Creatures of the Floral Court were not supposed to be scarred. Maybe some of them were golden-haired stock from the cold north but their worn hands could be buffed and oiled to rose petal tenderness, as could their feet. It was amazing what the silent maids of the bathing chambers could do with their potions and rough cloths.
But there was little could be done to soften the green-eyed one.
They called him that for respect and no little fear, and there was no one else who had his eye color. Oh, some had eyes like turquoise, blue tinted with green, some had amber eyes. But no one ever had eyes that exact shade of true green, the color that belonged on some painter’s brush, that green that was rather arresting at first glance.
He had a scar across his throat and it was an ugly, gnarled thing. It peeped over the elaborate gold and silver necklaces he was sent, the ones he wore with as little ease as a dog wore a color (perhaps less?). The scar was angry red and silver and there was nothing that could be done for it but he seemed to wear the disfiguration with much more pride than any jewel sent by the Emperor.
He was quiet and spiteful and frosty. There was no warmth in his eyes and he rarely smiled. When he did, it was often unpleasant and did nothing to liven his eyes.
But he was a poet and a musician. He had a memory for lines and recitation in his clear, curiously high voice and he could coax heartbreaking songs from a long-necked harp. And he embroidered his own sashes, slippers, and the hems of his robe with flowers almost real enough to pluck or flowing patterns that confused the eye.
No one understood why he still was held in high regard. He was not pleasing to the eye (arresting, yes, oh dear yes) or sweet in temperament. He could not provide a child (though that never hindered the determined pleasure giver). He was prickly and as undesirable as almost possible.
But he was visited quite often and he was given jewels to wear and books to read and music sheets and silks to decorate for himself. He even got to go on outings, his face covered with a veil and hood and carrying his harp.
Then again, despite the envy of the others, some who would be so pitiable to only serve for their entire lives, some realized that those tastes of freedom were worse than any whipping to handle the truculent. Those little tastes emphasized the powerlessness of one who had once captained his own life.
Alfred knew that feeling too well.
He still didn’t know the green-eyed one’s real name and they had lain together for over a fortnight. It had taken long enough to be trusted to take tea with the scowling favorite, to be favored with a surprisingly sweet, though faint smile. To call the green-eyed one by the harem name “Maren” would be to his peril.
Alfred had been in the Emperor’s night court long enough to hear the rumors of what the green-eyed one had been. A dangerous pirate, one who had sent the navy on a merry chase and had razed coastal villages to the ground and brazenly raided river towns. The pirate had been speared through many times, it was said, body dipped in tar and displayed on the spar of the flagship sent to capture him.
But the rumors whispered that the pirate had not been killed but sorely wounded and caged in that very same flagship. That the criminal’s ferocity and cleverness had not offended the Emperor but had only piqued him. Once the pirate had survived many festering wounds, any single one of which could have killed a man, as if to personally spite the world, the Emperor had him secured in the cloisters of the harem and there the ghost who had lived to burn towns and plunder merchants lived as a chained pet.
The green-eyed one said nothing about the rumors that swelled to the status of known secret. He never answered Alfred’s pointed questions and he barely flinched when Alfred ran his hands over the tattoo of curling thorny vines and little blue roses upon his back, the black and bright ink hiding deeper, thicker scar tissue. Other “blooms” in the court had been so marked too but they were often far simpler – a little sun upon a cheek, a symbol for fertility on the upper thigh, a bracelet of two lines around the risk. This tattoo was something more but no answers would be given by the green-eyed one
“I was born on horseback,” Alfred said conversationally one night when he was sprawled on his stomach.
The green-eyed one was smoking from a water pipe, thin body clad in blue-gray silk the color of an autumn sky (Alfred still remembered that color but it seemed to fade or brighten more and more with each year). His neck had a ribbon of moonstone and purple jade. His eyes flickered sidelong, fragrant vanilla scented steam escaping his parted lips.
“Maybe,” Alfred admitted. “But I grew up on horseback.”
“What a sight that must have been,” came the murmur that was not particularly querulous.
“Mm. We were travelers. We sold horses and procured all manner of things. I liked the horses the best, of course.”
“I am sure.” Somehow, Alfred knew that the green-eyed one was still listening, despite the patiently blank expression on those sharp, fragile features. There were plenty of flaws – a short beaky nose, a too pointed chin, heavy brows, a jutting lower lip and crooked teeth – but there was a sort of charm to them, nonetheless.
“My family sold me,” Alfred said blandly, just to see if there was a reaction.
There was a quirked eyebrow and the green-eyed one removed the pipe from his lips. “Was it for debt?” he inquired mildly.
