Sandstorm sidestory
Oct. 13th, 2007 09:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrYay, Birthday ^____^ Thank you, everyone <3
And I finally settled on this one because I've already formated Main Gauche for lulu and redoing it for LJ would take me way too long. So, I apologize ^^;;;
Still, I'm told this is sufficiently sparklie ^^;; Though I worry no one will remember these two chars; they were very minor in Sandstorm.
In two parts, cause it's 28 pages ^^;;
Oh, yeah - NOT WORK SAFE
Being unnecessary did not sit well with him.
Of course, he doubted being unnecessary sat well for anyone.
Still, he had once been Prince Ryder LeRoi, a highly respected strategist and nephew to the King of Gollen.
Now he was nothing except Princess Cordelia's eccentric, useless cousin.
Oh, he was useful for diplomacy, for helping to figure out how this or that should be handled, but it was more a courtesy than anything that they asked his opinion and assistance. Cordelia could handle it all just as well as he.
He was used to being someone whose opinion mattered, to whom people turned for advice. Once his mind had been admired, his skills sought.
These days it seemed he barely existed, and he was confounded as to how to change that.
Cordelia had fit seamlessly into this new world. Rook did not regret choosing to leave his homeland to make a new home in the Great Desert…but he wished he had more to do here than simply flounder.
He could not even make real friends, beyond Shihab…and even against him, Rook felt inadequate. Shihab, though a concubine now, had once been just as skilled with a sword as with his mind.
Rook was hopeless at combat. His skill was laughable. That had been fine back home, where his mind was considered a weapon all its own. Here in the Sands where swordsmanship was so highly prized, where skill in battle was so vital…they were polite to the Princess's cousin, but that was all.
His steps slowed to a stop as he passed by the practice yard, the world around him fading out as he watched the sparring match below.
Two men fought in the main circle – one Fox, one Falcon.
He followed their movements, unable not to calculate, anticipate. "Low," he muttered as the Fox swung his sword low. "Feint left, downswing." Below, the Fox moved as Rook said. "Feint back, lunge. Drop to avoid, swing around and up."
The Fox feinted back, and then abruptly threw himself forward, sword flashing in the sunlight. The Falcon stumbled to the side, sword barely lifting to block in time. In the next moment, he was flat on his back in the sands.
Rook shook his head, tsking softly. The Falcon should have figured that move out; he'd fallen for it before. Rook started to walk away when a flash of movement, a familiar gait, caught the corner of his eye.
He stepped back, bumping into the wall, for fear of being caught staring as he drank in the sight of the man across the yard.
General Noor.
One of Prince Sahayl's closest friends and most trusted allies. He and General Kahlil controlled the royal army of the Great Desert.
He could not tear his eyes away from the man, and hoped fervently that no one looked up to catch him staring.
Noor was head to foot a Desert savage, and he made that such a very fine thing to be. The dark skin and darker hair, eyes a rich cinnamon, body sculpted by his hard life of first fighting savages, and then driving heathens from the Sands. Though he was currently wrapped up in the robes which fought off the damage the fierce sun could do, Rook had more than once seen him more casually dressed over one of Sahayl's private dinners.
He would like badly to know the man far more intimately…but he would be more likely to receive a gilded invitation begging his return to Gollen.
Sighing at himself, he turned away and continued along the open hallway which wrapped around the practice yard, connecting two major wings of the sprawling palace.
What was a useless strategist to do?
Return to his room after a stroll to work on his lone little self-appointed project and sulk until suppertime. At which point he'd probably just remain in his room to read and study, rather than make things awkward by joining everyone for dinner. Everyone was cordial, and he got along with Shihab splendidly…but it did not erase the feeling that he did not belong. He was no savage, nor an impetuous princess who found a place for herself wherever she went.
It had taken him years to earn his place on the seas, and there he did not need to be a warrior – only good at telling them how best to sink ships and staying out of the way while they did it.
Here…no one needed him at all.
Slipping into his room, Rook stripped down to just his breeches and undershirt. Setting the discarded clothes neatly aside, he ignored his low work table in favor of the smaller one at the foot of his bed.
Upon it was a chessboard, one of the few possessions he held dear. It had taken them months of work, but finally his Uncle had begrudgingly sent two trunks of belongings each to him and Cordelia.
One of the things in his trunks was this chessboard. Custom made, he'd bought it during one of their few stops in Havarin. Rich, dark walnut and fine, pale maple. He kept it vigorously clean, protecting it from the elements as best he could. The pieces were carved from obsidian and amber, gleaming in the sunlight.
Currently it looked as though a game was in progress…except he was only playing himself, insofar as that was possible. Sighing softly, he moved the black rook, then moved to his desk and sat down to work.
The royal library was in a sad state. Though the Ghost Tribe had worked their hardest to preserve the tomes left when the palace had become the Broken Palace, a great deal of damage had been sustained.
He was only one man, but so far he had completely recopied two volumes, both histories of the Sands and Tavamara. Currently he was recopying something most would likely consider more frivolous – a book of songs and poems. He wondered if any of the Tribes still knew them, but had not yet managed to ask, half afraid that if anyone knew what he was doing he would find himself in violation of some small cultural quirk.
And would then lose the only thing in his life that made him feel useful. Sahayl's birthday was swiftly approaching, and the children of the Sands were looking forward to celebrating the birthday of their Sandstorm Prince.
Rook wanted to present the restored books as a gift, and partially in thanks for Sahayl's taking him in. That was the other reason he asked no one about the songs and poems – it would ruin the surprise.
Someday he hoped to begin writing translations, but he would prefer to have permission for that.
A knock on his door some time later brought his head up sharply, and it was a moment before Rook realized what the sound was. Shaking his head, focusing on the world around him rather than the pages of a book, he moved slowly on stiff legs to the door. "Yes?" he asked.
The palace servant smiled politely and sketched a low bow. "The Princess would like to speak with you."
"Ah. Certainly. Thank you."
"My pleasure."
Pulling on his clothes, smoothing everything out and ensuring it fell as it should, Rook stepped into the hallway and retraced the path he'd walked before.
Once again he found himself pausing as he reached the yard, unable to help himself. He could not resist watching, analyzing, predicting. Strategy was his life, and he had been trained to analyze and anticipate everything. Nothing was more fascinating than men sparring. War he would do without, even though a war would give him purpose…but sparring. Yes, this would never grow boring.
The yard was mostly empty, only a half dozen men – four to spar, two observing.
"My man will take it," said one of the observers.
"It does rather seem that way," said the second man with a sigh.
Rook frowned, unable to resist responding to that, though his eyes never left the sparring men. "No, the Cobra will take it."
The second man, a higher ranking Fox to judge by his marks, sneered. "How would you know, heathen? You cannot even hold a sword."
Rook ignored them as the first man, a Cobra, agreed with the Fox. He kept his eyes on the battling Cobra, who to judge by the comments of the observers seemed to be losing. Obviously they weren't paying enough attention.
"Feint left," Rook muttered. "Lunge past, backswing – down."
Even as he finished speaking, the Cobra completed the moves Rook had anticipated.
The two men rounded on him. "How in the Sands—"
"Most impressive," said a familiar voice that jolted right through Rook.
Startled, he struggled not to show it, managing to turn around slowly and offer a polite nod. "Thank you."
"How did you so clearly predict what he would do? I have faced men more times than I can count, and watched twice as many fights, and I cannot predict what they will do with even a portion of your skill. You acted as though you knew the fight in advance, which is not possible."
Rook shrugged. "You are trained to fight. I am trained to predict how you will fight. The smallest movement can give away a strategy."
"These men fight with no strategy in mind," Noor said, moving closer, putting them at a friendly distance. "How do you know what they will do, when even they do not?"
He could feel Noor's curiosity, the distrust of the other men. The lack of trust was familiar; soldiers disliked being so easily read. Still, it was his one skill, and he was proud of it. "One cannot predict battles if he cannot first predict men." He motioned to the fighters. "To predict men, you must be able to predict every element of them…I think you would say 'predict mind, body, soul'. The hardest things to predict are what a man will do in the heat of anger or the heat of passion. If these can be predicted, the rest is simple."
Noor's eyes lit with respect, a faint smile curving his far too tempting mouth. "Impressive. Yet you claim you cannot fight, even knowing all you do about combat?"
"I am a strategist, not a combatant," Rook replied. "Every waking moment of my time has been devoted to anticipating and devising, to planning and plotting. There was no time left for anything else."
"I see," Noor said.
Rook could see some of that respect die. It shouldn't hurt. He did not know Noor well enough for his opinion to matter, and it was simply a fact of life in the Desert that those men who could not fight were looked down upon.
He ignored the hurt as best he could. Likely he was just lonely, and that was acerbating everything. He was good at what he did, that was what mattered. All the same, he had lost all interest in the conversation. He sketched the small group of men a bow. "If you will pardon me, her Highness requested my presence and I have delayed here long enough."
"Oh?" Noor asked. "How strange. I was on my way to see her as well. We can go together, then." Bidding farewell to the men, he fell into step alongside Rook as they left the practice yard.
They walked in silence. Rook wished miserably he could devise a strategy for attracting Noor's interest. But this unexpected encounter had already gone poorly, and he had started with a severe handicap. He bit his lip in thought, but as always his so-called brilliant mind failed him when it came to his own dilemmas.
"So how does one learn to anticipate a man lost in the heat of passion?" Noor asked suddenly, something that sounded suspiciously like amusement threading his voice.
Rook frowned in confusion. "By observation, of co—oh. No." He shook his head, embarrassed. "I did not mean it that way, only when a man is intent upon something about which he cares deeply."
Noor chuckled softly, but said nothing more as they approached the suite of rooms which belonged to the Princess of the Great Desert.
"There you are," Cordelia said. She did not get up as they entered, merely motioned for them to join her in the sitting area, a thick, plush rug with various piles of pillows and cushions, low tables holding wine at each pile. "Rook, I was beginning to think you had been coerced into another game of taaki. General Noor, good evening to you."
"Princess," Noor said, bowing low before taking his place on the floor.
Rook rolled his eyes and took his own, immediately reaching for the dark gold wine set out. "What did you need, Lia?"
Cordelia laughed gently as Noor looked torn between offense that Rook would speak to her so casually, and amusement at the quirks of heathens. "You mentioned that you needed to go into Tavamara for your project."
"Yes," Rook said slowly. "I need to visit the different shops, determine which would be most fit for establishing long-term business. I should not be gone more than two or three weeks."
"Perfect," Cordelia said with a smile. "Sahayl and I were talking it over. General Noor has been assigned the task of checking up on the banished individuals who assaulted Shihab. He has never been outside the Sands, however, and expressed interest in having a guide go with him. You would be ideal, Rook – you know Tavamara, the Desert, and everything in between."
Rook blinked.
Three weeks in Tavamara with Noor? He would not be so busy he would lack free time, and Noor's duties would not take long to execute…perhaps he might devise a strategy for a dalliance after all. He ruthlessly cut off the part of his mind that wanted more than a dalliance. There was no chance of anything more, not the way he was.
