it's not much

[maderr]

It's missing the last scene or two, but it's not cliff-hangery or anything. Unfortunately, ki-chan has already read this so I shall have to send her something else, hmm...

Rewritten in some places, which is the only reason I chose to post it. I've been ordered not to post the last story until this one is finished, else I would have posted that since order really doesn't matter much to me.



Aikhadour

He’d thought the inns and taverns as they traveled had been noisy, but the bustle of the palace was something new again. Aik wished he had something to take for his head, or better a still a quiet place to rest. He lowered his head a bit, barely listening as Eldest spoke with his Majesty, King Shahjahan.

Already he missed the quiet of the temple, the remoteness of the mountain. Aik closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, willing away everything that unsettled him, slowly regaining his center.

Opening his eyes slowly, feeling slightly more in control, he took another look at his surroundings.

So many people, courtiers and nobles, servants and guards, and a seeming unending crowd of people waiting a turn to be presented to the King. Foreigners seeking permission to live or travel, nobles coming of age, visitors begging permission to dwell in the palace for a time…on and on the list went.

Aikhadour had journeyed with four other monks to study in the royal libraries. He had barely been granted permission; only his exceptional skill and devotion to his studies had earned him the chance when men older than he were still not permitted to leave the sanctuary of the temple.

He was beginning to wish he’d stayed. Forcing away the negative thought, for thinking so would not improve anything, Aik let his eyes wander but was careful not to stare at anything lest he unintentionally seem rude.

At last they settled on the throne, and suddenly Aik realized he was staring.

For all that he’d heard nothing but praise for King Shahjahan, and more than a few remarks on his looks and prowess – it was said the two men in his Harem were quite intriguing, one a traitor, the other a pirate – he had not really expected the King to be as handsome as he was. Dark skin and hair, eyes dark, probably brown, a solid build, neither slender nor overly large. Most intriguing of all, there was no softness to him. He didn’t look like so many other nobles that Aik had spied on the long journey from the mountain. King Shahjahan looked like a man who stood with his men, his people, instead of giving orders while safely ensconced on his throne.

Perhaps he was over-thinking things. Though the real problem was that he noticed at all. He’d never noticed what anyone looked like before. His life was the temple, his brothers. All else was irrelevant. Aik frowned and looked away, but in his mind he could still see the King, and now it was impossible to block that deep, warm, ever-so-slightly rough voice.

Realizing he was letting himself be distracted in the worst way, Aik began silently to recite a prayer of concentration. He was halfway through it when someone nudged him, and he realized with chagrin that he was being presented. Flushing, humiliated, Aik looked up at the King then immediately down, kowtowing low, forehead just touching the floor.

“Brother Aikhadour,” Shahjahan said, and Aik was jarred by the way his name sounded when the King said it. “Be welcome in my home and consider it yours for the length of your stay.”

“My most humble thanks and gratitude, your Majesty,” Aik said, sitting up as he spoke and kowtowing again as he finished. He dared another glance as he sat up, only to find that Shahjahan was watching him. Disconcerted, Aik dropped his gaze and waited until they were finally dismissed.

His brothers laughed once they were outside, a couple of them nudging him. “Poor Aik,” one said. “Is all this too much for you?”

The Eldest – highest ranking among them, a level eight – frowned. “Leave him be. Aik, are you all right? Is all this too much excitement for you?”

Humiliated, Aik shook his head furiously back and forth. “No, Eldest. I…was simply intimidated to be presented to his Majesty. I am only a humble student; hardly worthy of his time.”

“We are always worthy of the King’s time,” Eldest said calmly. “The royal family has always looked favorably on the Order…” Aik stopped listening, knowing the story of when King Shahjahan’s great-great grandfather had been rescued by a monk. “Come,” Eldest said eventually. “It is time for our prayers and drills. By the time we finish, no doubt we shall have to attend dinner.” He said ‘have to’ but Aik could hear the eagerness there, and suddenly wondered if they were here simply to study.


“How does a man look both humble and extremely smug at the same time?” Bey made a face.

