Chapter Text
It all began with a child’s shout.
A stubborn, albeit youthful voice rang out above the crowd. Through the mass of courtiers struggled a tiny figure. Their lungs too small to carry the air to cry out as they did. Their brown eyes burned brighter than the sun on that hot afternoon.
“What is your evidence!”
The discussion of the day? Cleaning house.
The Sultan’s coronation had only been earlier that week. The crown still weighed heavy upon his head. His chest unadorned in gilded chains or delicate rubies. In its place the tight wrappings of white cloth woven tight around his left pectoral. The only reminder of what remained of the day Lapis Lazuli hall’s floors were stained crimson.
While the hall glistened that current day, they still required cleaning. The Sultan recognized too many faces. Too many shifting words, too many whispers during debates, too many of his father’s men still among them. One such Lord struggled to push through to fetch the child. Their firm hand squeezed at the defiant boy’s wrist. They too were one too many.
“Forgive him Your Highness! He knows not what he speaks!”
“I know exactly what I say!”
The Sultan stared down at the two. How interesting. He adjusted his hand to lean against it, ever silent.
“What is your evidence? Isn’t it the duty as subjects to serve The Sultan.”
Yes. It was. For it was He who was privileged to all the great things in his nation. He who deserved his people. For He was the people. They were Him. A nation of one mind who believed His father no longer deserved the crown They now wore.
The child continued. “They were only doing their duty! You can’t kill them for doing that!”
“Silence boy!”
“But Father!”
Father. What an amusing idea. If He had ever spoken to the dead Sultan in such a manner. Hah. Hahhhahahha.
The Sultan laughed aloud, the grand hall grew quiet.
“Tell me boy, what do you know of duty.”
The Boy blinked at the mighty figure upon the marble throne. He hadn’t expected to get this far. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought to begin with. He’d visited court only a few times, but enough to know how close his father had been to the late Sultan. One of his most loyal supporters. If Mother hadn’t begged him to stay home that accursed day, if that magician hadn’t visited that night, he’d have been caught in the slaughter.
“I-” The Boy pulled his hand back and adjusted his brown robes. “Enough. Duty is the responsibility of the citizens to support their leader. Be it through farming, working the fields or managing the land! The slaves aid the peasants, the nobles manage the peasants, and The Sultan protects the lands where all reside.” He spoke firmly reciting the teachings instilled in him from youth. “And in return the nobles receive profits which feed into the Sultanate. This is how we feed the peasants and clothe the slaved.”
The Boy's shoulders straightened with the posture of a proud courtier. The Sultan laughed once more, His gaze focused solely upon the child as they spoke. Once finished with their display of through education, The Sultan’s golden gaze rose to rest upon the man behind The Boy. Fear. He recognized it well. The entire hall reeked of it, thus why He was eager to see it cleaned. No one knew what’d be the result of His reign, not even He. These early days were His foundation for decades to come.
“Your Majesty, Warrior King, oh mighty Lion Hunter, Prince kissed by the Swords-”
“Spare me your idle praise,” The Sultan interrupted a dark haired noble. Age graced the speaker’s features, yet sharp blue eyes remained tucked beneath wrinkles. They stood the side. “Why do you interrupt my consideration?”
“You mean to say you will actually consider this child’s words?”
“Ah, you honor us Your Highness,” The Boy's father lowered his head.
The Sultan turned his head toward the palace windows, dismissive of both courtiers. Only after a brief consideration did he look upon the boy, then those behind him.
“Who better to have a say in the future than our youth? Tell me boy, what is your name?”
“Arzu!”