Three weeks. Surely even he could do something with that. Was he a brilliant strategist or not?
"I would be more than happy to assist," Rook said, looking first at Cordelia, then at Noor.
Unfortunately, Noor's expression gave none of his thoughts away, and he held perfectly still so that Rook could not even judge his movements with much accuracy. Such absolute stillness…most often it was a negative reaction. Occasionally it was merely one of confusion. Very infrequently it could be containing more positive emotions, but in such cases people tended to relax a bit.
Perhaps the next three weeks would not be as pleasant as he was hoping.
"General Noor?" Cordelia asked. "Does this suit you?"
"Of course, Highness," Noor said respectfully, bowing low, head not quite touching the floor. "I am honored you would trouble yourself in this matter. Lord Rook, I thank you for being willing to assist me. I hope I do not impede your own affairs."
Rook shook his head. "Not at all. My mission is a trifle, I assure you."
Cordelia clapped her hands briskly. "Wonderful. Then I shall cease to trouble you this night. When will you depart?"
"I am ready to leave as soon as Lord Rook is," Noor replied. "His Highness has bid me leave whenever I so choose."
Rook shrugged. "I can pack tonight, and unless there are duties preventing General Noor from leaving on the morrow, I see no reason we cannot leave then."
"Tomorrow is fine," Noor replied.
"Then I shall leave you both to your rest, and wish you best of fortune in your travels."
Making their formal farewells, the two men left.
"I apologize if I am putting you out," Noor said outside, cinnamon eyes meeting Rook's. "When I mentioned that I would prefer to travel with someone familiar with Tavamara, I did not expect them to trouble you."
Rook waved the words away. "It's a pleasure, I assure you. It will be nice to have something worthwhile to do, and Tavamara is a fine country. That my former homeland prefers war to peace, I will never understand. I will see you in the morning, General."
Nodding, Noor murmured a good night and turned to stride down a different hallway than the one they'd taken here.
Sighing, Rook made his way slowly back to his room. He could not say for certain whether things were going well or not. Noor was proving difficult to read.
But it had taken him only three months to sink Solna's greatest warship. Surely he could garner Noor's brief attentions in the span of three weeks.
*~*~*
"You look as though you would very much like to be back home," Rook said with a faint smile.
"Yes," Noor replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable. They had arrived early in the morning, met with King Shahjahan, and only recently finished a tour of the palace. Tomorrow Noor would meet with the exiles…until then, King Shahjahan had said they were welcome to attend the banquets as they desired, had free access to all the palace, and should do as they pleased. "Too loud, too busy…simply too much. Even at its busiest, the Desert is never like this." He shook his head and fell silent.
It was odd, to see such a stoic man so discomfited – but Shihab had said Sahayl and Bahadur were equally disconcerted upon arrival. Not surprising, really. Noor had said it – the Desert was never like Tavamara.
Rook finished his wine and smiled again. "Would you like to explore the city? It is chaos down there, with the market open, but fascinating. Perhaps being in the thick of it will adjust you to it, faster." He laughed. "I promise it is no worse than a battlefield."
"Of that I would not be so certain," Noor muttered, but nodded. "As you say, then." The briefest of smiles flickered across his face. "My royal guide."
Rolling his eyes at the jest, Rook stood and shrugged into his outer robe, smoothing down the dark green fabric before wrapping a deep brown sash around his waist to cinch the robe in place.
His hair was a lost cause in this climate; normally his hair was not particularly curly, but in this thick heat it went positively everywhere and seemed to sprout new curls every hour. It made him look ridiculous, but there was nothing for it save shaving it off and he could not quite bring himself to do that.
"Come, then. Easier to walk than ride, trust me."
Noor walked alongside him, showing all the confidence he possessed as General…but Rook could see he struggled to maintain it as they reached the chaos of the great market.
"If you will pardon the familiarity," he said, looping his arm through Noor's. "It will keep us from getting separated."
"As you like," Noor replied. "By the Lady, what is this mess? A camp in such disarray would be disciplined severely."
Rook laughed. "Tavamara is the second most powerful country in the world, and nearly all its power comes from its hold over trade. Here, in this market, is the heart of that trade. If you cannot find what you seek here, then it doesn't exist."
Noor did not look impressed or particularly convinced. "I would be impressed to find anything of the children of the Lady here."
"You might be surprised," Rook said, and guided them through the throng, shoving through, pushing away, laughing in sheer delight and amusement. "Watch your step there," he snapped as someone stumbled backward into him, giving the man a rough shove.
He checked for his coin, relieved it was still there. A pickpocket would have difficulty getting to it, but one could never be certain. "Here we are," he said at last.
"By the Lady…" Noor said, shaking his head. "Madness, and familiar sights right in the middle of it." Arrayed across three stalls were the curving swords favored by the Sands, various carvings and trinkets that could have only been made by various Tribes. "I wonder where the wine might be found…"
Laughing again, Rook dragged him onward. They broke away from the worst of the crowd several minutes later. "Many of the cafes are this way. A street over that way begin the specialty shops. I'll be going there tomorrow, while you are attending to the exiles."
"Ah," Noor said. "I hope all goes well for you."
Rook smiled faintly. Anyone else would have voiced their curiosity, but curiosity was one thing which was fervently tamped down in the Desert. "My favorite café is this way, it—"
"Rook! By the Great Dragon, is that you? Rook!"
Mercy of the Goddess…Rook whipped around, arm falling from where he realized he still held Noor's. His eyes widened as he realized his ears had not deceived him. "Callen?"
"Rook, it is you! The Great Dragon does occasionally favor me." The man who finally reached him was lean and lanky, handsome in a rough way, with nut-brown hair and eyes, skin tanned and roughened by a seaman's life, but his clothes as fine and stylish as ever.
He promptly greeted Rook as only a native Rittu could, grasping his shoulders and kissing each cheek – then kissed him soundly on the mouth, with all the audacity that had made Callen so notorious.
Rook let him, holding lightly to Callen's waist as he returned the kiss, not realizing until that moment how very much he'd missed being kissed – missed having someone who wanted to kiss him.
"Bold as ever, I see," he said as Callen finally let him go.
Callen's attention, however, was on the man now standing just behind Rook. "Oh, I'm sorry. I completely missed you were with someone. Do tell him I'm sorry. My, my. Never tell me – is that one of the savages I've been hearing so much about lately? If you need help taming him, let me know."
"You're an idiot," Rook said fondly. He turned to Noor. "This is an old friend of mine; we've sailed on many a ship together. He helped me learn how to sail."
Noor nodded, brow furrowed slightly. "He is…I do not believe I have heard his language before, but admittedly I have heard very few heathen languages."
Rook smiled. "Not many know his native language, even in a trade city like this. He's from the far west, a country called Rittu. I apologize for speaking in a language you cannot understand."
"It's no matter," Noor said. "Shall I leave you to your reunion?"
"No," Rook said firmly. "It will only be a moment. Callen is very much like the wind. I swear sometimes he truly is the wind, or born of it."
He turned back to Callen. "What are you doing in Tavamara?"
"In port for a week. Are you certain I didn't upset him? He looks displeased with me. I didn't mean to. I miss a friendly face, and yours was ever a pleasant one. At that, I hope I did not upset you."
"You know you did not upset me. It was nice to be kissed. He is only a friend." Though Rook knew he kept his displeasure over that fact from his voice and face, Callen picked up on it anyway. He frowned, seeing the look in his old friend's face. "Don't you dare. What are you doing now?"
Callen grinned. "Shopping. I have a new friend in need of thawing."
"Seduction, I might have known. You're an idiot."
"Always will be," Callen replied cheerfully. He rifled through the bag he held, and came out with a thin square box. "I've been buying things, and actually bought this because it made me think of you and snicker. How strange that I would run into you."
Rook groaned. "Callen! I don’t know what that is, but put it away."
Ignoring him, Callen suddenly thrust the box at Noor, who caught it awkwardly, frowning deeply. Then he kissed Rook again, hard and brief, before bolting away. "See you around, chess piece! Make sure he puts that to its proper use, eh?"
"Callen!" Rook bellowed after him, wanting to yank his hair out. He turned back to Noor, who was still frowning. "I'm sorry. He means no harm…merely mischievous and impulsive…"
Noor shook his head. "And much like the wind, as you said. Why did he give this to me?"
"He thinks he's being funny," Rook muttered, mortified. "It's harmless enough, I'm sure, and if he gave it to you he genuinely wanted you to have it. Do not ask me why, though. The man is my friend, but his own mother never understood his mind."
Noor said nothing, but with a puzzled frown opened the box and pulled out the contents.
Rook groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm going to kill him."
"What in the name of the Lady…" Noor asked, confusion deepening as he looked at the long, wide strip of heavy black cloth, embroidered with gold and silver stars.
Feeling his cheeks burn, Rook barely kept from snatching the strip of cloth away. "Nothing," he hissed. "Shall we go find that wine?"
"As you like," Noor said, something like amusement flickering briefly across his face before he obediently followed Rook to the café.
*~*~*~*
Noor absently stroked the strip of black fabric, lost in thought as he stared out over the distant city. Over the past few days, the embroidered length of cloth had become a talisman of sorts. It was as much a mystery to him as the world around him. Lady of the Sands, may he never leave the Desert again.
The evening was surprisingly cool, always a pleasant change from the heat. It was also remarkably quiet, the lull between the end of the day and the start of the evening meal. Though life in Tavamara did not appeal to him, he could see why Lord Ikram liked it. Unfortunately, the calm left him alone with his thoughts, and Noor had never favored avoiding his own mind for too long.
He had never considered himself a blind man, but he had also never considered himself a fool. Recent events were forcing him to reconsider both points.
Because he had always noted the Princess's cousin, but never really noticed him. It would be hard not to take note of one of only three heathens in the palace, especially when of the other two one was female and the Princess, the other a concubine with brilliant red hair.
His beauty, too, Noor had noted. Odd features and coloring, heathens were nothing if not unusual…but the gold hair and skin were beautiful in their own exotic way. A lifetime of habit, however, had always kept him noting such things from a respectful distance.
Then that kiss.
Intimacy was an extremely private thing in the Sands, where privacy was a hard thing to come by living in close knit camps who lived in tents. A kiss or an embrace might be seen, but only light, simple things.
That kiss Rook had exchanged with his old friend was the sort of thing to be kept strictly to the confines of a tent. Noor felt guilty for having seen it, confused that the heathens had acted so casually about it. Remembering it felt illicit.
Since their arrival in Tavamara, Rook had been more…alive was the first word that came to mind. But though Noor had made note of it, he was not sure he would have ever truly noticed if not for that confounded kiss.
Never had he been witness to so intimate a kiss; only party to one, which was not the same thing at all.
Though watching had felt wrong, Noor had not been able to look away.
Now he could not stop looking. He was noticing a thousand things he never had…like how soft those gold curls looked, the way they clung to Rook's neck and cheeks.