Aik bowed from the waist, hiding a grin. His hair, just past his shoulders in length, finally fell free of the thong that had been getting looser and looser during the sparring match. He knelt to retrieve the fallen strip of leather, but did not restore it, merely shoved the loose strands of thick, dark hair from his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Bey.” He bowed again. “Thank you, my better, for being so kind as too—“

“Oh, shut up.” Bey interrupted with a grin. “You’re not fooling anyone, decadent monk.”

“A decadent man can not be a monk, and a monk cannot be a decadent man.” Aik said patiently, as though instructing a temple initiate.

Bey threw his head back and laughed. “You’re on a roll today.”

“I guess I’m feeling rather playful after neatly trouncing you,” Aik replied, then immediately turned and fled, chased by Bey’s roar of outrage.

“You did not trounce me, monk!”

Aik bolted out of the training ground and into the King’s private garden, both of which were only accessible from the King’s chambers. Looking over his shoulder as he darted through the doors, Aik heard too late the shouted curse, turned – and crashed right into Nandakumar.

“Uh-oh,” Bey said, trying to draw air and laugh at the same time and winding up coughing instead. “You’re in trouble.”

“Sorry!” Aik said, immediately contrite as he scrambled to his feet and then helped Nanda up. “Didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

“So you were just going to wake me up with your monkey antics?” Nanda snapped. His normally neat hair was bound but messy, disheveled while he slept. And until Aik had crashed into him, he had only just barely been awake.

Bey snickered. “If the councilors saw Nanda at this hour, they would cease to wonder how Shah can be so fearless about everything.”

“It’s far too early in the morning for bloodshed,” Nanda said slowly, levelly. “But don’t think that will stop me.”

Aik elbowed Bey in the stomach, then took one of Nanda’s hands and led him to the table. “Breakfast should be arriving in a half hour or so, Nanda.”

“So don’t kill us,” Bey inserted, cheerfully disregarding the warning look Aik shot him.

Nanda looked up from glaring at the table, a glint in his eyes. “If I asked prettily, Aik, would you beat him up for me?”

“How prettily?” Aik asked.

“Hey!” Bey protested. “He’s the one who knocked you over.”

Ignoring him, Nanda rose up on his knees so that he could nip playfully at the skin of Aik’s flat stomach, fingers teasing and gripping up his legs, along his backside. “Very prettily.”

Aik combed a hand through Nanda’s hair. “Then consider it done, Nanda.”

“Thank you, Aik.”

Bey turned and ran.


If being presented had seemed overwhelming to him, dinner was positively dizzying. Aik didn’t know where to look and finally settled on looking at his plate, which was heaped with foods they would never even think about in the temple. Rich, decadent, extravagant…unnecessary. Aik frowned and finally looked up, not even certain how they all were to be eaten. He was used to bowls of plain grain, vegetables from the garden and simple tea. Occasionally he indulged in the wine the temple brewed, but he knew that was a far cry from the bottles scattered across the wide table.

The table of the King, and he didn’t understand at all why they’d been invited to sit here. What was Eldest’s true purpose in coming? He had hardly spoken of studying since giving that as their reason for visiting in court.

Not knowing what else to do, and his brothers were too busy talking with other guests to bother with their youngest brother, Aik mimicked those around him and sipped hesitantly at the pale liquid in his drinking dish. It turned out to be a bitter, potent wine, and Aik was surprised to find he liked it. When he dared to attempt one of the foods on his plate, he found that the almond-sweet taste of it went splendidly with the bitter wine. Encouraged, he began to sample other bits, mimicking those around him when he was unsure of how to eat one.

Several sips of wine later, Aik found himself relaxing and finally able to pay attention to some of the conversations around him, though he could not bring himself to look at the King. He sat drinking his wine and nibbling at the rich foods, allowing himself to be lulled by the movement and noise all around him.

A rowdy laugh, so unlike the careful, cultured chuckles he’d heard so far, brought Aik’s head up. He stared down the long table at a man sitting on the King’s left.

