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"But why is your name Basal? Who names their child after a root vegetable?" It was the same question Malik had asked when he'd climbed his way up the tower some time after Rashid had left. The question had been precluded by a roll of his eyes until he realized it hadn't been a joke.
The last time he asked the question, the two of them had been strangers and Malik had asked it with incredulity dripping from every word.
Now, the question is softer as they sit shoudler to shoulder, still amused but it was less abrasive when Malik had his fingers loosely threaded between a few of his long braids.
"My mother craved the onions in Rashid's garden and my father stole them." He said as Malik combed through his hair. "When Rashid caught him, he let my father have the onions on the condition that my parents turn me over to him when I was born."
Malik's hand slipped from his hair, not because he had reached the end but because he could not reach further. It was night, but that was hardly the only reason why Malik's frown was dark. "That is a ridiculous reason to have named you Basal. You should pick a better name."
"Why?" The question did not sound sincere (in truth, he had to admit that he only liked to push Malik's buttons, to watch him flair angrily like a bird puffing up its feather to look larger).
Malik must have known this, but he still canted his head and said, "because you should reject the name given to you by some people who think you are worth the same as some onions."
"Onions are a very useful vegetable." He said mildly, just to see Malik glare at him. He reached out and brushed took Malik's hand in his with a smile. "I do not know many names." He admitted quietly.
"I can give you suggestions. Surely any name will be better than 'Basal'."
Altair shrugged like it didn't matter, "If you wish."
"Altair." Malik said finally, "Your name can be Altair."
"Altair." He repeated, "why Altair?"
"It is the name of a star." Which did not answer the question of why.
He laughed, "onions are more practical than stars."
Malik clicked his tongue. "That is because you do not know what they are for." He stood up from where they had been sitting. "Come to the window and I will educate you."
He spent the rest of the night listening to Malik talk about the stars, the stories behind them and how they can be used for navigation. He spun tales that Altair had never heard of (which was not hard), of women and men and animals who were turned into patters in the sky, about maps and ships travelling on oceans using only the stars as their map while Altair soaked it all in, like he meant to steal the stories for himself.
After Malik left, he stared at the stars in the sky (some of which apparently had names given them by men who looked at them and saw something worthy of one) and he thought what worth a star might have to Malik and how he liked the way Altair had rolled off Malik's tongue.
But he was still Basal from the moment Rashid called that name twice before asking for him to let his hair down so he may climb it until he left.
He was neither Basal nor Altair in the in between hours, after Rashid left and before Malik scaled the outer wall of the tower and pulled himself into his room. In that span of time there was no one to call his name and he is only, I and me (but mostly, myself: alone).
And then there'd be that faint scratch of boot on stone, before Malik appeared in his window, his fingers first catching the sill, before he was blocking the view outside with a smirk.
He called him Altair and it made his chest feel too small for the feelings that swelled inside it (different and yet similar to the way his little room in this tower felt too small everytime Malik left).
And Altair had lived his whole life in this tower and he had not wanted for company because he had never once wanted it. Yet he was lonely when he was Basal, when he was neither and he wanted to blame Malik for his misery. Instead, he pulled Malik further into the room, sat them both down on the couch and made him tell him things. Sometimes they were stories, though Altair preferred knowledge. When he brought it up, Malik laughed and squeezed his hand.
"There is a lot you can learn from stories as well." He said and they argued about it long into the night. Certainly, Malik was more knowledgeable and better educated, but Altair matched him in stubborness and he was clever and was able to think on his feet. He argued for the challenge of it (for the warm glow of appreciation in Malik's eyes right before he did his best to rip apart Altair's argument).
The argument was over long before the night was, not because either of them had been ready to concede victory, but because Malik cracked a wide yawn. As he rubbed at his eyes, he grinned teasingly at Altair, "why do you make that face?" He said and his other hand came up to run over Altair's hair, "do you hate losing that badly?"
"I have not lost." Altair replied hotly even as he leaned into Malik's petting. He did not say, whenever you yawn it is a sign you will soon leave.
Mind reading was not a skill Malik could lay claim to. Yet, the gaze of his eyes softened, like he wanted to stay as much as Altair dreaded him leaving. And it was reassuring, in a way, to know that maybe it wasn't only unbearable for him, that being alone wasn't the same as being stranded if someone else was struggling with you.