The way Rook smelled like sunshine and sweet wine.
That he looked much better when he was happy, and that he seldom had looked happy back in the palace.
The impossible blue of those eyes, how sharp and clear they were.
And how he always looked slightly strained.
Noor wondered if that strained look had anything to do with the way Rook seemed to notice everything. More than once in the past week he had seen Rook dodge people or catch objects a moment before anyone realized they were going to trip or drop something.
He'd done the same thing in that madness-filled market, fighting the crowd with a skill no others there had seemed to exhibit.
With that kiss still prevalent in his thoughts, he could not help but wonder if Rook used his skills even in intimacy. If he could help it. If he always paid such close attention to his surroundings…
Staying a step ahead of one's opponent was the only way to stay alive. Anyone trained to fight learned to pay attention. It was inevitable.
Rook, though, was never a step ahead of anyone.
He was always several.
In most people, body moved faster than mind. People simply reacted; this was especially true in the heat of battle, where there was no chance to stop and think. Instinct guided all the best warriors.
Rook, he was realizing, was faster in mind than body. He thought too quickly, too far ahead, to stay with a fight. Training him in combat would have slowed down his mind.
The realization made Noor wince, as he thought of how condescending they all had been of the heathen who could not wield a sword. Now that he was noticing, stopping and thinking, it seemed so obvious.
What was it like to be constantly at work? Even as a General, he had moments of calm. He did not constantly wield his sword, fight unending battles. When the Sands were stained with blood not so long ago, even then there were peaceful days where they could all stop and rest.
Noor could not imagine swinging his sword unendingly, and surely that must be the rough equivalent of what Rook endured, the way he was always watching, noting, predicting. As though it were impossible to stop.
If that were true, the only real chance his mind had to rest was when he clo—
His thoughts broke off as a new realization struck him.
He looked at the strip of fabric in his hands, recalling the way the heathen had smirked, Rook's embarrassment. That kiss.
He smiled as the pieces all fell into place.
A knock at the door broke into his thoughts, and he knew by the familiar rhythm of it that Rook was on the opposite side, fetching him for dinner.
Swiftly Noor folded up the black strip of fabric and tucked it into his robes before striding across the room to open the door. "Rook, good evening."
Rook smiled, and Noor once more called himself a fool for seeing but never noticing. Now that his eyes were open…how long had Rook been looking so at him? "Ready for dinner?"
"No," Noor answered honestly. He hated the massive scale of it. His Sandstorm Prince tended to eat privately whenever he could, with only his closest circle to join him. Those Noor liked very much indeed. He avoided the larger dinners whenever possible. The massive banquets hosted by his Majesty…
And now that he had solved the riddle of the heathen's gift, he wanted badly to put his theory to the test. For months he had barely noticed this man, and now he struggled very much to keep his thoughts proper.
"Are you all right?" Rook asked, frowning. "You look…unsettled."
Noor shook his head, reminding himself sternly that he was not exempt from Rook's attention and ability. "I am fine. Merely hoping I do not cause offense." He smiled. "Being a savage and all."
Rook gave a soft snort. "You have not seen savage until you see the ambassadors pretend to be nice to each other, all the while deciding where best to stick their knives. They have no right to be calling anyone else savage."
"That is merely cowardice," Noor replied. "Lead the way, heathen."
"This way, savage," Rook said with a laugh.
Noor was amazed at the changes in Rook since their arrival in Tavamara, and wondered what kept him so silent back home.
Perhaps he did not, could not, consider the Sands home. Or, he realized with an inward grimace, perhaps the sons of the Lady had given him every reason to dislike the Sands. Well, he would begin to change that upon their return.
Or sooner, though he wondered if seduction was cheating. Not that it would stop him. He had been blind this entire time, but now that he could see he intended to waste no more time.
They reached the banquet hall and he tried not to cringe. The King's table was crowded with special guests, foreign dignitaries. Noor was deeply grateful they would be sitting at a smaller table, though when the King arrived a few minutes later he smiled and nodded at them.
He and Rook sat at a table filled with ambassadors and their companions. What seemed a dozen languages flew about before they all slowly settled on the dialect of Tavamara, only slightly different in accent to that which they spoke in the Sands.
"So," said a man with a gruff voice, a thick, rough accent. He seemed a mass of fat and thick black hair. "It has been a long time, Prince Ryder."
Beside him, Rook stiffened. "I am no prince, Lord Gorky. Gollen stripped me of all titles when I gave my loyalty to the Great Desert."
Noor could not help but note he did not say Tavamara and the Great Desert, which would have been more proper, as the Desert was now only part of Tavamara. So perhaps he and his brothers in the Sands had not driven their heathen completely away. "He is Lord Rook, cousin and dearest friend to her Highness Princess Cordelia of Tavamara and the Great Desert."
The men all chuckled, and he saw the wince Rook only just hid.
"My apologies," he said quietly, for only Rook's ears. "Did I speak wrongly?"
Rook shook his head vehemently. "No." He smiled weakly. "It is only that—"
A man beside Gorky broke in as he finally stopped laughing. He had blonde hair not nearly as fine as Rook's, but several shades darker and perfectly straight. "I did not know they still called you that, Lord Rook. Are you still defeating Kings at chess?"
Noor paused in the process of refilling his dish with a dark green wine of which he was becoming fond. It was sharp and cool, nice against the spicy foods. "Kings?" he asked, turning to Rook. "You defeated kings?"
"King," Rook said with a grimace. "Singular. One King. The father of his Majesty the King of Gollen."
"Checkmate!" Another man, who resembled nothing so much as wet sand, said with a loud laugh. "Lord Rook, I cannot believe you have kept the tale from your savage."
Rook stiffened. "He is not a savage, and I will thank you to watch your tongue."
"Of course, of course. My apologies," the man said absently. He leaned over the table, speaking to Noor as though they were sharing some great confidence. "It is quite the tale, you know. I was lucky enough to be there as a green politician."
"A…green…" Noor's brow furrowed.
"Just out of his father's tent," Rook said, glaring at the man. "Do not go telling tales which are not yours to tell."
Gorky snorted inelegantly. "We will if you do not."
"It's boring," Rook snapped.
"That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard," said the blonde man scathingly. "Lord Noor – that was your name, yes? Do not listen to him. 'Rook' was always reticent to hear the tale recounted."
The men all snickered, nudging each other. "Yes," said Gorky, entire body shaking with laughter. "Never have I seen the equal of that scene, the King's face! Of course, I think were I a King I would have looked the same, to be so easily defeated by a mere lad."
"Yes," said the sand-colored man. "It was quite the scene. The King had been playing Lord Rook's father, and when he was finished Rook asked if he might try. The King was indulgent of his grandson and said he might."
More laughter and looks exchanged, then the blond man picked up the story. "I do believe he curbed his indulgence after that night! Young Prince Ryder sat down, right there at the King's table and set the pieces up. Such a frown of concentration on his face!"
Gorky grinned and slurped his wine, absently pouring more as he spoke in turn. "The game did not last long, before Prince Ryder checkmated him neatly with a rook!"
Noor frowned. "I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the game."
"It's a strategy game, much like taaki. Only two persons play at a time, and the rules are not quite as intricate or varied…but it is just as difficult, for all that." Rook swallowed his wine in a single gulp and poured more. Something dark violet, which Noor suspected was rather strong. "A rook is one of the playing pieces…similar in nature to the tarka piece."
"I see," Noor said, not entirely understanding but comprehending enough. "Is this story that upsetting to you?"
Rook shrugged. "Embarrassing, mostly," he said. "I should have been told no right from the start, if not beaten for my audacity." He shrugged again. "I wanted to try and play, though, and did not think past that."
A sudden silence fell.
"Try and play?" Gorky said finally. "Lord Rook…are you saying you had never played before that night?"
Rook buried his face in one hand as the table erupted into all new levels of delighted laughter. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, please," he said, voice tight, then stood up and all but bolted.
Noor did not bother being polite to men who had been rude first, but simply stood and followed Rook out of the banquet hall. He caught up with him two hallways later, latching on to a slender wrist. "I apologize," he said. "You clearly did not want the story told, I should not have so willingly listened."
"It's all right," Rook said tiredly, sighing softly. "From all viewpoints but mine, it is a fine tale. I understand why they like to recount it…"
Slowly letting go of him, Noor waited.
"People back home like to say I am not my father's son. I think sometimes even my father suspected my mother of dallying with his brother…my father is no tactician, and the present King is quite sharp of mind, as was the late King – the man I played. My grandfather. On top of that, my father has always been sickly… Everyone else sees the game which was played, that a boy of fifteen beat the King, who until then had never been defeated." He laughed bitterly. "All I remember was that my father still would not smile at me, and the rumors of who truly sired me tripled that day."
Rook turned sharply away. "I apologize. It is not fair to make you listen to me whine. Nor did I mean to ruin your dinner."
"You did not," Noor said quietly. "Their odious behavior spoiled it long before that. These fancy dinners do not suit this son of the Lady, anyway."
"They do not suit this heathen either," Rook said with a more genuine laugh. "Shall we enjoy our wine in peace, then?"
Noor smiled. "That sounds ideal, heathen."
"Then follow me, savage," Rook said, returning the smile. He halted a passing servant, requesting for wine to be brought to his room, then led the way through the halls.
They settled in Rook's room, much like Noor's own, save it was decorated predominantly in blue and orange. The wine arrived only a moment later, set neatly on the table along with a tray of food. It never failed to amaze him, the vast array of wines in Tavamara. More colors and flavors than he could ever think of, and he would never recall all the names.
Rook burst out laughing, suddenly, as he looked at the wine. "Perhaps I gave the wrong impression when I asked for wine, though I don't see how given the snit I was in."
"Wrong impression?" Noor asked, sitting at the table, gratified when Rook sat perpendicular to him. He glanced at the wine. Three small carafes, at least a dozen wine dishes, each one different. One wine was so dark it looked nearly black, but he could see hints of blue in it. The other was a rich orange, the last had only a faint touch of pink to it.
"Uh—nothing," Rook said, looking away.
Noor quirked a brow. "What are the names of these wines? I am afraid I'm quite hopeless at remembering them."
Rook looked at him, tilting his head, clearly uncertain. Finally he gave up, sighing softly. "The pale one is called Sweet Kiss. The orange is called Consuming Fire. The dark one is called Midnight Tryst. All can be used at any stage in a meal, though Sweet is often used for a dessert wine, the other two for main courses…but the flexibility of the three make them ideal for drinking in any situation…including those which their names imply." He turned to look anywhere but at Noor. "I did not mean to give that impression to the servant."
He would be offended, except he had been looking most carefully since that kiss. Noor smiled and reached out to pour wine, deciding on the Midnight Tryst. Taking a small sip, immediately liking it, he finally spoke. "That is a pity."