Definitely not of noble blood. His skin was unfashionably dark, no doubt from years in the sun, and he had the build of someone who had labored hard all his life. His laugh was a real laugh, an honest expression of joy and amusement, not simply a polite, tittering sound. Short, even shorter than Aik’s own, not the way most men of luxury of wore it.

Then Aik realized he was bare-chested – as if his proximity to the King weren’t enough of a clue – and realized this was one of the King’s Harem. He ran the rumors he’d heard and guessed this one must be the supposed pirate.

Curious now, Aik sought and immediately found the other member of the Harem. Where the first was a rough sort of handsome, this one was elegant and beautiful. As cultured and refined as the first was unpolished and easy. His hair was as long as rumors had said, and he moved with the instinctive ease of one who had spent his entire life at court. Rumors said he was a traitor, or tied to traitors, but Aik doubted it the way he held wine to the King’s lips, the way the King touched him when all eyes were elsewhere.

All eyes but his. Feeling guilty, Aik hastily looked elsewhere – and accidentally caught the glance of the one called a pirate. Dark eyes regarded him with amusement…and something like challenge. Aik had seen that look often enough in the sparring ring to recognize it, though he did not understand why it came from this man.

Jerking his gaze away, Aik refilled his wine dish and did not look up again.



“Match!”

His expression remaine solemn, but the smirk in Bey’s dark eyes was unmistakable. Only the fact that protocol must be followed kept Aik from rolling his eyes.

They turned as one and bowed as Shah approached, clapping approvingly for the performance. “Well done. Thank you for the performance.”

“It is an honor to perform for your Majesty and honored guests,” Aik said loudly, clearly. Beside him Beynum added his own platitudes, then they bowed again and returned to the table as Shah called for the next entertainment – Nanda.

Aik nodded politely to the men watching him, a master monk and three disciples from a valley temple he remembered hearing about once, but had never visited. The uniforms were different from the one he’d once worn – darker fabric, the tunic and pants a bit more restrictive.

“Wine?” Bey asked soundlessly, and poured for him. A dark, sweet wine, their preferred for long dinners like this. At Nanda’s empty place was a much paler wine, the taste bitter. Aik was equally fond of it, but it was more potent so he drank it less often.

Witcher glanced at them as he poured wine for Shah, sky-blue eyes bright with the pleasure that watching them perform always brought. Aik smiled briefly back, before turning to his duties of entertaining, edging into a conversation between one of the disciples and a woman of the Queen’s harem, smirking at how nervous the man was to be addressed by such a beautiful woman.

“My pardon, Lord Aikhadour.”

Aik glanced toward the master. “Sir?”

“Are you…were you a student of the mountain temple at some point? I visited there several years ago, and again more recently, and recognize your fighting style.”

“Yes, I was,” Aik said. “I left it three years ago to remain here with my King.” Which should have put an end to the inquiry.

But the master did not stop. “Yes…your former Master still speaks of you. If you are indeed who I think you are, that is. He mourns the loss of his finest student, and laments ever finding another.”

“I was never so special as that,” Aik said calmly, carefully setting down his wine dish before he spilled it. “When I left, there were at least three others of my level or greater. I recall two who had more promise than I. As I chose to leave, I was never a true disciple anyway.”

The master monk nodded and murmured noncommittally, and allowed the topic of conversation to change. But Aik felt unwelcome eyes on him the rest of the night.

“Why so quiet, Aik?” Witcher asked after they had seen the Queen to her chambers. “You’ve been all monkish,” he said with a wink, “since that stuffy master asked about when you were part of the temple.”

Aik shrugged. “If I had remained with the temple, I would be working my way through level eight and toward nine. Few disciples make it that far. I showed great promise. The master regarded me highly.” He frowned. “But he isn’t the sort to ‘lament’ a ‘lost pupil.’. There were no hard feelings when I said would not be returning.” He shrugged again. “So I wonder what that conversation was really about.”

Shah frowned pensively. “So do I. He was being rude, and apparently lying.”