“Of a sort?” Alfred shrugged one shoulder. “A governor saw me at a horse fair and offered money for me. I stood out in my family – they were all shorter than me, dark haired and dark eyed.”
“And?”
“They refused him. My father’s brother, who never cared for me, said so first.”
“The governor made them sell you to him,” the green-eyed one concluded.
“He would have just taken me but I made him pay for me,” said Alfred and he didn’t smile because that night had been one that had mercifully faded just enough to coldly think of it. “They got double what he had offered.”
The green-eyed one was about to speak but apparently thought better of it. He extinguished the charcoal in the water pipe and came over to brush his hands across Alfred’s back. His hands were very smooth and his fingers rubbed warm circles up and down. The gesture was both comforting and arousing – a quiet discord.
“Were you sold?” asked Alfred.
“Oh, there was none of that,” the green-eyed one said enigmatically.
“Then how-” began Alfred and he was silenced with a kiss.
It was a slow kiss, one almost offered shyly. If he closed his eyes it could have been offered by a girl, it seemed.
“And if you speak again on this, I will cut your tongue,” said the green-eyed one almost conversationally, after they parted.
Alfred stared up into those eyes, eyes that were somehow angry and amused and impossibly sad all at once. The closest he could compare those eyes to were those of a little wild bird caught from the garden that had had its primaries clipped. The bird had responded only to one of the women, eating from her hand, but had never sung a full song again until it was found dead with a broken neck at the bottom of its cage (The bird’s favorite had been found drowned in one of the fountains not two weeks later).
The green-eyed one smiled thinly and sat up slowly. “If you were not as sweet as you seemed, you would be my downfall,” he said and perhaps it was to himself.
“I wouldn’t betray you,” said Alfred.
“Words are air, gold child,” the green-eyed one said with a chuckle that held no amusement. “Words are only air and we catch them before the moment of their passing.”
He made a most satisfying gasp when Alfred surged up and kissed him. It was an uncalculated kiss and all the sweeter for it, with those clever thin fingers clutching at Alfred’s shoulders, the nails digging into skin.
They shared a bed but could only share certain pleasures. Still, it was more than enough when the green-eyed one was lying atop Alfred and the two brought each other to climax with their mouths in a furious race. The slender body with its thin muscled legs, that lower lip pursed in a faint frown and sharp tongue – Alfred reveled in it but reveled far more in seeing the face twisted in pleasure, the lips parted in a sound of something like joy.
But best of all would be that faint smile playing across the lips and reaching the eyes. A smile that was affectionate and almost loving and all too brief before they could no longer seclude themselves in their walled world. This time, though, it seemed almost sad and in reflection the lovemaking almost desperate.
“Are you trying to say goodbye to me?” asked Alfred, almost disliking himself for taking advantage of this moment.
“Mm?”
“You’re- cold.”
The green-eyed one sighed. He sat up and dampened a towel before coming to sweep it along Alfred’s skin. “You will get a summons tomorrow. You are to join the ranks of the favorites. Do try to be surprised.”
Alfred stared. “How?” he began.
“I have my ways. You will get your own account and head of attendants and far bigger rooms. There will be far more eyes on you.”
“But then- it won’t change anything.”
“Fool.” It was bitter laugh and insult in one. “It changes everything. You will be backed, you will be challenged and favorites do not ally with each other. They have their own factions.”
“It doesn’t mean we have to abide by it.”
“Sweet fool,” sighed the green-eyed one. “I wish I could believe you.”
He gripped Alfred’s hand in both his own. “Promise me, Alfred,” he said, fiercely and lowly. “Promise me that you will survive- no, that you’ll thrive.”
“Only if you give me your name,” said Alfred.
The green eyes looked almost black in lamplight. They widened and narrowed. “You must promise me,” he said, his voice a susurration, trembling and barely words.
“I promise if you give me your real name,” said Alfred. And this was the time when he almost had to be away – it was late enough that there was activity and he could be too easily caught.
The green-eyed one sighed and leaned in, his lips almost touching Alfred’s. Their mouths touched the words and traced them from the air. “In another life, I was… Arthur.”
“Arthur,” whispered Alfred right back.
“Speak it not or it will be to both our deaths,” said Arthur.
“Never,” Alfred said.
“Promise me, Alfred. Promise me.” It was almost begging and Alfred was terrified by the crack he saw and heard.
“I promise,” said Alfred, because what else could he do in the face of those eyes, at the sound of that voice?