Rook's head snapped back around, his eyes widening as he took in Noor's expression. "What? Since when? You have given no cues that—"
Noor cut him off with a soft, easy laugh. "Saa, heathen. I hid from Sheik Hashim for years that I wanted to kill him. You are so busy here, watching everything else, I could hide my thoughts for a couple of days. Not much longer, I am sure." He took another sip of wine, then set the empty dish down and reached out, unsurprised that Rook started moving at the same time.
He did not speak again until they were only breaths apart. "You looked quite fine kissing your old friend, heathen, I wanted to know what it would be like to do the kissing."
Rook sank one hand into his hair, tugging his head down closer still. "Then kiss me already, savage."
Noor complied, wasting no time in taking possession of that fine mouth, immediately entranced that Rook's taste matched his scent – sunshine and sweet wine. Yes, kissing Rook was much finer than watching him kiss.
Lady of the Sands, why had he been blind for so long? Tightening his hold on Rook, Noor shifted, twisting away from the table to lay Rook on the floor, breaking the kiss to pull back and simply admire. "If all heathens kiss like you, it is no wonder his Highness has two of them."
Rook laughed.
It was too much temptation to resist, and Noor did not bother to try, but dipped his head to claim another hot and heady kiss. "Saa, heathen. I wish I had taken notice sooner."
"I'm amazed you took notice at all," Rook said, looking somewhat sad. "There is little to recommend this heathen to a son of the Lady."
Noor shook his head. "Or perhaps we all have sand in our heads," he said.
Rook smiled faintly. "Perhaps."
He took another brief kiss, then could not resist a smirk. "Not so much sand, however, that I did not figure out what I was gifted with." He pulled the strip of black fabric from his robes.
Beneath him Rook went still – then flushed, groaning. "Oh, no."
Chuckling, Noor rubbed it against Rook's cheek and then draped it over his eyes. "Oh, yes."
"How…" Rook shivered beneath him, and Noor thought that was something he could get quite used to feeling.
He dipped his head to nip at Rook's jaw, his throat. "It was not so hard, once I began to pay attention. Your mind never stops, heathen. Always you see, predict. It strains you."
Rook drew in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in Noor's robes. "You noticed."
Noor pulled the blindfold away, then bent to give Rook another long, deep kiss. "It took me a long time to start paying attention, my heathen, but once I did I realized there were many things worth seeing."
Rook smiled faintly, hesitantly, and reached up to brush back a few strands of Noor's hair. "You had more important things to pay attention to than a useless heathen."
"Useless?" Noor frowned. "Yet always my Sandstorm Prince speaks highly of you, and all that you accomplish in assisting him. Her Highness too says you are the finest of diplomats, even from a distance. I have never heard anyone call you useless, my heathen."
"Mm," Rook murmured. "I would rather be put to a different use right now."
Heat flared at the words, the look on Rook's face. "I believe I could find a use for you," Noor replied, then took Rook's mouth in a kiss that was nearly savage in its ferocity, only growing hotter, harder, when Rook met it full measure.
Pulling back, drawing breath, Noor slowly stood and then hauled Rook to his feet, guiding him toward the low bed, stripping away his clothes that he might finally see his heathen completely bare.
Beautiful.
"Saa, heathen," he said, running his hands over that fine, gold skin. "How is it you are free for this savage to take?"
Rook's expression turned gloomy, even as he moved beneath Noor's hands. "Everyone gets tired of me. Of my predicting, or of the blindfold…my mind does not stop so long as I can see…" He tugged Noor down, nails digging lightly into his arms, as tense as he'd been before when discussing his father and the chess game. "Eventually, they all hate that either I know all their actions, or go blindfolded. Everyone wants to be seen, especially…"
Heathens, minus a few exceptions, really were stupid. Noor consigned them all to the Lady's wrath. He spread Rook out on the bed, nearly distracted by the sight of all that fine skin, muscles that were only lightly toned, so strange a sight but not unappealing. Spreading Rook's legs, he settled between them, then pulled Rook up to kiss him deeply once more.
As he finally let Rook go, he covered those vibrant eyes, knotting the blindfold securely before laying Rook down once more. He bit lightly at one shoulder, liking the gasp, the shudders that raced through the slender body, then shifted to the long throat, lavishing attention upon it with teeth and tongue. "Saa, my heathen," he said at last, voice soft in Rook's ear. "You forget I am Ghost. I thrive on being unseen."
Rook shivered beneath him, and Noor realized he enjoyed the feel of it very much indeed.
He pulled back slightly, one hand smoothing down Rook's thigh, the other his chest and stomach, extracting more of the delicate shivers.
Hands reached out to touch him in turn and Noor caught one, bringing it to his mouth and sucking up a mark on one fine-boned wrist. The moan that elicited was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.
Lady, how had he ignored this pretty heathen who looked at him with such want and need?
Fingers ghosted over his chest, hot and fine – but Noor wanted to be the one touching, and he wanted his heathen only to enjoy.
Looking around, wishing he'd had the chance to plan for this, his gaze finally landed on the silk cords tying back the bed curtains. Yes, that would suffice. He smiled at Rook's quickly-muffled protest as he moved away, rapidly untying the cord he needed. The curtain fell free, half-hiding them in gauzy folds meant to filter the morning sun, the sweltering heat.
"Noor?" Rook asked, sitting up slightly, braced on his hands.
Settling once more between Rook's thighs, Noor pushed him back down and caught up those slender wrists, leaning down to swallow Rook's questions with a deep kiss. When his heathen could only pant and gasp, writhing against him, Noor returned to his task, swiftly binding Rook's wrists above his head.
"What in the world are you—"
Noor kissed him again, stroking the smooth chest, teasing over Rook's nipples. He pinched one lightly even as he dipped his head to taste the other. When he'd elicited the moans and shivers he wanted, he switched his attentions, murmuring approval as Rook bucked in need. "It has always been common amongst the Tribes to kidnap women and children as necessary. Once, it's said, the Tribes kidnapped any who was foolish enough to venture into the sands…"
He trailed his mouth down further, abrading the gold skin lightly with his rough cheeks, nibbling at the flat stomach, the juncture of groin and thigh, biting more firmly at the soft skin of one inner. "I always wondered if that meant the Tribes kidnapped stray heathens…and what was done with them…"
"I doubt they did this," Rook said with a deep groan, hips jerking in futile effort to draw Noor's attention to his leaking cock.
Laughing softly, he surged up to take a proper kiss, lost utterly to the feel of his heathen, the scent of sunshine and lust, the fine sheen of sweat on golden skin. Noor decided he would be keeping this heathen to himself for as long as the Lady permitted. "Of that I would not be so sure, my heathen."
"Noor," Rook moaned his name, writhed beneath his hands and mouth.
Finally relenting, Noor combed his fingers through the thatch of gold curls at the base of Rook's cock, then stroked it with light, teasing touches, pressing firmly at the slit before wrapping his hand more tightly around the long, thin cock and stroking it firmly. He bent to take a deep kiss, tongue sweeping Rook's mouth, drinking in the moans and cries, the needy way Rook gasped his name as he came.
"Saa, heathen, you are a pretty sight." He painted one soft inner thigh with the evidence of Rook's pleasure, stroking the soft skin of his balls, then slipping behind them to tease at his tight entrance.
Rook groaned, those delicate shivers returning as Noor continued to tease. "You have an evil touch, savage."
Noor chuckled. "You seem to like it well enough."
"I would like it more if you quit teasing," Rook said, but with a smile, his cock already stirring with renewed interest.
"Have you anything to ease the way?" Noor asked, just barely pressing one finger inside, enough to notice, to burn slightly.
"The b-basket by the bed," Rook replied, pushing back ever so slightly, moaning.
Noor smiled and withdrew, finding the basket and the vial inside it, returning swiftly to the spread thighs which waited so eagerly for him. Slicking his fingers, he slowly pushed one inside, bending to take another deep taste of his heathen's mouth as he prepared him. "Saa, heathen. So well prepared, and the oil half gone. What thoughts hold your interest so well at night?" A less pleasant thought occurred to him, and he would be surprised at the fervor of his discontent except he had already decided Rook was his. "Or did you find another to warm you while this savage remained blind?"
Rook's cheeks burned dark, and he shook his head in embarrassment. "Only thoughts of you warmed my nights."
Satisfaction poured through him, and Noor kissed him again as he finished readying Rook. Withdrawing his fingers, he settled his cock in place and slowly pushed in, hands braced on Rook's hips, keeping him in place until he was firmly seated.
The sounds Rook made were finer than the best songs. "All right, my heathen? Or shall I stop?"
"If you stop, savage, I will kill you."
Noor laughed and kissed him, nibbling at the full, wet bottom lip. "If you can get out of the binds, perhaps you could kill me." He pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in sharply, swallowing the cry that elicited – and groaning himself as Rook rolled his hips, thrusting forward.
Giving up the teasing, he began to move in earnest, pulling out before thrusting back in, bracing his hands on either side of Rook, driving into him, pushing them both hard, taking that mouth and claiming it as thoroughly as he claimed Rook's body, pulling another climax from his heathen before rapidly following him, their cries of pleasure tangling together.
Collapsing, he rested for a moment on his new lover, intoxicated by their blended scents. With a soft groan he finally rolled away, swiftly working to undo the cord binding Rook's wrists, stripping away the blindfold before settling on his back. He pulled Rook atop him, stroking lazily at his sides, his back, sated but only for the moment.
"Heathens will never make sense to me," he said idly, nuzzling at Rook's throat. "Something so fine as you, they should cling to fiercely, be willing to fight for. Lady knows I would not let one such as you slip so easily away."
"They have other strategists," Rook said, voice heavy with sleepiness. "I'm better than all of them, but not worth the trouble to coax or take back."
Noor did not reply, merely let Rook drift off to sleep, but wondered how such stupid heathens had managed to survive.
And I finally settled on this one because I've already formated Main Gauche for lulu and redoing it for LJ would take me way too long. So, I apologize ^^;;;
Still, I'm told this is sufficiently sparklie ^^;; Though I worry no one will remember these two chars; they were very minor in Sandstorm.
In two parts, cause it's 28 pages ^^;;
Oh, yeah - NOT WORK SAFE
Knight to Rook
Being unnecessary did not sit well with him.
Of course, he doubted being unnecessary sat well for anyone.
Still, he had once been Prince Ryder LeRoi, a highly respected strategist and nephew to the King of Gollen.
Now he was nothing except Princess Cordelia's eccentric, useless cousin.
Oh, he was useful for diplomacy, for helping to figure out how this or that should be handled, but it was more a courtesy than anything that they asked his opinion and assistance. Cordelia could handle it all just as well as he.
He was used to being someone whose opinion mattered, to whom people turned for advice. Once his mind had been admired, his skills sought.
These days it seemed he barely existed, and he was confounded as to how to change that.
Cordelia had fit seamlessly into this new world. Rook did not regret choosing to leave his homeland to make a new home in the Great Desert…but he wished he had more to do here than simply flounder.
He could not even make real friends, beyond Shihab…and even against him, Rook felt inadequate. Shihab, though a concubine now, had once been just as skilled with a sword as with his mind.
