MEME: AU Drabble Things

[aintnoconvict]

Speaking of AUs: I am blaming Dien and her tumblr for this.

1.) Tag in with your characters.
2.) Someone else tags you with with an alternate universe setting. Inclusion of their character(s) in the AU is totally cool.
3.) Write a three-sentence fic drabble-like thing in response.
4.) You tag others with AU prompts and get drabble-things in return.

GO GO GO!

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[thepersianyouth]

At fourteen, as my looks changed from boy to youth, when I was still young to the ways of the Persian Household, I would at times be summoned to the open courtyard to sing. The King were often joined by his friends, who would offer me small tokens of appreciation once I was done and the King no longer required my presence. I would play the lute, as I had been taught under my former master, Datis' roof; I would sing, and though my voice had neither the tone nor the strength of some other eunuchs', whose voices far surpassed both tone and range of a woman's, my singing pleased the King.

On one such occasion, the King had taken to his table the Satrap of faraway Tyre; now under the rule of Alexander for some time; a scholar of some kind, and his son.

I was summoned, and for once my role was to pour the wine, as I had done many times in the past, eyes downcast as the men spoke of Alexander - the son of a King, for sure, but what of it when the so-called king was the son of a goat-herder? The Satrap and scholar, whose name was Dorotheus*, sat clad in plain white robes with blue trim; even his sandals were white, inlaid with silver thread that glistened like fish scales in the afternoon sun.

Alexander had, in wisdom or folly, kept the trade routes open (or the royal purple for which Tyre had acquired such fame would be unlike any other dye: unavailable for purchase, and thus without value). It was of such matters the men spoke, but their voices were the silent hum of the coming sandstorm: I could hear them, but my focus lay elsewhere.

A servant sees the world from a different perspective than that of a lord. Having walked both paths, I knew the difference very keenly. I still do to this day. A lord casts his gaze at leisure from the hairline and down to meet the eye of another, while a servant begins at the ground and very rarely looks a lord in the eye.

The scholar's son sat very quiet, which to me spoke louder than his father's polite complaints. His legs were crossed at the ankles, his feet clad in sheepskin shoes dyed a deep red. For some reason this made me smile. He shared his father's plain mode of dress, but where his father favoured white and silver and blue, he had pale but vibrant emerald tones that seemed to mingle at ones with threads all colours of the rainbow. Had it not been for the mournful slope to his mouth, he could have competed with the exotic birds suspended above us in their gilded cages.

I poured the wine, and listened with all my senses, and more than anything the son of Dorotheus spoke to me the clearest. What few glances I stole of his face went unnoticed, for his eyes were downcast like mine, and rimmed with long, dark lashes that needed no kohl for vanity's sake. He had a long, peculiar face that was not unpleasant to look at: lips made for kissing and graceful hands that made me think of birds' wings, and eyes the likes of which made one want for ways to dispel the dark clouds lurking in their depths. He had the beginnings of a strong beard, given time, and his hair all dark ringlets that at times caught on his eyelashes.

It made me wonder, that such a man could sit by the King and be so unaffected by his surrounds.

'Ambrosios,' said the satrap, not to his son, but to King Darius. 'Was once the most learned man in all Tyre; it is not in my nature to boast, and indeed you must have heard of his inventions; he is my heir and firstborn son, but the Mighty God has forsaken us.'

At this the scholar threw his hand up. 'I come beseeching you, Great King, that you may restore my son if it please you.'

King Darius looked the youth over, and told the Satrap plainly, 'His malaise may be veiled in mystery, as am I, but I have no cure for it. His mind is his own, he the master of it. If there be a cure, it lies within him already.'

The Satrap bowed to the King's judgment and wisdom; I bowed as the King bade me leave...

But my eyes lingered on the young man, with eyes darker even than my own, that spoke more clearly to me than either of the men seated at the King's own table.

It was not presence of mind Ambrosios lacked, but spirit.



* Trufax: Dorotheus was a sainted historical person who resided in Tyre...some six hundred years after the events of TPB, BUT WHO CARES :D

[aintnoconvict]

Endless divine squeaky noises for you bb. That's just...pretty and sweet and all I could have longed for, thank you thank you thank you /glomps your face ♥

[thepersianyouth]

Heeee yay :D I'm so glad you like it! ~glomps~