword and slit a man's throat within the blink of a lizard's eye. I knew all this and still a strange heat shot through me at the memory of him who was to become my destiny, my doom, my prince of torment.
I felt faint with hunger but I dared not stop to buy myself any food. I felt parched with thirst but I dared not stoop over any of the sparkling fountains. I walked as if in a dream that would never end. The shadows did not appear to lengthen. The sun did not drop towards its night-time bed.
But as the day drew nigh, as the heavens finally turned slowly on their axes and dusky light bled into the sharp shadows of noon -- then my thoughts quieted, and fear took flight. For despite all I had seen, I was still as innocent as a new-hatched chick, and I was also eager and curious and full of a passion for life. I could not remain fearful for long, and as the street vendors returned to cry their wares and tousled-haired urchins began once more to dart from corner to corner, my step quickened and my gaze grew bright.
'Hide among the crowds,' my beloved had said, so I hid among the crowds. In the covered taverns, metal lids clinked on tall glasses of mint julep tea, and there was the wooden clack of draughts pieces and the hoarse laugh of old men at play. Mules pulled carts laden with planks and sacks. In the shade of a palmetto, a gaunt youth displayed his trained lizards and I gathered round among the throng of men and boys to watch their antics. The lizards jumped through tiny hoops and climbed on top of each others' backs, they chased balls and ran up the youth's sleeves, out at his collar, across his head and back down his other sleeve. Everyone laughed, and yes, I laughed, too. I dug into the bag slung around my waist inside my gown and drew forth some coin to throw into the lizard tamer's cup. I bought myself some sweet cakes at a nearby stall, and some hot spicy tea at another. I sat on the rim of a fountain, surrounded by people; I sipped my tea and scaled the city's walls with my eyes; I felt strong and jaunty and wild with trust.
You may wonder that I could laugh, and remembering it, I wonder at it myself. But it was so. I found that I could not remain disconsolate for long. For I had rested securely in the hammock of my beloved friend's care for all of my life. I had been borne aloft in the palms of his hands. My beautiful friend's love had been as the warm breath that blows the feather across the deepest of chasms. Deep down, in my inmost heart, I did not doubt that my friend would save us. Even though I had felt the Desert Duke's might, even though I had seen the Desert Duke's Eyes and felt a multitude of men tremble in mortal terror at the Desert Duke's feet, even so -- I believed my beloved companion, my Sean ben Bean, would breach all walls and defy all foes. He would drive away terror, just as he had driven away the band of brigands with nothing but a whip and a club. He would slay fear, just as he had slain the lion with one blow of his dagger. He would be cunning and fearless, and we would be saved.
'Be bold,' my beloved had said, so I was bold. 'Take heart', he had said, so I took heart.
'Speak to nobody,' he had said, and yet, when the opportunity arose, I spoke. 'The tyrant's enemies may become our friends,' he had said, and I, happening upon those who seemed to be the Desert Duke's enemies, took them for friends and fell in with them.
The first person I met thus was one I had encountered before. He came upon me without warning, in the first flush of evening's cool. I turned a corner, and there he was: the boy with the braided hair, without his blue-eyed companion this time and reclining upon a litter borne by two servants. He wore soft clothes similar to the ones I had seen him in, but of a different colour. He was lazily sucking on a fig, and sticky juices dripped over his bejewelled fingers.
My heart stopped still within my breast.
He looked at me and appraised me with his slow, half-lidded eyes. A flick of his wrist, and the litter bearers halted.
"So," drawled the boy. "Do I know you?"
He could not possibly have seen me peering through the keyhole. Yet there was a deliberation about his question, as if he had come looking for me with a purpose.
I shuffled my feet in confusion. I hardly knew how to address him -- as sir? as lord? as a friend and equal? Or was he a high-class servant? He did not have the air of a master yet there was a certain peremptoriness about him that spoke of familiarity with a master's ways.
"Greetings, stranger," I finally replied. "No, you do not know me."
"What is your name?" asked the boy. "And what is your business in this citadel?" He crossed his feet, and the bells around his ankles jingled. I remembered how he had kissed his companion in the nocturnal garden and felt myself blush under his lazy gaze.
"I go by the name of Orlando ben Bloom," I replied. "I am the apprentice of a cloth merchant come to trade in this city."
"I see," said he and took another bite of his fruit. "Well, I am Dominic, and never mind the bens and the ibns; I forfeited my father's lineage a long time ago." A shadow passed across his face but only briefly; then he again assumed his expression of bored complacence. "Orlando: it is a pretty name, and as you are also pretty, I doubt not that we may meet again. At my Master's pleasure, of course." At that, he threw back his head and laughed. Fig juice streaked the underside of his chin.
"Your Master?" I said with a dry throat. "And who may that be?"
But I had guessed the answer already. 'The Prince likes young boys', Uncle John had said at supper. 'The Prince calls for you,' the braided boy himself had said in his garden. The Prince, the Prince, the Desert Prince.