Rook was hopeless at combat. His skill was laughable. That had been fine back home, where his mind was considered a weapon all its own. Here in the Sands where swordsmanship was so highly prized, where skill in battle was so vital…they were polite to the Princess's cousin, but that was all.
His steps slowed to a stop as he passed by the practice yard, the world around him fading out as he watched the sparring match below.
Two men fought in the main circle – one Fox, one Falcon.
He followed their movements, unable not to calculate, anticipate. "Low," he muttered as the Fox swung his sword low. "Feint left, downswing." Below, the Fox moved as Rook said. "Feint back, lunge. Drop to avoid, swing around and up."
The Fox feinted back, and then abruptly threw himself forward, sword flashing in the sunlight. The Falcon stumbled to the side, sword barely lifting to block in time. In the next moment, he was flat on his back in the sands.
Rook shook his head, tsking softly. The Falcon should have figured that move out; he'd fallen for it before. Rook started to walk away when a flash of movement, a familiar gait, caught the corner of his eye.
He stepped back, bumping into the wall, for fear of being caught staring as he drank in the sight of the man across the yard.
General Noor.
One of Prince Sahayl's closest friends and most trusted allies. He and General Kahlil controlled the royal army of the Great Desert.
He could not tear his eyes away from the man, and hoped fervently that no one looked up to catch him staring.
Noor was head to foot a Desert savage, and he made that such a very fine thing to be. The dark skin and darker hair, eyes a rich cinnamon, body sculpted by his hard life of first fighting savages, and then driving heathens from the Sands. Though he was currently wrapped up in the robes which fought off the damage the fierce sun could do, Rook had more than once seen him more casually dressed over one of Sahayl's private dinners.
He would like badly to know the man far more intimately…but he would be more likely to receive a gilded invitation begging his return to Gollen.
Sighing at himself, he turned away and continued along the open hallway which wrapped around the practice yard, connecting two major wings of the sprawling palace.
What was a useless strategist to do?
Return to his room after a stroll to work on his lone little self-appointed project and sulk until suppertime. At which point he'd probably just remain in his room to read and study, rather than make things awkward by joining everyone for dinner. Everyone was cordial, and he got along with Shihab splendidly…but it did not erase the feeling that he did not belong. He was no savage, nor an impetuous princess who found a place for herself wherever she went.
It had taken him years to earn his place on the seas, and there he did not need to be a warrior – only good at telling them how best to sink ships and staying out of the way while they did it.
Here…no one needed him at all.
Slipping into his room, Rook stripped down to just his breeches and undershirt. Setting the discarded clothes neatly aside, he ignored his low work table in favor of the smaller one at the foot of his bed.
Upon it was a chessboard, one of the few possessions he held dear. It had taken them months of work, but finally his Uncle had begrudgingly sent two trunks of belongings each to him and Cordelia.
One of the things in his trunks was this chessboard. Custom made, he'd bought it during one of their few stops in Havarin. Rich, dark walnut and fine, pale maple. He kept it vigorously clean, protecting it from the elements as best he could. The pieces were carved from obsidian and amber, gleaming in the sunlight.
Currently it looked as though a game was in progress…except he was only playing himself, insofar as that was possible. Sighing softly, he moved the black rook, then moved to his desk and sat down to work.
The royal library was in a sad state. Though the Ghost Tribe had worked their hardest to preserve the tomes left when the palace had become the Broken Palace, a great deal of damage had been sustained.
He was only one man, but so far he had completely recopied two volumes, both histories of the Sands and Tavamara. Currently he was recopying something most would likely consider more frivolous – a book of songs and poems. He wondered if any of the Tribes still knew them, but had not yet managed to ask, half afraid that if anyone knew what he was doing he would find himself in violation of some small cultural quirk.
And would then lose the only thing in his life that made him feel useful. Sahayl's birthday was swiftly approaching, and the children of the Sands were looking forward to celebrating the birthday of their Sandstorm Prince.
Rook wanted to present the restored books as a gift, and partially in thanks for Sahayl's taking him in. That was the other reason he asked no one about the songs and poems – it would ruin the surprise.
Someday he hoped to begin writing translations, but he would prefer to have permission for that.
A knock on his door some time later brought his head up sharply, and it was a moment before Rook realized what the sound was. Shaking his head, focusing on the world around him rather than the pages of a book, he moved slowly on stiff legs to the door. "Yes?" he asked.
The palace servant smiled politely and sketched a low bow. "The Princess would like to speak with you."
"Ah. Certainly. Thank you."
"My pleasure."
Pulling on his clothes, smoothing everything out and ensuring it fell as it should, Rook stepped into the hallway and retraced the path he'd walked before.
Once again he found himself pausing as he reached the yard, unable to help himself. He could not resist watching, analyzing, predicting. Strategy was his life, and he had been trained to analyze and anticipate everything. Nothing was more fascinating than men sparring. War he would do without, even though a war would give him purpose…but sparring. Yes, this would never grow boring.
The yard was mostly empty, only a half dozen men – four to spar, two observing.
"My man will take it," said one of the observers.
"It does rather seem that way," said the second man with a sigh.
Rook frowned, unable to resist responding to that, though his eyes never left the sparring men. "No, the Cobra will take it."
The second man, a higher ranking Fox to judge by his marks, sneered. "How would you know, heathen? You cannot even hold a sword."
Rook ignored them as the first man, a Cobra, agreed with the Fox. He kept his eyes on the battling Cobra, who to judge by the comments of the observers seemed to be losing. Obviously they weren't paying enough attention.
"Feint left," Rook muttered. "Lunge past, backswing – down."
Even as he finished speaking, the Cobra completed the moves Rook had anticipated.
The two men rounded on him. "How in the Sands—"
"Most impressive," said a familiar voice that jolted right through Rook.
Startled, he struggled not to show it, managing to turn around slowly and offer a polite nod. "Thank you."
"How did you so clearly predict what he would do? I have faced men more times than I can count, and watched twice as many fights, and I cannot predict what they will do with even a portion of your skill. You acted as though you knew the fight in advance, which is not possible."
Rook shrugged. "You are trained to fight. I am trained to predict how you will fight. The smallest movement can give away a strategy."
"These men fight with no strategy in mind," Noor said, moving closer, putting them at a friendly distance. "How do you know what they will do, when even they do not?"
He could feel Noor's curiosity, the distrust of the other men. The lack of trust was familiar; soldiers disliked being so easily read. Still, it was his one skill, and he was proud of it. "One cannot predict battles if he cannot first predict men." He motioned to the fighters. "To predict men, you must be able to predict every element of them…I think you would say 'predict mind, body, soul'. The hardest things to predict are what a man will do in the heat of anger or the heat of passion. If these can be predicted, the rest is simple."
Noor's eyes lit with respect, a faint smile curving his far too tempting mouth. "Impressive. Yet you claim you cannot fight, even knowing all you do about combat?"
"I am a strategist, not a combatant," Rook replied. "Every waking moment of my time has been devoted to anticipating and devising, to planning and plotting. There was no time left for anything else."
"I see," Noor said.
Rook could see some of that respect die. It shouldn't hurt. He did not know Noor well enough for his opinion to matter, and it was simply a fact of life in the Desert that those men who could not fight were looked down upon.
He ignored the hurt as best he could. Likely he was just lonely, and that was acerbating everything. He was good at what he did, that was what mattered. All the same, he had lost all interest in the conversation. He sketched the small group of men a bow. "If you will pardon me, her Highness requested my presence and I have delayed here long enough."
"Oh?" Noor asked. "How strange. I was on my way to see her as well. We can go together, then." Bidding farewell to the men, he fell into step alongside Rook as they left the practice yard.
They walked in silence. Rook wished miserably he could devise a strategy for attracting Noor's interest. But this unexpected encounter had already gone poorly, and he had started with a severe handicap. He bit his lip in thought, but as always his so-called brilliant mind failed him when it came to his own dilemmas.
"So how does one learn to anticipate a man lost in the heat of passion?" Noor asked suddenly, something that sounded suspiciously like amusement threading his voice.
Rook frowned in confusion. "By observation, of co—oh. No." He shook his head, embarrassed. "I did not mean it that way, only when a man is intent upon something about which he cares deeply."
Noor chuckled softly, but said nothing more as they approached the suite of rooms which belonged to the Princess of the Great Desert.
"There you are," Cordelia said. She did not get up as they entered, merely motioned for them to join her in the sitting area, a thick, plush rug with various piles of pillows and cushions, low tables holding wine at each pile. "Rook, I was beginning to think you had been coerced into another game of taaki. General Noor, good evening to you."
"Princess," Noor said, bowing low before taking his place on the floor.
Rook rolled his eyes and took his own, immediately reaching for the dark gold wine set out. "What did you need, Lia?"
Cordelia laughed gently as Noor looked torn between offense that Rook would speak to her so casually, and amusement at the quirks of heathens. "You mentioned that you needed to go into Tavamara for your project."
"Yes," Rook said slowly. "I need to visit the different shops, determine which would be most fit for establishing long-term business. I should not be gone more than two or three weeks."
"Perfect," Cordelia said with a smile. "Sahayl and I were talking it over. General Noor has been assigned the task of checking up on the banished individuals who assaulted Shihab. He has never been outside the Sands, however, and expressed interest in having a guide go with him. You would be ideal, Rook – you know Tavamara, the Desert, and everything in between."
Rook blinked.
Three weeks in Tavamara with Noor? He would not be so busy he would lack free time, and Noor's duties would not take long to execute…perhaps he might devise a strategy for a dalliance after all. He ruthlessly cut off the part of his mind that wanted more than a dalliance. There was no chance of anything more, not the way he was.
Three weeks. Surely even he could do something with that. Was he a brilliant strategist or not?
"I would be more than happy to assist," Rook said, looking first at Cordelia, then at Noor.
Unfortunately, Noor's expression gave none of his thoughts away, and he held perfectly still so that Rook could not even judge his movements with much accuracy. Such absolute stillness…most often it was a negative reaction. Occasionally it was merely one of confusion. Very infrequently it could be containing more positive emotions, but in such cases people tended to relax a bit.
Perhaps the next three weeks would not be as pleasant as he was hoping.
"General Noor?" Cordelia asked. "Does this suit you?"
"Of course, Highness," Noor said respectfully, bowing low, head not quite touching the floor. "I am honored you would trouble yourself in this matter. Lord Rook, I thank you for being willing to assist me. I hope I do not impede your own affairs."
Rook shook his head. "Not at all. My mission is a trifle, I assure you."
Cordelia clapped her hands briskly. "Wonderful. Then I shall cease to trouble you this night. When will you depart?"
"I am ready to leave as soon as Lord Rook is," Noor replied. "His Highness has bid me leave whenever I so choose."
Rook shrugged. "I can pack tonight, and unless there are duties preventing General Noor from leaving on the morrow, I see no reason we cannot leave then."
"Tomorrow is fine," Noor replied.
"Then I shall leave you both to your rest, and wish you best of fortune in your travels."
Making their formal farewells, the two men left.