Arthur sighed again and brushed Alfred’s long hair back from his eyes needlessly (Arthur’s own was cropped short except for a slender tail at the base of his skull, usually adorned with a single jade bead or a thin white ribbon). There was a guttural edge to his breathing, a tightness to posture that seemed like a poise to flee or fight.
“Now go,” Arthur said softly.
Alfred stole a kiss that was only half-heartedly fought. The very next day, when he was in his new and airy rooms (multiple rooms for his own! such a surprisingly heady thing), he found an unmarked packet that contained a sewn charm of a blue rose surrounded by gold thorns.
My! That was beautiful!~ I sincerely wish there was more, it has this mythical aura to it. I would love to read more of your stuff <3 It was romantic and tragic and subtle ~ I'm stunned ~ I can imagine a whole book with this setting!~ Omg I'm seriously in love with you, author ~
-Though this is in a fantasy world (of a sort), it’s based on some of the independent research that I have done on the harems of the Ottoman culture, namely the period of Suleyman the Magnificent and the woman who became the first Empress of the Ottoman Empire in centuries: a Ruthenian woman named Roxelana (Roxelana actually means “the Ruthenian,” someone who is from an area that is now Ukraine/Russia – her Turkish name was Hürrem, or “joyful one” and her birth name was Alexandra/Aleksandra). I highly recommend the podcast “Stuff You Missed in History Class” for further information on her and her story as the “Cinderella of the Harem.” -The title on the other hand, comes from a historical fiction manga “Drop of Dream – The Golden Birdcage.” The series highly romanticizes her life, including inserting a love triangle between her, Suleyman, and Suleyman’s head page (an actual historical figure). -Quick breakdown of this harem world – It’s heavily based on the Ottoman Emperors’ harems except it has both male and female members. A member enters generally as a virgin but experienced members can be procured and sometimes gifted to the Emperor. One becomes a favorite after being visited by the Emperor numerous times and becomes a “wife” by bearing a child. Obviously this gives far more advancement opportunities to women as opposed to men but no few male favorites have trumped the decisional and power capacities of wives. However, in this world, the Emperor has an Empress Consort, an almost purely political position, as her children will not necessarily become Emperor. Arthur has a very peculiar position as a “favorite” – really, he has his own classification. -Maren is a unisex name but definitely leans more to feminine use and means “Sea” or “of the sea.” It’s both a compliment and an insult to Arthur. -I’m torn on how successful Alfred would be as a courtesan – I can see it going either way. I’m sure he has a lot of natural charisma but at the same time, socially graceless which is rather dangerous in a harem environment and advancing yourself. -Interesting thing to note – blue roses are symbolic of “dreams” and, perhaps more negatively, “impossibilities.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Doorless Birdcage (1a/1)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-23 01:39 am (UTC)(link)But there was little could be done to soften the green-eyed one.
They called him that for respect and no little fear, and there was no one else who had his eye color. Oh, some had eyes like turquoise, blue tinted with green, some had amber eyes. But no one ever had eyes that exact shade of true green, the color that belonged on some painter’s brush, that green that was rather arresting at first glance.
He had a scar across his throat and it was an ugly, gnarled thing. It peeped over the elaborate gold and silver necklaces he was sent, the ones he wore with as little ease as a dog wore a color (perhaps less?). The scar was angry red and silver and there was nothing that could be done for it but he seemed to wear the disfiguration with much more pride than any jewel sent by the Emperor.
He was quiet and spiteful and frosty. There was no warmth in his eyes and he rarely smiled. When he did, it was often unpleasant and did nothing to liven his eyes.
But he was a poet and a musician. He had a memory for lines and recitation in his clear, curiously high voice and he could coax heartbreaking songs from a long-necked harp. And he embroidered his own sashes, slippers, and the hems of his robe with flowers almost real enough to pluck or flowing patterns that confused the eye.
No one understood why he still was held in high regard. He was not pleasing to the eye (arresting, yes, oh dear yes) or sweet in temperament. He could not provide a child (though that never hindered the determined pleasure giver). He was prickly and as undesirable as almost possible.
But he was visited quite often and he was given jewels to wear and books to read and music sheets and silks to decorate for himself. He even got to go on outings, his face covered with a veil and hood and carrying his harp.
Then again, despite the envy of the others, some who would be so pitiable to only serve for their entire lives, some realized that those tastes of freedom were worse than any whipping to handle the truculent. Those little tastes emphasized the powerlessness of one who had once captained his own life.
Alfred knew that feeling too well.
He still didn’t know the green-eyed one’s real name and they had lain together for over a fortnight. It had taken long enough to be trusted to take tea with the scowling favorite, to be favored with a surprisingly sweet, though faint smile. To call the green-eyed one by the harem name “Maren” would be to his peril.