"You can come with me." Malik said, taking Altair's hand in his and Altair gripped his hand tightly like an agreement.
"No, I can't."
It was a question Malik asked each time and each time Altair's answer was the same.
One time, he said, "if you bring me a silk kerchief each night, maybe I will leave when I have a rope long enough to climb out."
Malik snorted, and reached out to tug on Altair's hair, "or we could just cut this and you can use it as a rope."
He left early that night and Altair thought, good riddance but pride at his accomplishment did not last and he was left disappointed when Malik did not come the next evening.
He was gone for another night, before he came again, pulling a white slip of cloth from his pcket.
"Why?" Altair asked because Malik did not seem the sort to play along with something so ridiculous.
When Altair did not take the offered item, Malik shoved it at his chest. "I should be asking you that question. What is so good about this place that you choose to stay here?"
"I cannot leave." Altair said, "it isn't that I don't want to, I can't." He had tried, just once, but though there were no bars, no glass on the window, he could not pass through. (And then Rashid had come and he knew Altair had tried and reminded him that he must be a good child and stay in his tower.)
Malik considered this with a frown, "can you show me?"
"Not unless you want Rashid to know what is happening."
The strip of white cloth was cool in his palm. It caught on the pads of his fingers when he touched it. He focues on the green vines dotted with blue flowers that crawled along the edges of the cloth like they climbed the walls of his tower and he wondered what sort of flowers they were supposed to be.
He focused on that instead of looking up at Malik, until Malik caught him by the chin and turned his head up.
"I doubt the embroidery," there was a strange word and Altair wasn't sure what it referred to, "is really that interesting." He frowned at Altair, like he was trying to figure out a great puzzle, before he leaned down to press a kiss against Altair's forehead. "I will get you out of here. I will find a way before this," he tugged at the corner of the piece of silk in Altair's hand, "is long enough to reach the ground."
Malik did not always bring him silk, but he always brought him something to add to the length of rope that Altair was sure wouldn't hold his weight. But it didn't matter. The gesture itself was what mattered, it was a promise, Malik's way of reassuring him that he had not given up.
One evening, Malik brought him something longer than before, but it felt lighter in Altair's hands, like it weighed nothing. When he tossed it into the air, it fell so slowly it may as well have been floating.
"It is a scarf." Malik said while Altair stared at the small flecks of silver sewn into the fabric that made the scarf look like a night sky. Malik reached out and caught the scarf by the ends and threw the looped end behind Altair's neck. He was smirking when he dragged Altair in by the fabric, looking so very pleased with himself.
And it simply could not be borne so Altair leaned in and kissed him.
Their first kiss had been awkwardly followed by a conversation about how men could kiss, that it wasn't just shared between a prince and a princess like in the story books. Which was just as well, because Altair liked kissing Malik, liked the way he could make Malik moan when he bites at Malik's bottom lip, or when his hands slide over Malik's shoulder and rest at the back of his neck.
Malik slipped his tongue past Altair's parted lips as his hands pulled at the edge of the scarf until he'd pulled it over both their heads. veiling them in dark blue, surrounding them with glittering (fake) stars.
It closed them in until Altair could almost forget that they were in the tower still, could almost imagine that they were kissing under the night sky. The veil around them shifted when Malik took a step forward until they were pressed flush against each other and it gave everything a new dimension, a new flush of heat that made Altair grunt and push him back to gasp. But their hips were still pressed together and it felt like his clothes were too small for him all of a sudden. He shuffled in place, trying to ease the discomfort between his legs as Malik brushed a hand over his cheek.
"Are you all right?"
Altair licked his lips, "I think so."
Far from reassuring him, Malik's frown only deepened and he reached up to move the scarf off their heads to drap over Altair's shoulders, peeling away false night like a dark dawn to get a better look at him.
"Tell me what is wrong."
As Altair explained, he watched Malik's expression shift from grave, to a blank surprise to amusement that offended Altair.
"I see." Malik said, a grin tugging at the edges of his mouth, right before he wrapped his arms around Altair's waist again. "I should have expected that you wouldn't know, I suppose." Altair bit him sharply when Malik leaned into kiss him because he was being an ass, but it only earned him a chuckle. Then there was a soft whisper againast his ear as Malik's hand trailed from his back to the front. "Let me show you what to do about it."