“He also seemed fairly young,” Witcher commented. “For a master, or at least my impression has always been that such men are generally much older. I mean, Aik wouldn’t even have achieved full level ten until he was nearly forty, right? And the steps to Master beyond that…”

“I could have done it sooner,” Aik said, the words said simply, not smugly. “The master never doubted for a minute I was capable; that was part of the reason he agreed to let me journey to the palace. But I am not valuable, not the way that master implied. There were other, equally promising students.”

Shah smiled. “I don’t know about that – royal property tends to be regarded as quite valuable.”

Aik and Witcher laughed. “I pity the name who tries to use the lot of us against you,” Witcher said. “Within a day, Bey would have them paying you to take us back.”

Chuckling in amusement, Shah did not argue the point. But it was soon replaced by his thoughtful frown. “I will look further into this monk. It seemed a simple visit, and I enjoy guests, but not if they are going to lie or upset my men.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Shah.” Aik said. “If anything, he was probably just expressing disapproval that a monk would give up the true and noble path to live a pampered life in the palace.”

Witcher laughed and dropped an arm around Aik’s shoulders, his other hand in Shah’s. “But you make such a fine decadent monk; how could anyone begrudge Shah stealing you away?”

Aik smiled and leaned in to give Witcher a quick kiss. “I try to live up to the title I seem to have acquired.”

“Now, see? If all monks did that, I bet the religious life would be plenty more appealing. You should start something like the ‘decadent path,’ Aik.”

“I think not,” Shah said dryly. “With a path such as that, I would have a hard time getting people to follow any path except the religious. I would prefer the ‘decadent path’ confine itself to my chambers.”

Witcher grinned. “So what’s the seventh level of the decadent path?”

“I’ll show you,” Aik said with a grin of his own.



Aik looked up from his book at the sound of movement – and froze. He scrambled to bow. “Majesty,” he said to the floor. He could not think of what to say next.

“Are you enjoying your stay, Aikhadour?”

It sounded…unsettling to hear his name spoken so. Had King Shahjahan purposely left off the honorific ‘Brother’? Why? Even stranger, why did the King know his name? He was the least of his Brothers, hardly worthy anyone, least of all the King, remembering.

“Yes, Majesty. Of course. Your palace is beautiful.” When he’d first arrived at the temple, a child dumped by parents who could not afford another mouth, he had thought the austere temple the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. But the palace was breathtaking, and only grew more so every day that he was here. There was a warmth to it the temple lacked, marks of a history as colorful as the temple was severe. Among the inhabitants there were layers of protocol, enough rules to make a man dizzy, etiquette that could take years to truly master…but intermingled there was humor, conversation, exotic dinners and every day was different.

Not like the temple at all. Meditation rather than conversation. Plain foods, to keep the mind properly focused. Routine that never altered, except where season and weather forced the monks into alternate practices that were themselves routine. He’d never had a problem with that before. It gave his life order, chores and mediation gave him meaning…or at least something.

Oh, these doubts wouldn’t do. He was a level seven monk; in less than a decade he could be a full level ten, years ahead of his peers. Another decade past that and he would be a master himself, perhaps could enough to take over one of the smaller temples when one required a master. That was his life, his purpose. He had the skills and ability to lead others down the Path.

It was sign of terrible weakness that rather than his chants and prayers and forms, his mind was filled with thoughts of the amazing palace, bright and colorful meals shared with equally fascinating people…and an entrancing King and his equally fascinating Harem.

Two short weeks and he’d already lost his way.

But was it entirely his fault? When his brothers had abandoned him to ‘study’ elsewhere in the palace. When the King had him so strangely captivated? When every night at dinner, Lord Beynum watched him, some unspoken challenge in his half-wild eyes? When Nanda played so beautifully Aik ached to able to express how much he enjoyed listening?

He ached for a great deal, and that troubled him the most. But he could not place the blame for his weakness at the feet of someone else. The fault was his, and he would simply have to work harder to overcome it.

“I am glad you like it. You are not as…exuberant as your brethren and I worried you were unhappy.”

Aik just barely resisted wrinkling his nose. Even Eldest was proving to be quite weak against the decadence of court life. So strange, and discouraging, to see his mentor drinking and laughing and acting much like a man of the court. It left him feeling as though he had no where to turn for help. Never mind the humiliation, for monks to behave so poorly. “I am humbled your Majesty is concerned over my insignificant welfare.”

