Chapter Text
There was no Robin Hood or his Merry Men in the Swirling Sands, and there was no place for charity in Maara. The sprawling coastal capital made literal boatloads of money for the royal coffers, but not a single shard was left for its people, leaving families desperate and children like Aladdin orphaned.
After Franz left, life went back to normal, and what Aladdin found was that he did not like normal. ‘Normal’ meant long, eerie nights in an abandoned theater; ‘normal’ meant nobody to watch your back while you swiped a handful of dates from a market stall for your dinner.
‘Normal’ meant loneliness.
They had chased the dream of paying off Franz’s bounty with an almost manic zeal. Each step closer meant one second sooner until freedom. Without that goal, Aladdin was left adrift and unbearably bored. The streets were dull and drab without the Pied Piper’s music, and more than a few folks commented on the strange minstrel’s sudden disappearance, not knowing that within less than a year, Franz’s name would pop up everywhere.
The Maestro of Wonder ("Really, Franz? I thought I was dramatic.”) was a living legend. People claimed that his music could heal as easily as it could kill. He performed for royal courts all over Reverie, and sometimes, he came to Maara.
He never visited; why should he? There was no reason to leave the spotless, decadent palace for the filthy slums of the Fishery. Likely, he didn’t even remember Aladdin, and even if he did, would he cherish those memories? They spent a lot of that year cold, hungry, and hunted like dogs.
He did not resent Franz for his meteoric success. This was, after all, what they’d fought for together.
It was not until Aladdin ran into a street rat like himself that he awoke from his boring existence. The little boy was fleeing from the guards, and the chase had led him to Aladdin’s theater. When the boy caught sight of him, he turned to run out the way he came. “You can stay here,” Aladdin said, continuing to lie on the stage and bask in the sunlight. “The wolves never come inside. They think it’s haunted.”
The boy lingered in the shadows. “Is it?” he whispered. Footsteps thudded outside, muffled and growing increasingly more distant. “Haunted, I mean.”
“Depends on if I feel like climbing the rafters. What’re they after you for?”
“Stealing.”
Aladdin snorted. “You and everybody else. What did you steal?”
“Water.”
He sat up and peered into the darkness. “They chased you all the way out here for water?” He then gestured to his food stash, hidden between the seats of the first and second rows. “There’s food and drink in there. Take whatever you need.”
The boy hesitated, but when Aladdin made it clear he wasn’t going to attack, he crept out of the shadows and over to the supplies. In an instant, he forgot that Aladdin was even there, falling onto the stash and scarfing down whatever was closest. “Kid,” said Aladdin, fishing out the garnet necklace from his cloak. He tossed it; the boy’s arm darted out and snatched it out of the air. “Take it to Old Man Mayyar. You know him?” A curt nod. “He will handle the rest. Spend the money wisely. And do not flaunt your wealth.”
The boy whispered a hurried, meek ‘thank you’ and scurried back into the dark. Aladdin watched him go.
That child was him, hungry and reckless. That child was Franz, distrustful and scared. That child was one among so many.
Idle hands were dangerous, particularly his—so he got to work. He stole for Franz’s survival, as well as his own. Why should he not steal for the lives of the people of Maara?
Soon, Maara had its own Robin Hood in the Prince of Thieves (he did not choose the title; personally, he thought ‘Lord of Thieves’ had more of a ring to it, but folk heroes don’t get to choose their legacies). Unknown and undetected, he became a painful thorn in the Sultan’s side. The people refused to give up their legend, although they couldn’t have even if they wanted to, for they also had no idea who the Prince of Thieves truly was. In the streets of the Fishery, Aladdin was an ordinary nuisance, likeable but otherwise a nobody. He preferred to keep it that way; he wasn’t in it for glory or worship.
Well, that was not entirely true. Aladdin was nothing if not a dreamer, and he dreamed of legendary heists. What could he say? He itched to see the rest of the world; and he was, as Franz once succinctly put it, an ‘adrenaline junkie.’ He heard rumors of magical artifacts and scrolls containing knowledge that kings would and have killed for. His searches took him to all corners of Reverie, from the rolling hills of Sugarland to the desolate wastes of old civilizations long since forgotten. Along the way, he rescued a carpet from a landslide—and yes, he knew how absurd that sounded, but ‘twas true. Once free of the boulders pinning it down, the carpet flew forth and wrapped itself around him in the semblance of a bear hug. It waved its tassels in his face like a dog licking its master. And, perhaps most bizarrely, it understood what he said.
“Alright, alright,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve got to go now. Good luck, little flying carpet.” (He was not a madman.)
But the carpet followed him. He wasn’t about to complain. After all, a master thief’s life was a solitary one, and a companion was more than welcome.
With a magical flying carpet, capturing the Prince of Thieves would truly be like catching lightning in a bottle. The Prince stole from kings, empresses, and gods alike, ransoming their relics back to them and distributing the dream shards to their own subjects.