Too late did I recall that I had just told the stranger my name and my business, and my heart sank with the realisation that I was piling folly upon folly.
"Oh, you will meet him by and by," said the boy Dominic and laughed again. It was not a pleasant laugh. It did not ring true, and there was a resigned desperation about it. He looked at me once more, and then he grew serious and said, "Almost I wish... I don't know you, Orlando, but almost I wish that we might have met under different stars, at another time and in another place. You have the air of someone..."
I held my breath but the boy said no more. He waved his litter bearers on, threw the chewed-up fig skin behind his shoulder into the lane and licked his fingers. Soon, he had disappeared from view and I was left trembling with the knowledge of what I had said and also with something else, something ineffable, something as rich and elusive as damascene silk.
But this was not my strangest encounter of that strange day.
~~~~~
On to Part 9.
Part: 8 (Back to Part 7.)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Other info and cast list: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Eighth
Long was that afternoon, and long were the streets of the citadel under my wandering feet. No doubt the pinnacles glinted with gold as they had when I first rode into this city -- but my eyes saw them not. And no doubt the fountains played as they had the evening before and the birds sang in the walnut trees -- but my ears heard none of this, and I no longer marvelled at the splendour of the fortress. Everywhere lurked danger. Every tiled courtyard harboured a threat; every shaded arcade was a trap.
During those first hot lonely hours, I saw no guards at all. I heard no soldiers' footfall. No lance stopped my progress. No arrow hissed through the sultry air. Small sharp shadows fell across the deserted lanes, and from far away I smelled braised lamb and heard the hubbub of people at lunch. Soon, though, all fell silent. It was the hour of midday rest, and the only things that stirred were my heart within my breast and my legs upon the pavement.
'Keep on the move,' my beloved had said, so I kept on the move. I walked aimlessly, in feverish circles and loops, spiralling ever deeper into the labyrinth of the Duke's fortress. And my thoughts spiralled in similar hoops, in and out of the shadows of my mind. They touched upon the dear face of my beloved Sean, upon the memory of the citadel as seen from afar, a vision on the horizon -- was it really only the previous day that we had arrived here? They dwelled on Uncle John, on that morning's trade, on the hand I had seen from the window, the boys I had spied on in their garden, and finally, although I tried not to permit them, my thoughts crowded around the memory of the Desert Duke's gaze. Those terrible eyes had burned themselves into the back of my head as if they were two glowing coals pressed into the sockets of my own eyes.
The last thing I came upon at the very core of my soul's maze was the Desert Prince.
The memory of him rose unbidden into my thoughts, like a cloud of smoke curling upwards from a candle just snuffed. It was the memory of his proud face and of the curl of his lip. It was the memory of the spread of his fingers around the hilt of his sword. I remembered that disdainful brow which surely meant destruction as clearly as did his father's Eye. I remembered those fingers which could probably draw his sword and slit a man's throat within the blink of a lizard's eye. I knew all this and still a strange heat shot through me at the memory of him who was to become my destiny, my doom, my prince of torment.
I felt faint with hunger but I dared not stop to buy myself any food. I felt parched with thirst but I dared not stoop over any of the sparkling fountains. I walked as if in a dream that would never end. The shadows did not appear to lengthen. The sun did not drop towards its night-time bed.
But as the day drew nigh, as the heavens finally turned slowly on their axes and dusky light bled into the sharp shadows of noon -- then my thoughts quieted, and fear took flight. For despite all I had seen, I was still as innocent as a new-hatched chick, and I was also eager and curious and full of a passion for life. I could not remain fearful for long, and as the street vendors returned to cry their wares and tousled-haired urchins began once more to dart from corner to corner, my step quickened and my gaze grew bright.
'Hide among the crowds,' my beloved had said, so I hid among the crowds. In the covered taverns, metal lids clinked on tall glasses of mint julep tea, and there was the wooden clack of draughts pieces and the hoarse laugh of old men at play. Mules pulled carts laden with planks and sacks. In the shade of a palmetto, a gaunt youth displayed his trained lizards and I gathered round among the throng of men and boys to watch their antics. The lizards jumped through tiny hoops and climbed on top of each others' backs, they chased balls and ran up the youth's sleeves, out at his collar, across his head and back down his other sleeve. Everyone laughed, and yes, I laughed, too. I dug into the bag slung around my waist inside my gown and drew forth some coin to throw into the lizard tamer's cup. I bought myself some sweet cakes at a nearby stall, and some hot spicy tea at another. I sat on the rim of a fountain, surrounded by people; I sipped my tea and scaled the city's walls with my eyes; I felt strong and jaunty and wild with trust.