"I apologize if I am putting you out," Noor said outside, cinnamon eyes meeting Rook's. "When I mentioned that I would prefer to travel with someone familiar with Tavamara, I did not expect them to trouble you."
Rook waved the words away. "It's a pleasure, I assure you. It will be nice to have something worthwhile to do, and Tavamara is a fine country. That my former homeland prefers war to peace, I will never understand. I will see you in the morning, General."
Nodding, Noor murmured a good night and turned to stride down a different hallway than the one they'd taken here.
Sighing, Rook made his way slowly back to his room. He could not say for certain whether things were going well or not. Noor was proving difficult to read.
But it had taken him only three months to sink Solna's greatest warship. Surely he could garner Noor's brief attentions in the span of three weeks.
*~*~*
"You look as though you would very much like to be back home," Rook said with a faint smile.
"Yes," Noor replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable. They had arrived early in the morning, met with King Shahjahan, and only recently finished a tour of the palace. Tomorrow Noor would meet with the exiles…until then, King Shahjahan had said they were welcome to attend the banquets as they desired, had free access to all the palace, and should do as they pleased. "Too loud, too busy…simply too much. Even at its busiest, the Desert is never like this." He shook his head and fell silent.
It was odd, to see such a stoic man so discomfited – but Shihab had said Sahayl and Bahadur were equally disconcerted upon arrival. Not surprising, really. Noor had said it – the Desert was never like Tavamara.
Rook finished his wine and smiled again. "Would you like to explore the city? It is chaos down there, with the market open, but fascinating. Perhaps being in the thick of it will adjust you to it, faster." He laughed. "I promise it is no worse than a battlefield."
"Of that I would not be so certain," Noor muttered, but nodded. "As you say, then." The briefest of smiles flickered across his face. "My royal guide."
Rolling his eyes at the jest, Rook stood and shrugged into his outer robe, smoothing down the dark green fabric before wrapping a deep brown sash around his waist to cinch the robe in place.
His hair was a lost cause in this climate; normally his hair was not particularly curly, but in this thick heat it went positively everywhere and seemed to sprout new curls every hour. It made him look ridiculous, but there was nothing for it save shaving it off and he could not quite bring himself to do that.
"Come, then. Easier to walk than ride, trust me."
Noor walked alongside him, showing all the confidence he possessed as General…but Rook could see he struggled to maintain it as they reached the chaos of the great market.
"If you will pardon the familiarity," he said, looping his arm through Noor's. "It will keep us from getting separated."
"As you like," Noor replied. "By the Lady, what is this mess? A camp in such disarray would be disciplined severely."
Rook laughed. "Tavamara is the second most powerful country in the world, and nearly all its power comes from its hold over trade. Here, in this market, is the heart of that trade. If you cannot find what you seek here, then it doesn't exist."
Noor did not look impressed or particularly convinced. "I would be impressed to find anything of the children of the Lady here."
"You might be surprised," Rook said, and guided them through the throng, shoving through, pushing away, laughing in sheer delight and amusement. "Watch your step there," he snapped as someone stumbled backward into him, giving the man a rough shove.
He checked for his coin, relieved it was still there. A pickpocket would have difficulty getting to it, but one could never be certain. "Here we are," he said at last.
"By the Lady…" Noor said, shaking his head. "Madness, and familiar sights right in the middle of it." Arrayed across three stalls were the curving swords favored by the Sands, various carvings and trinkets that could have only been made by various Tribes. "I wonder where the wine might be found…"
Laughing again, Rook dragged him onward. They broke away from the worst of the crowd several minutes later. "Many of the cafes are this way. A street over that way begin the specialty shops. I'll be going there tomorrow, while you are attending to the exiles."
"Ah," Noor said. "I hope all goes well for you."
Rook smiled faintly. Anyone else would have voiced their curiosity, but curiosity was one thing which was fervently tamped down in the Desert. "My favorite café is this way, it—"
"Rook! By the Great Dragon, is that you? Rook!"
Mercy of the Goddess…Rook whipped around, arm falling from where he realized he still held Noor's. His eyes widened as he realized his ears had not deceived him. "Callen?"
"Rook, it is you! The Great Dragon does occasionally favor me." The man who finally reached him was lean and lanky, handsome in a rough way, with nut-brown hair and eyes, skin tanned and roughened by a seaman's life, but his clothes as fine and stylish as ever.
He promptly greeted Rook as only a native Rittu could, grasping his shoulders and kissing each cheek – then kissed him soundly on the mouth, with all the audacity that had made Callen so notorious.
Rook let him, holding lightly to Callen's waist as he returned the kiss, not realizing until that moment how very much he'd missed being kissed – missed having someone who wanted to kiss him.
"Bold as ever, I see," he said as Callen finally let him go.
Callen's attention, however, was on the man now standing just behind Rook. "Oh, I'm sorry. I completely missed you were with someone. Do tell him I'm sorry. My, my. Never tell me – is that one of the savages I've been hearing so much about lately? If you need help taming him, let me know."
"You're an idiot," Rook said fondly. He turned to Noor. "This is an old friend of mine; we've sailed on many a ship together. He helped me learn how to sail."
Noor nodded, brow furrowed slightly. "He is…I do not believe I have heard his language before, but admittedly I have heard very few heathen languages."
Rook smiled. "Not many know his native language, even in a trade city like this. He's from the far west, a country called Rittu. I apologize for speaking in a language you cannot understand."
"It's no matter," Noor said. "Shall I leave you to your reunion?"
"No," Rook said firmly. "It will only be a moment. Callen is very much like the wind. I swear sometimes he truly is the wind, or born of it."
He turned back to Callen. "What are you doing in Tavamara?"
"In port for a week. Are you certain I didn't upset him? He looks displeased with me. I didn't mean to. I miss a friendly face, and yours was ever a pleasant one. At that, I hope I did not upset you."
"You know you did not upset me. It was nice to be kissed. He is only a friend." Though Rook knew he kept his displeasure over that fact from his voice and face, Callen picked up on it anyway. He frowned, seeing the look in his old friend's face. "Don't you dare. What are you doing now?"
Callen grinned. "Shopping. I have a new friend in need of thawing."
"Seduction, I might have known. You're an idiot."
"Always will be," Callen replied cheerfully. He rifled through the bag he held, and came out with a thin square box. "I've been buying things, and actually bought this because it made me think of you and snicker. How strange that I would run into you."
Rook groaned. "Callen! I don’t know what that is, but put it away."
Ignoring him, Callen suddenly thrust the box at Noor, who caught it awkwardly, frowning deeply. Then he kissed Rook again, hard and brief, before bolting away. "See you around, chess piece! Make sure he puts that to its proper use, eh?"
"Callen!" Rook bellowed after him, wanting to yank his hair out. He turned back to Noor, who was still frowning. "I'm sorry. He means no harm…merely mischievous and impulsive…"
Noor shook his head. "And much like the wind, as you said. Why did he give this to me?"
"He thinks he's being funny," Rook muttered, mortified. "It's harmless enough, I'm sure, and if he gave it to you he genuinely wanted you to have it. Do not ask me why, though. The man is my friend, but his own mother never understood his mind."
Noor said nothing, but with a puzzled frown opened the box and pulled out the contents.
Rook groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm going to kill him."
"What in the name of the Lady…" Noor asked, confusion deepening as he looked at the long, wide strip of heavy black cloth, embroidered with gold and silver stars.
Feeling his cheeks burn, Rook barely kept from snatching the strip of cloth away. "Nothing," he hissed. "Shall we go find that wine?"
"As you like," Noor said, something like amusement flickering briefly across his face before he obediently followed Rook to the café.
*~*~*~*
Noor absently stroked the strip of black fabric, lost in thought as he stared out over the distant city. Over the past few days, the embroidered length of cloth had become a talisman of sorts. It was as much a mystery to him as the world around him. Lady of the Sands, may he never leave the Desert again.
The evening was surprisingly cool, always a pleasant change from the heat. It was also remarkably quiet, the lull between the end of the day and the start of the evening meal. Though life in Tavamara did not appeal to him, he could see why Lord Ikram liked it. Unfortunately, the calm left him alone with his thoughts, and Noor had never favored avoiding his own mind for too long.
He had never considered himself a blind man, but he had also never considered himself a fool. Recent events were forcing him to reconsider both points.
Because he had always noted the Princess's cousin, but never really noticed him. It would be hard not to take note of one of only three heathens in the palace, especially when of the other two one was female and the Princess, the other a concubine with brilliant red hair.
His beauty, too, Noor had noted. Odd features and coloring, heathens were nothing if not unusual…but the gold hair and skin were beautiful in their own exotic way. A lifetime of habit, however, had always kept him noting such things from a respectful distance.
Then that kiss.
Intimacy was an extremely private thing in the Sands, where privacy was a hard thing to come by living in close knit camps who lived in tents. A kiss or an embrace might be seen, but only light, simple things.
That kiss Rook had exchanged with his old friend was the sort of thing to be kept strictly to the confines of a tent. Noor felt guilty for having seen it, confused that the heathens had acted so casually about it. Remembering it felt illicit.
Since their arrival in Tavamara, Rook had been more…alive was the first word that came to mind. But though Noor had made note of it, he was not sure he would have ever truly noticed if not for that confounded kiss.
Never had he been witness to so intimate a kiss; only party to one, which was not the same thing at all.
Though watching had felt wrong, Noor had not been able to look away.
Now he could not stop looking. He was noticing a thousand things he never had…like how soft those gold curls looked, the way they clung to Rook's neck and cheeks.
The way Rook smelled like sunshine and sweet wine.
That he looked much better when he was happy, and that he seldom had looked happy back in the palace.
The impossible blue of those eyes, how sharp and clear they were.
And how he always looked slightly strained.
Noor wondered if that strained look had anything to do with the way Rook seemed to notice everything. More than once in the past week he had seen Rook dodge people or catch objects a moment before anyone realized they were going to trip or drop something.
He'd done the same thing in that madness-filled market, fighting the crowd with a skill no others there had seemed to exhibit.
With that kiss still prevalent in his thoughts, he could not help but wonder if Rook used his skills even in intimacy. If he could help it. If he always paid such close attention to his surroundings…
Staying a step ahead of one's opponent was the only way to stay alive. Anyone trained to fight learned to pay attention. It was inevitable.
Rook, though, was never a step ahead of anyone.
He was always several.
In most people, body moved faster than mind. People simply reacted; this was especially true in the heat of battle, where there was no chance to stop and think. Instinct guided all the best warriors.
Rook, he was realizing, was faster in mind than body. He thought too quickly, too far ahead, to stay with a fight. Training him in combat would have slowed down his mind.
The realization made Noor wince, as he thought of how condescending they all had been of the heathen who could not wield a sword. Now that he was noticing, stopping and thinking, it seemed so obvious.
What was it like to be constantly at work? Even as a General, he had moments of calm. He did not constantly wield his sword, fight unending battles. When the Sands were stained with blood not so long ago, even then there were peaceful days where they could all stop and rest.