His latest expedition brought him to Galewood, not all that far from Koswig. Perhaps the Prince of Thieves would run into the Maestro of Wonder. But Aladdin refused to hold his breath. Franz had made it quite clear that, after buying his own freedom, he wanted to get as far away from Hameln, and in effect all of Koswig, as possible.
So of course, when Aladdin heard the music, he had to follow.
//
The Pied Piper was performing for the queen of Galewood. If one could not tell from the hauntingly beautiful songs, all one had to do was look at the audience, enraptured and deaf to all else. Then, the Maestro’s presence became quite clear.
Aladdin slipped in through the open window and froze at the sound. Franz had once told him that he was the only one unaffected by his music, but that was a lie.
It was like hearing one’s other half calling out to them.
He was here for the diadem of the first queen, not a concert. But he could afford a small detour, could he not? So he moved, as if spellbound, to the railing that overlooked the throne room. He kept his head low as he peeked over the edge. And there Franz was, center stage, eight years older than Aladdin had last known him and still so much the same, with that same silly hat. His eyes were closed as he played, lost as the rest of his audience in his music.
Amazing, Aladdin thought. This was what freedom looked like.
But, as if he had spoken his mind aloud, Franz opened his eyes and looked up toward the second floor. The flute dropped from his lips. The spell shattered, and the queen demanded an explanation for the interruption. She then followed his stunned gaze to where he was staring at Aladdin, and she shrieked, “Intruder!”
Aladdin bolted for the stairs as the throne room erupted into chaos. The queen would get to keep her ancestor’s relic—for today. He wasn’t worried, though. He could easily outrun the heavily-armored guards, and he let them know, taking what he would consider his own sweet time ascending the watchtower.
But it was Franz who caught up to him first, breathless and wide-eyed. He shut the door behind him. For a moment, neither of them spoke or moved. Then they tried at the same time:
“I missed—” “I heard you were—”
Aladdin found his tongue first, as was usual between them. “Uh, you’re pretty quick,” he said. “Glad our practice paid off.”
“Practice?” Franz repeated. “What are you—how—Aladdin, how did y—” Stomping footsteps and clacking armor signaled the rest of the stampede. He glanced over his shoulder, then back at Aladdin. “Go, get out of here!”
Aladdin whistled for the magic carpet. Then, as the watchtower door swung open to reveal half a dozen suits of armor, he grabbed Franz by the collar and drew his scimitar to his friend’s throat.
Franz stumbled with his momentum and yelped unceremoniously. “Aladdin, what are you—”
The guards aimed their crossbows, but they hesitated. Shooting the Maestro of Wonder would be a very, very bad look to the rest of Reverie’s courts. This, Aladdin knew, as he stepped back with his hostage in tow. “On the ledge, now.”
“Are you mad?” Franz hissed under his breath.
“Sort of,” Aladdin answered honestly as they hovered just over the edge of the castle wall. The magic carpet was right under him, though Franz couldn’t see that. To the confused guards, he called out, “Keep your treasures, fair queen of Galewood! If you don’t mind, I shall be taking your entertainment. He and I are long overdue for a conversation. Bye!”
Then he shoved Franz off the edge and leapt after him. They both landed on the magic carpet, and it shot off toward the trees. Crossbow bolts sang through the air, but the magic carpet was tricksy and easily wove between the arrows.
“What the fuck?” Franz cried, scrambling for purchase. “Aladdin, where are we going? How are we—”
“Hold onto the carpet,” Aladdin chimed in as the magic carpet helpfully curled up its edges. “And don’t look down. Or you can hold onto me. I won’t judge.”
“Stars above, you bastard, I’m going to strangle you!”
When Aladdin first rode the magic carpet, it was exhilarating and life-changing. Franz did not seem to think similarly. He held the tassels with one white-knuckled hand and his hat with the other, and he rambled under his breath, “You’re not going to die. Just don’t look down. Oh, stars. What the fuck, what the fuck…”
Quickly, they left the castle and its frantic guards in the carpet’s windy wake. Sky-high stone walls and rich fields gave way to dense, lush forest. Once Aladdin was certain they were in the clear, he urged the carpet to land gently on the ground. He hopped off the hovering carpet and stretched. “You alright?” he asked. He got no response. “Franz? We landed. You’re not dead. Hey—ow!” he exclaimed as a punch flew into his arm from a deceptively thin arm.
“You,” Franz declared, “Are. Insane. Insane, Aladdin! What in blazes are you doing all the way out here? How did you even get hold of a magical flying carpet? No, on second thought, don’t tell me. I refuse to be incriminated in your constant messes. Just my luck that the Prince of Thieves shows up in the middle of one of the most important concerts of my career—yes, I know it’s you. Who else would it have been?”
“Stars above, not even a ‘thank you?’” Aladdin asked, peering down at the carpet which was folded lazily across his feet. “It’s okay. He just doesn’t handle heights well.”
“Ach, good, you remember,” Franz said venomously, swiping his hat off his head to shake leaves and acorns out of it. “A pity it didn’t spring to mind before you threw me off a castle wall!”