Alfred had been in the Emperor’s night court long enough to hear the rumors of what the green-eyed one had been. A dangerous pirate, one who had sent the navy on a merry chase and had razed coastal villages to the ground and brazenly raided river towns. The pirate had been speared through many times, it was said, body dipped in tar and displayed on the spar of the flagship sent to capture him.
But the rumors whispered that the pirate had not been killed but sorely wounded and caged in that very same flagship. That the criminal’s ferocity and cleverness had not offended the Emperor but had only piqued him. Once the pirate had survived many festering wounds, any single one of which could have killed a man, as if to personally spite the world, the Emperor had him secured in the cloisters of the harem and there the ghost who had lived to burn towns and plunder merchants lived as a chained pet.
Doorless Birdcage (1b/1)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-23 01:39 am (UTC)(link)“I was born on horseback,” Alfred said conversationally one night when he was sprawled on his stomach.
The green-eyed one was smoking from a water pipe, thin body clad in blue-gray silk the color of an autumn sky (Alfred still remembered that color but it seemed to fade or brighten more and more with each year). His neck had a ribbon of moonstone and purple jade. His eyes flickered sidelong, fragrant vanilla scented steam escaping his parted lips.
“Maybe,” Alfred admitted. “But I grew up on horseback.”
“What a sight that must have been,” came the murmur that was not particularly querulous.
“Mm. We were travelers. We sold horses and procured all manner of things. I liked the horses the best, of course.”
“I am sure.” Somehow, Alfred knew that the green-eyed one was still listening, despite the patiently blank expression on those sharp, fragile features. There were plenty of flaws – a short beaky nose, a too pointed chin, heavy brows, a jutting lower lip and crooked teeth – but there was a sort of charm to them, nonetheless.
“My family sold me,” Alfred said blandly, just to see if there was a reaction.
There was a quirked eyebrow and the green-eyed one removed the pipe from his lips. “Was it for debt?” he inquired mildly.
“Of a sort?” Alfred shrugged one shoulder. “A governor saw me at a horse fair and offered money for me. I stood out in my family – they were all shorter than me, dark haired and dark eyed.”
“And?”
“They refused him. My father’s brother, who never cared for me, said so first.”
“The governor made them sell you to him,” the green-eyed one concluded.
“He would have just taken me but I made him pay for me,” said Alfred and he didn’t smile because that night had been one that had mercifully faded just enough to coldly think of it. “They got double what he had offered.”
The green-eyed one was about to speak but apparently thought better of it. He extinguished the charcoal in the water pipe and came over to brush his hands across Alfred’s back. His hands were very smooth and his fingers rubbed warm circles up and down. The gesture was both comforting and arousing – a quiet discord.
“Were you sold?” asked Alfred.
“Oh, there was none of that,” the green-eyed one said enigmatically.
“Then how-” began Alfred and he was silenced with a kiss.
It was a slow kiss, one almost offered shyly. If he closed his eyes it could have been offered by a girl, it seemed.
“And if you speak again on this, I will cut your tongue,” said the green-eyed one almost conversationally, after they parted.
Alfred stared up into those eyes, eyes that were somehow angry and amused and impossibly sad all at once. The closest he could compare those eyes to were those of a little wild bird caught from the garden that had had its primaries clipped. The bird had responded only to one of the women, eating from her hand, but had never sung a full song again until it was found dead with a broken neck at the bottom of its cage (The bird’s favorite had been found drowned in one of the fountains not two weeks later).
The green-eyed one smiled thinly and sat up slowly. “If you were not as sweet as you seemed, you would be my downfall,” he said and perhaps it was to himself.
“I wouldn’t betray you,” said Alfred.
“Words are air, gold child,” the green-eyed one said with a chuckle that held no amusement. “Words are only air and we catch them before the moment of their passing.”
Doorless Birdcage (1c/1)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-23 01:40 am (UTC)(link)They shared a bed but could only share certain pleasures. Still, it was more than enough when the green-eyed one was lying atop Alfred and the two brought each other to climax with their mouths in a furious race. The slender body with its thin muscled legs, that lower lip pursed in a faint frown and sharp tongue – Alfred reveled in it but reveled far more in seeing the face twisted in pleasure, the lips parted in a sound of something like joy.
But best of all would be that faint smile playing across the lips and reaching the eyes. A smile that was affectionate and almost loving and all too brief before they could no longer seclude themselves in their walled world. This time, though, it seemed almost sad and in reflection the lovemaking almost desperate.