Noor could not imagine swinging his sword unendingly, and surely that must be the rough equivalent of what Rook endured, the way he was always watching, noting, predicting. As though it were impossible to stop.
If that were true, the only real chance his mind had to rest was when he clo—
His thoughts broke off as a new realization struck him.
He looked at the strip of fabric in his hands, recalling the way the heathen had smirked, Rook's embarrassment. That kiss.
He smiled as the pieces all fell into place.
A knock at the door broke into his thoughts, and he knew by the familiar rhythm of it that Rook was on the opposite side, fetching him for dinner.
Swiftly Noor folded up the black strip of fabric and tucked it into his robes before striding across the room to open the door. "Rook, good evening."
Rook smiled, and Noor once more called himself a fool for seeing but never noticing. Now that his eyes were open…how long had Rook been looking so at him? "Ready for dinner?"
"No," Noor answered honestly. He hated the massive scale of it. His Sandstorm Prince tended to eat privately whenever he could, with only his closest circle to join him. Those Noor liked very much indeed. He avoided the larger dinners whenever possible. The massive banquets hosted by his Majesty…
And now that he had solved the riddle of the heathen's gift, he wanted badly to put his theory to the test. For months he had barely noticed this man, and now he struggled very much to keep his thoughts proper.
"Are you all right?" Rook asked, frowning. "You look…unsettled."
Noor shook his head, reminding himself sternly that he was not exempt from Rook's attention and ability. "I am fine. Merely hoping I do not cause offense." He smiled. "Being a savage and all."
Rook gave a soft snort. "You have not seen savage until you see the ambassadors pretend to be nice to each other, all the while deciding where best to stick their knives. They have no right to be calling anyone else savage."
"That is merely cowardice," Noor replied. "Lead the way, heathen."
"This way, savage," Rook said with a laugh.
Noor was amazed at the changes in Rook since their arrival in Tavamara, and wondered what kept him so silent back home.
Perhaps he did not, could not, consider the Sands home. Or, he realized with an inward grimace, perhaps the sons of the Lady had given him every reason to dislike the Sands. Well, he would begin to change that upon their return.
Or sooner, though he wondered if seduction was cheating. Not that it would stop him. He had been blind this entire time, but now that he could see he intended to waste no more time.
They reached the banquet hall and he tried not to cringe. The King's table was crowded with special guests, foreign dignitaries. Noor was deeply grateful they would be sitting at a smaller table, though when the King arrived a few minutes later he smiled and nodded at them.
He and Rook sat at a table filled with ambassadors and their companions. What seemed a dozen languages flew about before they all slowly settled on the dialect of Tavamara, only slightly different in accent to that which they spoke in the Sands.
"So," said a man with a gruff voice, a thick, rough accent. He seemed a mass of fat and thick black hair. "It has been a long time, Prince Ryder."
Beside him, Rook stiffened. "I am no prince, Lord Gorky. Gollen stripped me of all titles when I gave my loyalty to the Great Desert."
Noor could not help but note he did not say Tavamara and the Great Desert, which would have been more proper, as the Desert was now only part of Tavamara. So perhaps he and his brothers in the Sands had not driven their heathen completely away. "He is Lord Rook, cousin and dearest friend to her Highness Princess Cordelia of Tavamara and the Great Desert."
The men all chuckled, and he saw the wince Rook only just hid.
"My apologies," he said quietly, for only Rook's ears. "Did I speak wrongly?"
Rook shook his head vehemently. "No." He smiled weakly. "It is only that—"
A man beside Gorky broke in as he finally stopped laughing. He had blonde hair not nearly as fine as Rook's, but several shades darker and perfectly straight. "I did not know they still called you that, Lord Rook. Are you still defeating Kings at chess?"
Noor paused in the process of refilling his dish with a dark green wine of which he was becoming fond. It was sharp and cool, nice against the spicy foods. "Kings?" he asked, turning to Rook. "You defeated kings?"
"King," Rook said with a grimace. "Singular. One King. The father of his Majesty the King of Gollen."
"Checkmate!" Another man, who resembled nothing so much as wet sand, said with a loud laugh. "Lord Rook, I cannot believe you have kept the tale from your savage."
Rook stiffened. "He is not a savage, and I will thank you to watch your tongue."
"Of course, of course. My apologies," the man said absently. He leaned over the table, speaking to Noor as though they were sharing some great confidence. "It is quite the tale, you know. I was lucky enough to be there as a green politician."
"A…green…" Noor's brow furrowed.
"Just out of his father's tent," Rook said, glaring at the man. "Do not go telling tales which are not yours to tell."
Gorky snorted inelegantly. "We will if you do not."
"It's boring," Rook snapped.
"That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard," said the blonde man scathingly. "Lord Noor – that was your name, yes? Do not listen to him. 'Rook' was always reticent to hear the tale recounted."
The men all snickered, nudging each other. "Yes," said Gorky, entire body shaking with laughter. "Never have I seen the equal of that scene, the King's face! Of course, I think were I a King I would have looked the same, to be so easily defeated by a mere lad."
"Yes," said the sand-colored man. "It was quite the scene. The King had been playing Lord Rook's father, and when he was finished Rook asked if he might try. The King was indulgent of his grandson and said he might."
More laughter and looks exchanged, then the blond man picked up the story. "I do believe he curbed his indulgence after that night! Young Prince Ryder sat down, right there at the King's table and set the pieces up. Such a frown of concentration on his face!"
Gorky grinned and slurped his wine, absently pouring more as he spoke in turn. "The game did not last long, before Prince Ryder checkmated him neatly with a rook!"
Noor frowned. "I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the game."
"It's a strategy game, much like taaki. Only two persons play at a time, and the rules are not quite as intricate or varied…but it is just as difficult, for all that." Rook swallowed his wine in a single gulp and poured more. Something dark violet, which Noor suspected was rather strong. "A rook is one of the playing pieces…similar in nature to the tarka piece."
"I see," Noor said, not entirely understanding but comprehending enough. "Is this story that upsetting to you?"
Rook shrugged. "Embarrassing, mostly," he said. "I should have been told no right from the start, if not beaten for my audacity." He shrugged again. "I wanted to try and play, though, and did not think past that."
A sudden silence fell.
"Try and play?" Gorky said finally. "Lord Rook…are you saying you had never played before that night?"
Rook buried his face in one hand as the table erupted into all new levels of delighted laughter. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, please," he said, voice tight, then stood up and all but bolted.
Noor did not bother being polite to men who had been rude first, but simply stood and followed Rook out of the banquet hall. He caught up with him two hallways later, latching on to a slender wrist. "I apologize," he said. "You clearly did not want the story told, I should not have so willingly listened."
"It's all right," Rook said tiredly, sighing softly. "From all viewpoints but mine, it is a fine tale. I understand why they like to recount it…"
Slowly letting go of him, Noor waited.
"People back home like to say I am not my father's son. I think sometimes even my father suspected my mother of dallying with his brother…my father is no tactician, and the present King is quite sharp of mind, as was the late King – the man I played. My grandfather. On top of that, my father has always been sickly… Everyone else sees the game which was played, that a boy of fifteen beat the King, who until then had never been defeated." He laughed bitterly. "All I remember was that my father still would not smile at me, and the rumors of who truly sired me tripled that day."
Rook turned sharply away. "I apologize. It is not fair to make you listen to me whine. Nor did I mean to ruin your dinner."
"You did not," Noor said quietly. "Their odious behavior spoiled it long before that. These fancy dinners do not suit this son of the Lady, anyway."
"They do not suit this heathen either," Rook said with a more genuine laugh. "Shall we enjoy our wine in peace, then?"
Noor smiled. "That sounds ideal, heathen."
"Then follow me, savage," Rook said, returning the smile. He halted a passing servant, requesting for wine to be brought to his room, then led the way through the halls.
They settled in Rook's room, much like Noor's own, save it was decorated predominantly in blue and orange. The wine arrived only a moment later, set neatly on the table along with a tray of food. It never failed to amaze him, the vast array of wines in Tavamara. More colors and flavors than he could ever think of, and he would never recall all the names.
Rook burst out laughing, suddenly, as he looked at the wine. "Perhaps I gave the wrong impression when I asked for wine, though I don't see how given the snit I was in."
"Wrong impression?" Noor asked, sitting at the table, gratified when Rook sat perpendicular to him. He glanced at the wine. Three small carafes, at least a dozen wine dishes, each one different. One wine was so dark it looked nearly black, but he could see hints of blue in it. The other was a rich orange, the last had only a faint touch of pink to it.
"Uh—nothing," Rook said, looking away.
Noor quirked a brow. "What are the names of these wines? I am afraid I'm quite hopeless at remembering them."
Rook looked at him, tilting his head, clearly uncertain. Finally he gave up, sighing softly. "The pale one is called Sweet Kiss. The orange is called Consuming Fire. The dark one is called Midnight Tryst. All can be used at any stage in a meal, though Sweet is often used for a dessert wine, the other two for main courses…but the flexibility of the three make them ideal for drinking in any situation…including those which their names imply." He turned to look anywhere but at Noor. "I did not mean to give that impression to the servant."
He would be offended, except he had been looking most carefully since that kiss. Noor smiled and reached out to pour wine, deciding on the Midnight Tryst. Taking a small sip, immediately liking it, he finally spoke. "That is a pity."
Rook's head snapped back around, his eyes widening as he took in Noor's expression. "What? Since when? You have given no cues that—"
Noor cut him off with a soft, easy laugh. "Saa, heathen. I hid from Sheik Hashim for years that I wanted to kill him. You are so busy here, watching everything else, I could hide my thoughts for a couple of days. Not much longer, I am sure." He took another sip of wine, then set the empty dish down and reached out, unsurprised that Rook started moving at the same time.
He did not speak again until they were only breaths apart. "You looked quite fine kissing your old friend, heathen, I wanted to know what it would be like to do the kissing."
Rook sank one hand into his hair, tugging his head down closer still. "Then kiss me already, savage."
Noor complied, wasting no time in taking possession of that fine mouth, immediately entranced that Rook's taste matched his scent – sunshine and sweet wine. Yes, kissing Rook was much finer than watching him kiss.
Lady of the Sands, why had he been blind for so long? Tightening his hold on Rook, Noor shifted, twisting away from the table to lay Rook on the floor, breaking the kiss to pull back and simply admire. "If all heathens kiss like you, it is no wonder his Highness has two of them."
Rook laughed.
It was too much temptation to resist, and Noor did not bother to try, but dipped his head to claim another hot and heady kiss. "Saa, heathen. I wish I had taken notice sooner."
"I'm amazed you took notice at all," Rook said, looking somewhat sad. "There is little to recommend this heathen to a son of the Lady."
Noor shook his head. "Or perhaps we all have sand in our heads," he said.
Rook smiled faintly. "Perhaps."
He took another brief kiss, then could not resist a smirk. "Not so much sand, however, that I did not figure out what I was gifted with." He pulled the strip of black fabric from his robes.