“But it was fun, though, right?” Aladdin grinned as he plucked a leaf out of Franz’s hair. “Come on, don’t tell me you wanted to stay in that stuffy castle. It was so boring in there! Aside from you, of course, but still—I don’t know how you can stand dealing with royals. Obsessed with arbitrary rules of ettiquette. They have different spoons for different meals, Franz. Who needs different spoons?”
“Arbitrary but predictable, unlike your company,” Franz snapped, replacing his hat. “You’ve answered none of my questions, but you’ll get plenty of time to explain yourself while you take me back to civilization. Now.”
Aladdin whistled to rouse the magic carpet. He bowed and gestured to it like a valet. “Your noble steed awaits, maestro.”
Franz eyed the floating carpet warily. “So…just sit?”
“I mean, you can stand if you want, it’s probably just like surfing.”
“Why do I ask?” Franz sighed and sat cross-legged on the carpet, clutching his flute to his chest. “Does it, err, talk?”
“No, but it can definitely hear you,” Aladdin replied as he made to join him. “Scoot. I’m not walking beside you like your personal butler.”
Franz made room for him. “A few years ago, you would’ve leapt at the offer,” he said moodily.
“Oh, stop it,” Aladdin scolded, turning to face his irritable guest. As such, he couldn’t see where the magic carpet was taking them, but he trusted that it knew the way back to town. “You’re making our long-awaited reunion miserable.”
“If you wanted a reunion, you could’ve just sent a letter,” said Franz, throwing up his hands. “Or visited, since you have a magic carpet that can take you anywhere.”
Aladdin snorted. “And you could’ve visited while you were in Maara, but here we are. Maestro of Wonder’s too good for the Fishery now, hm?”
Franz clammed up, his argument dying unspoken on his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, in a much softer voice. “I didn’t know if you were still in the city. But I should’ve looked harder.”
“Where else would I be?”
“Anywhere else,” Franz insisted, looking shocked. “Wasn’t the plan always to get out of Maara?”
Aladdin shook his head. “Not all of us are destined for the stars.”
“And yet you’ve become a legend in your own right.” Franz regarded him with a strange look in his eyes. “Still, you’ve not changed a bit.”
Aladdin couldn’t quite say the same for him. Oh, Franz was just as he remembered, shining eyes and melodic voice and all. His humor and mood were pitched too flat, his figure and his tongue much too sharp; but one could always count on his music to be perfectly in tune. No, Franz hadn’t changed in six years except for the way he comported himself. It wasn’t obvious now, given that he’d just been tossed off a wall and had spat panicked vitriol at Aladdin throughout their whole daring escape, but during his performance in the castle, he was confident, in a way that he hadn’t been during their little heists together.
(Watching him from the second floor, enthralled like all the others who listened, Aladdin could not help but think that his friend was a completely different man. A snake who had shed its skin and become the snake charmer himself. Elegant and deadly.)
(Watching him only inches away as he crossed his arms, theatrically sulking about his disrupted concert, Aladdin realized his friend was still the same Franz he knew and loved.)
(This did not make him any less deadly.)
“What happens now?” Franz asked, drawing him out of his daydreams. “I certainly won’t be coming back to Galewood for a while. You shouldn’t hang around, either.”
“Well,” said Aladdin, trying to hide his reluctance, “I drop you wherever you want to go. And we go back to our usual mundane legendary routines.”
Franz laughed. “Somehow I suspect that your routine has been anything but mundane, my friend.”
“Maybe not. But when you live a life on the run, stealing for people who will never know your name…it gets dull, a bit,” Aladdin admitted. He dropped his gaze and absently picked at some burrs that had gotten stuck to the magic carpet’s back.
“Lonely?”
Aladdin bit the inside of his cheek. “Early on, maybe. The magic carpet’s been a wonderful companion, though.”
Franz hummed, tapping his fingers on the surface of his flute in an arcane rhythm. “Well, currently the Maestro of Wonder has been kidnapped and taken hostage by a dangerous criminal,” he remarked. Aladdin glanced up at him suspiciously; he regretted it instantly, for Franz was smiling, and there was a gleam in those violet eyes that one could simply not break away from. “I’ve been long overdue a holiday.”
“Are you saying…” Aladdin frowned and trailed off.
Franz heaved a dramatic sigh. “Yes, Aladdin, I am saying that I’ll stay.” He then hesitated upon seeing Aladdin’s unchanged expression. “I-if you want me to. And not forever, obviously! Just until the excitement dies down around here.”
All the tension left Aladdin in a rushed, loud laugh. “The excitement never dies down where the Prince of Thieves goes. I hope you’re adequately prepared.”
“I’ve have six years to prepare,” Franz replied easily.
Just like that, everything was back to normal. The Pied Piper played a soothing song as they drifted along on the magic carpet, the notes tinged with wistfulness—but at the same time, hope. The Prince of Thieves shared his stories of misadventures and close calls, trying (successfully) to make the piper break with laughter in the middle of his song.
They passed over Galewood, continuing onward through the night. The prince began to doze off, and his ever-restless companion made no attempt to wake or move him when he fell fast asleep on his lap. Instead, he brought up his flute and played a promise of sweet dreams.