Altair lost his virginity with stars digging uneven indents in his shoulder blades below and Malik above him, his hands petting his arms, his sides before tanling in his hair, his breath uneven pants fanning over Altair's mouth.
But most of the evening was dedicated to helping Altair wash out the mess they'd made of his hair afterwards. Brushing was a two person job and Malik cursed under his breath as he slowly worked the comb through the half of Altair's hair he was designated with dealing with. For once, Altair was the teacher, showing Malik how to complete this task without pulling at Altair's scalp.
At one point, he'd threw his hands up in exasperation, leaving the comb to hang in Altair's hair. "This is ridiculous! Your hair is ridiculous. How do you even put up with it?"
Altair rolled his eyes. "Maybe next time you will be more careful with it." He thought, as he set the comb down to run his fingers through his hair, that they'd have to clean the sheets too or else Rashid would know.
A scoff, then it was, "Maybe next time I'll cut your hair first."
Malik's visits had become such a constant in Altair's life that he could not imagine a day when they would not happen.
Then, Rashid had climbed into the tower one day and told him that Malik would not come again, that he knew.
"This is where you belong. Do not forget that." He had said.
But Malik had given him the name of the star, and stars do not wallow in the darkness, closed in from all sides, but sit in the sky (and even onions would grow towards the light and point towards the sky).
Altair stood at the window trying to find Malik's sillouette in the moving trees. He did this for a two nights. On the third night, he retreated from the window and stood in the middle of his room, staring up at the rafters.
Rashid had said: this is where you belong. This is your cage.
Malik had said: see that fireplace? If you put your hand here, you could climb it.
Malik had shown him how to climb in the relative safety of the room (maybe preparing him for the day when he'd take him out of the tower). He had never gone as far as the beams at the top of the ceiling, but he was sitting there now, his hair falling to the ground in a pile as he held a glass jar between his hands. Inside, there were three figs, all of them dark and plump.
He looked down at the floor, his legs kicking back and forth as he wondered if getting back down was the same as going up (and if not, then how he was going to get back down).
It would have been dramatic for Rashid to have come in just as Altair got his feet onto the floor, still cradling the jar of figs or if he had called for Altair to let down his hair when he made the decision to cut his hair off with a pari of sewing scissors (there were skills that were required when you lived by yourself in a tower and the only person capable of taking things in and out of the place was an old man climbing on your hair).
But the moon was still high in the sky when Altair first put his feet on the stone, so by the time he had cut off the long braids of his hair, it was still dark.
There was enough time for him to fall asleep, his head weightless in a way that was unfamiliar when he lay down.
When Rashid finally came, Altair was eating breakfast. He finished his eggs (because breakfast was important), and put his plates and glass in a pile (because he could), before he walked to the window. He dropped the pile of braids over the edge before stepping back.
There was a moment, right before Rashid pulled himself into the room when he furrowed his brow and it was the closest to an emotion Altair had gotten to see displayed (and there was some humour, perhaps, in knowing it happened because Rashid was trying to figure out why Altair was satnding there instead of by the window).
Altair let him come inside.
"I'm leaving." He said. And he had the jar of figs held firmly and carefully between his hands.
"Because of that stupid boy?"
"No." Altair said. Rashid was standing between him and his way out, but that wasn't actually a concern, "what did you do to Malik?"
"I do not need to answer your question."
Rashid hadn't taught him even the most basic of spells, but the glass under his palms felt like the air before a storm, heavy and charged. He reached into the jar and Rashid's face paled right before he dropped it to the ground.
"I'm leaving to find him." He said as something seemed to crawl under the skin of the fig before its shaped chaneged and grew into a wolf. "And you're not going to stop me."
He climbed down using his hair. While he understood how to climb down without in in theory, falling to his death from his tower so soon after his decision to seek freedom was not only unappealing but would also be entirely too tragically ironic to risk.
His feet touched the ground and he thought, the way the grass bent under him was strangely similar to when he stepped on a plush carpet. (Would it be the same without shoes?)
Malik had said once, "I live to the south of here. The markets are bursting with people and its filled with sounds and smells you have never dreamed of." To entice him into running away.
He did not even know which direction south was.
He considered it, fingered the dark blue scarf he wore as he considered how long it'd take if he waited for sunset before he just reached into the jar again.