Beneath him Rook went still – then flushed, groaning. "Oh, no."
Chuckling, Noor rubbed it against Rook's cheek and then draped it over his eyes. "Oh, yes."
"How…" Rook shivered beneath him, and Noor thought that was something he could get quite used to feeling.
He dipped his head to nip at Rook's jaw, his throat. "It was not so hard, once I began to pay attention. Your mind never stops, heathen. Always you see, predict. It strains you."
Rook drew in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in Noor's robes. "You noticed."
Noor pulled the blindfold away, then bent to give Rook another long, deep kiss. "It took me a long time to start paying attention, my heathen, but once I did I realized there were many things worth seeing."
Rook smiled faintly, hesitantly, and reached up to brush back a few strands of Noor's hair. "You had more important things to pay attention to than a useless heathen."
"Useless?" Noor frowned. "Yet always my Sandstorm Prince speaks highly of you, and all that you accomplish in assisting him. Her Highness too says you are the finest of diplomats, even from a distance. I have never heard anyone call you useless, my heathen."
"Mm," Rook murmured. "I would rather be put to a different use right now."
Heat flared at the words, the look on Rook's face. "I believe I could find a use for you," Noor replied, then took Rook's mouth in a kiss that was nearly savage in its ferocity, only growing hotter, harder, when Rook met it full measure.
Pulling back, drawing breath, Noor slowly stood and then hauled Rook to his feet, guiding him toward the low bed, stripping away his clothes that he might finally see his heathen completely bare.
Beautiful.
"Saa, heathen," he said, running his hands over that fine, gold skin. "How is it you are free for this savage to take?"
Rook's expression turned gloomy, even as he moved beneath Noor's hands. "Everyone gets tired of me. Of my predicting, or of the blindfold…my mind does not stop so long as I can see…" He tugged Noor down, nails digging lightly into his arms, as tense as he'd been before when discussing his father and the chess game. "Eventually, they all hate that either I know all their actions, or go blindfolded. Everyone wants to be seen, especially…"
Heathens, minus a few exceptions, really were stupid. Noor consigned them all to the Lady's wrath. He spread Rook out on the bed, nearly distracted by the sight of all that fine skin, muscles that were only lightly toned, so strange a sight but not unappealing. Spreading Rook's legs, he settled between them, then pulled Rook up to kiss him deeply once more.
As he finally let Rook go, he covered those vibrant eyes, knotting the blindfold securely before laying Rook down once more. He bit lightly at one shoulder, liking the gasp, the shudders that raced through the slender body, then shifted to the long throat, lavishing attention upon it with teeth and tongue. "Saa, my heathen," he said at last, voice soft in Rook's ear. "You forget I am Ghost. I thrive on being unseen."
Rook shivered beneath him, and Noor realized he enjoyed the feel of it very much indeed.
He pulled back slightly, one hand smoothing down Rook's thigh, the other his chest and stomach, extracting more of the delicate shivers.
Hands reached out to touch him in turn and Noor caught one, bringing it to his mouth and sucking up a mark on one fine-boned wrist. The moan that elicited was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.
Lady, how had he ignored this pretty heathen who looked at him with such want and need?
Fingers ghosted over his chest, hot and fine – but Noor wanted to be the one touching, and he wanted his heathen only to enjoy.
Looking around, wishing he'd had the chance to plan for this, his gaze finally landed on the silk cords tying back the bed curtains. Yes, that would suffice. He smiled at Rook's quickly-muffled protest as he moved away, rapidly untying the cord he needed. The curtain fell free, half-hiding them in gauzy folds meant to filter the morning sun, the sweltering heat.
"Noor?" Rook asked, sitting up slightly, braced on his hands.
Settling once more between Rook's thighs, Noor pushed him back down and caught up those slender wrists, leaning down to swallow Rook's questions with a deep kiss. When his heathen could only pant and gasp, writhing against him, Noor returned to his task, swiftly binding Rook's wrists above his head.
"What in the world are you—"
Noor kissed him again, stroking the smooth chest, teasing over Rook's nipples. He pinched one lightly even as he dipped his head to taste the other. When he'd elicited the moans and shivers he wanted, he switched his attentions, murmuring approval as Rook bucked in need. "It has always been common amongst the Tribes to kidnap women and children as necessary. Once, it's said, the Tribes kidnapped any who was foolish enough to venture into the sands…"
He trailed his mouth down further, abrading the gold skin lightly with his rough cheeks, nibbling at the flat stomach, the juncture of groin and thigh, biting more firmly at the soft skin of one inner. "I always wondered if that meant the Tribes kidnapped stray heathens…and what was done with them…"
"I doubt they did this," Rook said with a deep groan, hips jerking in futile effort to draw Noor's attention to his leaking cock.
Laughing softly, he surged up to take a proper kiss, lost utterly to the feel of his heathen, the scent of sunshine and lust, the fine sheen of sweat on golden skin. Noor decided he would be keeping this heathen to himself for as long as the Lady permitted. "Of that I would not be so sure, my heathen."
"Noor," Rook moaned his name, writhed beneath his hands and mouth.
Finally relenting, Noor combed his fingers through the thatch of gold curls at the base of Rook's cock, then stroked it with light, teasing touches, pressing firmly at the slit before wrapping his hand more tightly around the long, thin cock and stroking it firmly. He bent to take a deep kiss, tongue sweeping Rook's mouth, drinking in the moans and cries, the needy way Rook gasped his name as he came.
"Saa, heathen, you are a pretty sight." He painted one soft inner thigh with the evidence of Rook's pleasure, stroking the soft skin of his balls, then slipping behind them to tease at his tight entrance.
Rook groaned, those delicate shivers returning as Noor continued to tease. "You have an evil touch, savage."
Noor chuckled. "You seem to like it well enough."
"I would like it more if you quit teasing," Rook said, but with a smile, his cock already stirring with renewed interest.
"Have you anything to ease the way?" Noor asked, just barely pressing one finger inside, enough to notice, to burn slightly.
"The b-basket by the bed," Rook replied, pushing back ever so slightly, moaning.
Noor smiled and withdrew, finding the basket and the vial inside it, returning swiftly to the spread thighs which waited so eagerly for him. Slicking his fingers, he slowly pushed one inside, bending to take another deep taste of his heathen's mouth as he prepared him. "Saa, heathen. So well prepared, and the oil half gone. What thoughts hold your interest so well at night?" A less pleasant thought occurred to him, and he would be surprised at the fervor of his discontent except he had already decided Rook was his. "Or did you find another to warm you while this savage remained blind?"
Rook's cheeks burned dark, and he shook his head in embarrassment. "Only thoughts of you warmed my nights."
Satisfaction poured through him, and Noor kissed him again as he finished readying Rook. Withdrawing his fingers, he settled his cock in place and slowly pushed in, hands braced on Rook's hips, keeping him in place until he was firmly seated.
The sounds Rook made were finer than the best songs. "All right, my heathen? Or shall I stop?"
"If you stop, savage, I will kill you."
Noor laughed and kissed him, nibbling at the full, wet bottom lip. "If you can get out of the binds, perhaps you could kill me." He pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in sharply, swallowing the cry that elicited – and groaning himself as Rook rolled his hips, thrusting forward.
Giving up the teasing, he began to move in earnest, pulling out before thrusting back in, bracing his hands on either side of Rook, driving into him, pushing them both hard, taking that mouth and claiming it as thoroughly as he claimed Rook's body, pulling another climax from his heathen before rapidly following him, their cries of pleasure tangling together.
Collapsing, he rested for a moment on his new lover, intoxicated by their blended scents. With a soft groan he finally rolled away, swiftly working to undo the cord binding Rook's wrists, stripping away the blindfold before settling on his back. He pulled Rook atop him, stroking lazily at his sides, his back, sated but only for the moment.
"Heathens will never make sense to me," he said idly, nuzzling at Rook's throat. "Something so fine as you, they should cling to fiercely, be willing to fight for. Lady knows I would not let one such as you slip so easily away."
"They have other strategists," Rook said, voice heavy with sleepiness. "I'm better than all of them, but not worth the trouble to coax or take back."
Noor did not reply, merely let Rook drift off to sleep, but wondered how such stupid heathens had managed to survive.
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Date: 2007-10-13 02:21 pm (UTC)now off to read the story
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Date: 2007-10-13 02:44 pm (UTC)Ella
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Date: 2007-10-13 03:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-13 04:02 pm (UTC)(If you choose a character I'll offer up a shiny?)
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Date: 2007-10-13 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-13 05:55 pm (UTC)Happy birthday! I hope you have as much joy as you have given us with your writing.
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Date: 2007-10-13 07:01 pm (UTC)Happy happy Birthday! May it be a very joyous expression of another year met and conquered, lived and savored, consumed with gusto with expectation of the next and up coming feast of another year.
Of the second:
Oh.. I read the second part first and then this.
*fans self and tries to find thoughts that have order* That..was..*swallows* very nice.
Having read the second part, I found I liked muchly the foreshadowing of Rook's statement here at the end. The sex was masterful *smacks self for you*. Noor's statement of him being ghost and quite use to and comfortable being unseen. Ghost's attentions though are quite felt though. Loved the pictures of the palace (the sparring square was deja vu for me) and city painted all with words. The loneliness was well done too. Okay.. it was all well done.
Leaves before this becomes an epic.
Thank you for this wonderful gift that you've given us on this your natal day. Have a good birthday.
Love chris
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Date: 2007-10-14 04:52 am (UTC)and a very happy birthday to you! ^____________^
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Date: 2007-10-14 06:58 am (UTC)I liked Rook and Noor as side characters so when this story is about them and together is awesome. And hot. Can't forget hot. Heheh, Chess is sexy.
By the way, when you said you formatted MG to lulu, does that mean you won't post it here?
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Date: 2007-10-14 10:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-14 05:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-14 09:21 pm (UTC)Happy birthday...and damn, girl. You keep getting better.
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Date: 2007-10-14 09:46 pm (UTC)Happi Berday regardless!
Happy Birthday!
Date: 2007-10-15 01:06 am (UTC)dyoklako.livejournal.com/177502.html
'cause I am going batty waiting O__O
Date: 2007-10-15 11:07 am (UTC)OMG, SERIOUSLY? I do hope you include a downloadable version since I couldn't bear waiting a week for it to arrive via post >__<
Any particular month/week/day we can expect to see it up at Lulu?
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Date: 2007-10-15 06:29 pm (UTC)Happy belated birthday wishes for you! *feels guilty for not having wished earlier*
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Date: 2009-03-25 05:13 pm (UTC)And they are perfect for each other, aren't they? The other in a blindfold and the other thriving on being unseen. You make such perfect pairs that complement each other in the most flattering ways :D
The switch from Rook's POV to Noor's was perfect. Oh, these two are so squeel-worthy... *sighs happily and starts to purr*
...and in the middle of this perfection I totally forgot that there are still unaswered questions. And the answers will be found in the second part *eyes gleam manic-ly*