“Are you trying to say goodbye to me?” asked Alfred, almost disliking himself for taking advantage of this moment.
“Mm?”
“You’re- cold.”
The green-eyed one sighed. He sat up and dampened a towel before coming to sweep it along Alfred’s skin. “You will get a summons tomorrow. You are to join the ranks of the favorites. Do try to be surprised.”
Alfred stared. “How?” he began.
“I have my ways. You will get your own account and head of attendants and far bigger rooms. There will be far more eyes on you.”
“But then- it won’t change anything.”
“Fool.” It was bitter laugh and insult in one. “It changes everything. You will be backed, you will be challenged and favorites do not ally with each other. They have their own factions.”
“It doesn’t mean we have to abide by it.”
“Sweet fool,” sighed the green-eyed one. “I wish I could believe you.”
He gripped Alfred’s hand in both his own. “Promise me, Alfred,” he said, fiercely and lowly. “Promise me that you will survive- no, that you’ll thrive.”
“Only if you give me your name,” said Alfred.
The green eyes looked almost black in lamplight. They widened and narrowed. “You must promise me,” he said, his voice a susurration, trembling and barely words.
“I promise if you give me your real name,” said Alfred. And this was the time when he almost had to be away – it was late enough that there was activity and he could be too easily caught.
The green-eyed one sighed and leaned in, his lips almost touching Alfred’s. Their mouths touched the words and traced them from the air. “In another life, I was… Arthur.”
“Arthur,” whispered Alfred right back.
“Speak it not or it will be to both our deaths,” said Arthur.
“Never,” Alfred said.
“Promise me, Alfred. Promise me.” It was almost begging and Alfred was terrified by the crack he saw and heard.
“I promise,” said Alfred, because what else could he do in the face of those eyes, at the sound of that voice?
Arthur sighed again and brushed Alfred’s long hair back from his eyes needlessly (Arthur’s own was cropped short except for a slender tail at the base of his skull, usually adorned with a single jade bead or a thin white ribbon). There was a guttural edge to his breathing, a tightness to posture that seemed like a poise to flee or fight.
“Now go,” Arthur said softly.
Alfred stole a kiss that was only half-heartedly fought. The very next day, when he was in his new and airy rooms (multiple rooms for his own! such a surprisingly heady thing), he found an unmarked packet that contained a sewn charm of a blue rose surrounded by gold thorns.
Re: Doorless Birdcage (1c/1)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-28 12:50 am (UTC)(link)Re: Doorless Birdcage (1c/1)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 04:48 am (UTC)(link)I sincerely wish there was more, it has this mythical aura to it. I would love to read more of your stuff <3
It was romantic and tragic and subtle ~
I'm stunned ~ I can imagine a whole book with this setting!~
Omg I'm seriously in love with you, author ~
Doorless Birdcage (ooc)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-23 01:40 am (UTC)(link)-The title on the other hand, comes from a historical fiction manga “Drop of Dream – The Golden Birdcage.” The series highly romanticizes her life, including inserting a love triangle between her, Suleyman, and Suleyman’s head page (an actual historical figure).
-Quick breakdown of this harem world – It’s heavily based on the Ottoman Emperors’ harems except it has both male and female members. A member enters generally as a virgin but experienced members can be procured and sometimes gifted to the Emperor. One becomes a favorite after being visited by the Emperor numerous times and becomes a “wife” by bearing a child. Obviously this gives far more advancement opportunities to women as opposed to men but no few male favorites have trumped the decisional and power capacities of wives. However, in this world, the Emperor has an Empress Consort, an almost purely political position, as her children will not necessarily become Emperor. Arthur has a very peculiar position as a “favorite” – really, he has his own classification.
-Maren is a unisex name but definitely leans more to feminine use and means “Sea” or “of the sea.” It’s both a compliment and an insult to Arthur.
-I’m torn on how successful Alfred would be as a courtesan – I can see it going either way. I’m sure he has a lot of natural charisma but at the same time, socially graceless which is rather dangerous in a harem environment and advancing yourself.
-Interesting thing to note – blue roses are symbolic of “dreams” and, perhaps more negatively, “impossibilities.”
Re: Doorless Birdcage (ooc)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-23 04:23 am (UTC)(link)I also appreciate all the work you put into this. It was a wonderful fill.
Re: Doorless Birdcage (ooc)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-23 07:55 am (UTC)(link)Re: Doorless Birdcage (ooc)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-23 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)A very sad, strange and pretty fill, anon, that was lovely to read. ♥
Re: Doorless Birdcage (ooc)
(Anonymous) 2013-06-01 02:30 am (UTC)(link)