You may wonder that I could laugh, and remembering it, I wonder at it myself. But it was so. I found that I could not remain disconsolate for long. For I had rested securely in the hammock of my beloved friend's care for all of my life. I had been borne aloft in the palms of his hands. My beautiful friend's love had been as the warm breath that blows the feather across the deepest of chasms. Deep down, in my inmost heart, I did not doubt that my friend would save us. Even though I had felt the Desert Duke's might, even though I had seen the Desert Duke's Eyes and felt a multitude of men tremble in mortal terror at the Desert Duke's feet, even so -- I believed my beloved companion, my Sean ben Bean, would breach all walls and defy all foes. He would drive away terror, just as he had driven away the band of brigands with nothing but a whip and a club. He would slay fear, just as he had slain the lion with one blow of his dagger. He would be cunning and fearless, and we would be saved.
'Be bold,' my beloved had said, so I was bold. 'Take heart', he had said, so I took heart.
'Speak to nobody,' he had said, and yet, when the opportunity arose, I spoke. 'The tyrant's enemies may become our friends,' he had said, and I, happening upon those who seemed to be the Desert Duke's enemies, took them for friends and fell in with them.
The first person I met thus was one I had encountered before. He came upon me without warning, in the first flush of evening's cool. I turned a corner, and there he was: the boy with the braided hair, without his blue-eyed companion this time and reclining upon a litter borne by two servants. He wore soft clothes similar to the ones I had seen him in, but of a different colour. He was lazily sucking on a fig, and sticky juices dripped over his bejewelled fingers.
My heart stopped still within my breast.
He looked at me and appraised me with his slow, half-lidded eyes. A flick of his wrist, and the litter bearers halted.
"So," drawled the boy. "Do I know you?"
He could not possibly have seen me peering through the keyhole. Yet there was a deliberation about his question, as if he had come looking for me with a purpose.
I shuffled my feet in confusion. I hardly knew how to address him -- as sir? as lord? as a friend and equal? Or was he a high-class servant? He did not have the air of a master yet there was a certain peremptoriness about him that spoke of familiarity with a master's ways.
"Greetings, stranger," I finally replied. "No, you do not know me."
"What is your name?" asked the boy. "And what is your business in this citadel?" He crossed his feet, and the bells around his ankles jingled. I remembered how he had kissed his companion in the nocturnal garden and felt myself blush under his lazy gaze.
"I go by the name of Orlando ben Bloom," I replied. "I am the apprentice of a cloth merchant come to trade in this city."
"I see," said he and took another bite of his fruit. "Well, I am Dominic, and never mind the bens and the ibns; I forfeited my father's lineage a long time ago." A shadow passed across his face but only briefly; then he again assumed his expression of bored complacence. "Orlando: it is a pretty name, and as you are also pretty, I doubt not that we may meet again. At my Master's pleasure, of course." At that, he threw back his head and laughed. Fig juice streaked the underside of his chin.
"Your Master?" I said with a dry throat. "And who may that be?"
But I had guessed the answer already. 'The Prince likes young boys', Uncle John had said at supper. 'The Prince calls for you,' the braided boy himself had said in his garden. The Prince, the Prince, the Desert Prince.
Too late did I recall that I had just told the stranger my name and my business, and my heart sank with the realisation that I was piling folly upon folly.
"Oh, you will meet him by and by," said the boy Dominic and laughed again. It was not a pleasant laugh. It did not ring true, and there was a resigned desperation about it. He looked at me once more, and then he grew serious and said, "Almost I wish... I don't know you, Orlando, but almost I wish that we might have met under different stars, at another time and in another place. You have the air of someone..."
I held my breath but the boy said no more. He waved his litter bearers on, threw the chewed-up fig skin behind his shoulder into the lane and licked his fingers. Soon, he had disappeared from view and I was left trembling with the knowledge of what I had said and also with something else, something ineffable, something as rich and elusive as damascene silk.
But this was not my strangest encounter of that strange day.
~~~~~
On to Part 9.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-04 01:10 pm (UTC)*falls upon this as pigeons upon crumbs*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-05 01:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-04 01:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-05 01:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-05 08:28 pm (UTC)I posted Part 11 while you were gone. Part 12 will go up as soon as it gets back from beta.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-07 02:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-07 02:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-04 02:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-05 01:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-04 04:17 pm (UTC)"Almost I wish... I don't know you, Orlando, but almost I wish that we might have met under different stars, at another time and in another place. You have the air of someone..."
Nice touch. :)
DP icon love
Date: 2003-11-05 02:19 am (UTC)And the build-up was intended to last around 4 chapters. I don't know what's happening here but it's just going and going. Fine by me, though. I'm just riding it out. I'll tell you what it is: I really love the Arab world aesthetically. I love minarets and domes and that curly script and the sound of muezzins (I haven't got them in here because I am prevaricating re religion) and galabiahs and curved shoes and hot sun on cool tiles. So I like lingering on those details.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-05 02:44 am (UTC)I knew all this and still a strange heat shot through me at the memory of him who was to become my destiny, my doom, my prince of torment.
*swoons away happily*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-05 03:07 am (UTC)Thank you for your kind comment.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-06 09:02 am (UTC)