"Take me to Malik." He said as he dropped the second fig that turned into a lion.
It wasn't every day that a man came into the city riding a giant lion.
So, understandably, many stopped to gawk at the sight.
Though Altair hardly noticed the stares as the lion took him through the streets. It didn't stop as they left the city proper and headed into forest. It kept going until it had reached the gates of a huge castle (that must be what it was because it had a bridge and a moat and towers with flags at the top of them). The lion knelt down and Altair dismounted in front of a pair of startled guards.
"I want to see Malik." He said.
And one of the guards said, "no one is allowed to see the prince." Because while a lion was a compelling argument, he had a family that relied on the salaray he brought home. Then added, "But we can take you to see the queen." (Because he could not continue to receive a salary from inside a lion's stomach).
The lion followed Altair into the throne room because no one really tells lions where to go. But the guard felt safer about the prescence of the lion when they reached the throne room with its many royla guards all armoured and armed.
"Your Majesty--" The guard said at the same time Altair said, "Take me to see Malik."
She said, (after briefly eyeing the lion), "what business do you have with my son?"
Altair glared, "I don't have to tell you anything."
She made a sound that he had heard Malik made before, when he thought Altair had said something rude or ridiculous. "Do you know who I am?"
"Malik's mother, I assume."
"I am the queen." She said but there was a faint twist at the edge of her mouth like a smile. "What is your name? Where did you come from?"
He was impatient, when he snapped his answer, "Altair. I came from the forest. Where is Malik?"
"In his room unless he's escaped again." She said flippantly, "tell me how you escaped from the witch's cottage. I ask," She said because while the lion had laid down on the floor with a yawn, Altair looked ready to make a break for the closest door that wasn't the one he came in from if she did not allow him to go to find Malik, "only because servants with loose tongues have let others know my son is trying to leave to find his lover and you are not the first to have come claiming to be her--or rather, him. If you are who you claim to be, then answer my questions and I will let you in to see my son."
"I lived in a tower. If you don't even know that then you're not fit to judge whether I should be allowed to see Malik."
The lady beside the queen was shocked into dropping the tray in her hands but Malik's mother only laughed. "I can see why he likes you." She said before standing up. "Come with me. Leave your lion behind."
They didn't make it to Malik's room.
Mostly because they ran into him in the courtyard, his hands steadying himself on the wall as he walked with a scowl. Altair breathed in sharply, something in his chest loosening when he could see with his own eyes that Malik was alive. The relief robbed him of his voice and the ability to even move (and a part of him was suspicious. It couldn't be so simply, could it?)
"Malik." The queen said with a sigh at her oldest (most stubborn) son. "What are you doing out here?"
"I'm leaving." He said and his tone was flat like his palm against the wall. "I can't stay. Altair is--"
"Right here." She said and Altair wondered why she had to say it at all as she reached forward and took his hand. "He's right here, Malik." She said and Altair wondered at the sad tone of it, right before Malik's head shot up and he looked around wildly.
"Where? Where is--Altair!"
He's blind.
The thought was numbing, but Malik was reaching out (literally) blindly and Altair reached back for him , catching his flailing arm.
"Malik." He said and couldn't manage more than that before Malik dragged him in towards him and wrapped his arms around him.
"You're safe." He said and it was breathless and shaking. "You're here."
Later that night, Malik was feeling around his scalp with his hands. "It feels weird." He said.
"You always hated my hair." Altair shot back.
"I did." Then he cupped Altair's face, "It's still strange to know that it's gone." He sounded wistful when he added, "I wonder how you look without it? I bet it's lopsided. Like a butcher had taken a knife to it."
He did not offer an apology (it didn't seem like it'd be enough), but leaned in and kissed Malik instead. "I'll fix this." He said.
And Malik smiled at him. "Using your magic fig? Maybe you can make a dog out of the last one so it can act as my eyes."
Altair did not smile back, "I will fix this, Malik. I swear it."
"It doesn't matter." Malik said and leaned in to kiss him again. "Having you here is enough." Then it was, "Let's go to the garden. I want you to see the stars."
Altair nodded, "let's go." He said even though he knew the sky outside was cloudy (but it didn't matter. Because there was be more nights, more stars and one day they'd see them together. He'd make sure of it.)