“Hardly insignificant, Aikhadour. What are you reading?” Aikhadour’s shoulder was gently touched, indicating that the monk should sit up.

“A memoir, Majesty, of a monk who traveled extensively to further his studies.”

“Ah, I recall the book. Quite a fascinating man.”

Aik blinked, surprised. “Yes,” he agreed at last. Master had always been so strict about remaining secluded in the mountain temple. There were few good reasons to leave it – this trip certainly was not one of them. Were he around, Master would no doubt disapprove of Aik’s selection. “It is admirable that he resisted so much temptation, and stuck to his true path.” Unlike Aik, who every day felt a little more lost.

“Mmm…” Shah said thoughtfully. “I do not see it that way. In traveling, he explored every option. After examining each choice, he still new the religious path was the right one for him. How do you ever know your path if you do not explore all of them to some degree?” He watched Aik intently.

Aik dropped his gaze and looked blankly at the pages before him.

“You grew up in the mountain temple, did you not?” Shahjahan asked in an abrupt change of subject.

“Yes,” Aik answered, then hastily corrected himself. “Yes, Majesty.”

Shahjahan smiled briefly, and Aik was struck by how boyish it seemed. “That would explain the composure you bear with such ease. But if you have lived in the mountain for so many years, you must be familiar with the flowers common there.”

Aik nodded, feeling it would be idiotic to keep repeating ‘Yes, Majesty’

“My gardens hold quite a variety; I am afraid I share my mother’s passion for flowers. I also have more than even a King needs, I confess they are an indulgence. All of them are beautiful, but there are two flowers I prefer above all others. One is a lovely desert rose, such as is only found in this country. Quite lovely, of rare quality, and the only one left – the rest of the bush, I’m afraid, rotted and was thrown out. The second flower is a simple wildflower – native to nothing, and makes a home wherever it finds fertile soil. It’s flourished quite nicely in my garden, far better than it would have otherwise, or so I like to think.”

“Majesty?” Aik asked, uncertain as to what he was really saying.

“But two weeks ago I realized quite suddenly what my garden lacks.” Shahjahan gazed at him until Aik once more dropped his eyes. “Mountain lilies are as strong as they are beautiful. It’s said the strongest of them could survive even frost. They flourish where many equally lovely flowers would not dare to go. An interesting balance, I think, to a rose and a wildflower.”

Aik didn’t jump when Shahjahan suddenly tilted his chin up with gentle fingers, but he could not prevent a sharp intake of breath. “Your companions are not surviving this atmosphere; even your Eldest is withering, overwhelmed by a soil too rich with things that may as well be poison. You, however, seem to be taking to it well. I believe you would flourish, were you to remain and join my garden. But it is your path to choose.” The fingers slid away.

He swore he could hear his heart beating in his chest, so hard he thought it might burst out. How badly he wanted, now that the path had been opened. To never leave…to meet the challenge in the eyes that sat across from him each night…to tell…show the beautiful Nandakumar how much he adored his melodies. To always be close to this King who held him entranced. Aik licked his dry lips and leaned slightly forward, not quite certain what to do, not trusting himself to speak.

But Shahjahan seemed to know his thoughts, his decision, because he leaned across the remaining space between them and took Aik’s mouth in a possessive, consuming kiss. There were always monks who engaged in such things, and had tried to coerce Aik to play with them. He had always turned away, never anything more than slightly annoyed and vaguely amused by the idiotic weaknesses to which his brother fell prey.

There was nothing annoying or remotely amusing about Shahjahan’s kiss. It was startling, and humbling, because he realized that his life until this moment had not been much of one at all. Perhaps for others it would be, but his path, always a struggle to see, was suddenly plain before him. It was not a path he would have ever considered. “Majesty,” he said breathlessly, when they finally broke apart.

“Shah, my monk,” Shah said with a smile. “If you are mine, you must call me Shah.”

Aik shivered at the possessive phrasing. “Shah,” he said obediently, and leaned in for a second kiss.