HOME | DD

Description
Medina.  Far from Istanbul, but vital; an important city for Islam, and one of his main bastions on the eastern side of the Red Sea.  He needed it.  He had it, and he would keep it.

The journey to Medina was either pleasant, or wretched, depending on which route he took.  When in peace, he went by water.  Setting off in a ship from the capitol harbour, following the coastline through the islands then across to Alexandria, taking a barge up the Nile and then another boat to sail down the Sea; this was bliss, if long, because the Nile always seemed to slow down time and the gentle rocking of so many crafts made his head spin like it did after a long night of hookah and shifting silks and dipping bread into oil he could smell in his skin.

He went by land, sometimes, to remind the world of his strength.  Riding with an earth-shaking following of men across the plateau, south through Damascus and Jerusalem and wherever else the soldiers might find women and water.  By the time the northern reaches of the Sea were within sight, water became more important; this was a long and dry journey, and the sun beat mercilessly off the dusty ground.  Horses quickly grew tired on the relentlessly rocky terrain and the freezing cold nights allowed little chance for rest.  As a show of power, this caravan was highly effective; it was certainly no place for children.

And yet, a child was there, seated on a war horse at the very front of the column.  And, as could only be expected under the circumstances, he was completely, utterly miserable.

The boy hadn't said so- he was far too proud for that- but to Sadiq his distress was obvious in the furrows of his brow and the slack way his hands gripped the saddle.  And, perhaps, the stifled whimper every morning when Sadiq barked through the opening of his tent that it was time to leave.  He might've felt bad- and an observer with no sense of self preservation might have argued that he did feel slightly bad, because why else would he give the child wine to help him sleep instead of leaving him to lie in terror of the war stories told to him by the rest of the soldiers?  Or the protected seat on Sadiq's own horse instead of his rightful place alone in the back of a lurching wagon?  Or the soft, woollen blanket off Sadiq's own bed, claiming to be too warm and throwing it aside that first evening, instead of leaving him to huddle under a regulation rug?

But he didn't feel bad about dragging the kid along, he would swear to it, because really, it was the brat's own damn fault.  Secretly swapping out Sadiq's personal seal with one that read, instead of his name and title, 'Sadiq, perverted bastard and king of everything stupid'?  Organising his cats into an admittedly clever military movement to systematically spread fur on every single formal garment Sadiq owned, hours before the Sultan's feast?  Telling a bemused Gupta that Sadiq had finally decided to go on a diet and thus charged his Egyptian captive with removing every sweet and tasty treat from the kitchen?  So the brat was inspired, Sadiq had to give him that.  And if he'd pulled the same pranks on anyone else, Sadiq would've been roaring with laughter and gifted the kid his own damn pony or whatever it was that brats his age wanted.  But as it was, he'd yelled, raged, ordered the cook to never slip Heracles anything remotely Greek ever again (and gave the man a blindfold for the next time Hera pouted and begged, because Sadiq had seen those pleading green eyes in action, and god help him, they were effective), and told the kid to pack up a travel bag.  Because clearly, he couldn't let him out of his sight.

The brat in question let his grip relax even more, starting to slide sideways.  Sadiq shifted the reins to one hand so he could wrap an arm around the boy's waist, holding him upright.  Heracles didn't move, finally having fallen into an exhausted sleep.  Even with the added help of the wine and extra blanket, he wasn't getting any rest at night; Hera's home was on the breezy, sea-warmed coasts, and Sadiq could see that the cruel chill and dry heat of an unending desert were even more harsh on the Greek than he'd expected.  Still.  At least he probably wouldn't try to mess with his seal again.  Selim would never let him live this one down....

The boy's muscles, tensed even in sleep with the stiffness from so many long days of riding, finally gave way and he slumped heavily into Sadiq's arm, the dust on his cheeks leaving a smear along Sadiq's sleeves.

The Turk sighed, and motioned to the general behind him.

'How far are we from Medina?'

'At this pace, another six hours.  Eight at most if the wagons have to find a way down the slopes.'

'It's after sunset already...and we need to make an impressive entrance.  We'll stop now.  Let the men rest; tomorrow will not be an early start.'

Without waiting for a response, Sadiq turned his horse and headed off to wait.  It wasn't long before his tent was erected and furnished; in these campaigns he ranked as highly as the absent Sultan, after all.  He shook Heracles gruffly.  'Wake up, brat.  We're stopping.'

As soon as the boy's eyes opened Sadiq jumped down from his horse, causing Heracles to yelp and clutch at the saddle before he tumbled off.  'Stupid jerk!'

'Yeah, yeah.'  Sadiq waved a hand and strode into his tent.  He heard the small poof of a little body hitting the dusty ground, then an 'Oww...', then tiny feet running towards him.  By the time he'd stripped off his riding jacket and shaken some of the dust from his hair, Heracles was comfortably ensconced in a pile of pillows on the floor, eyes drooping.  'Don't even think about falling asleep in here, brat.  No lessons tonight.  Go to your own tent and go to bed.'

Heracles picked at the fringe on a pillow.  'Don't wanna.'

'I don't really give a fuck, kid.'  Sadiq turned away and kicked off his boots, expecting Heracles to growl childishly and probably swear and then leave in a huff, but he didn't.  He just kept picking at that damn pillow, knees drawn tight to his chest.  Sadiq hesitated.  'Why?  You hungry or somethin?  You know you have to go ask the cooks about that, not me.'

'I'm not hungry.'  Heracles let go of the threads and tucked his hands into the sleeves of his jacket.

'Well, then...'  Sadiq waited, but nothing else came from the boy on his floor.  He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair.  'I'm not in the mood for games tonight, Hera.  Get out.'

Silently, the boy got to his feet, wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, and shuffled out.  Sadiq firmly squashed down any traitorous feelings of guilt, and went to bed.

Sadiq breathed deeply and felt the clean, fragrant air caress his lungs.  He was lying on a hill overlooking the Sea of Marmara, and a cool, salty breeze tempered the soothing warmth of the sun.  Light filtered down to him between the branches of an old olive tree, creaking lowly as the branches swayed, and the whisper of waving grasses made him imagine he could hear the faint crashing of sparkling blue waves against the white shores to the west.  Greece's shores.  He took another full breath, taking in the rich scent of the olive tree and the sweetness carried to him from the almond grove over the crest of the hill.  The breeze playfully ruffled his hair and traced along the uncovered lines of his face and neck.  No mask?  No...he didn't need it here.

'Sadiq...'

Whose almond-sweet voice was that, calling his name as gently as the breeze?

'Sadiq...'

He'd let them come here, rest his head in their lap, let them run their fingers through his hair as he reached up and fed them bread dipped in lavender honey with his own hands.

'Sadiq, bastard, wake up!'

He snapped upright at once, hand tight around the hilt of his raised sword before he'd even opened his eyes.  There was a startled eep! and a thump and then he could see, in the darkness, terrified green eyes looking up at him from the floor.

'What...god damn it, Hera.'  Sadiq scraped a hand over his face, trying to forcibly slow his pounding heart.  'What the fuck do you think you're doing, idiot?  I could've killed you!  Never wake a soundly sleeping soldier, I've told you that a thousand times!'

Heracles pulled himself shakily to his feet, biting his lip.  'But you wouldn't wake up....'

'No shit.  Because it's night time, ya know?  When people are supposed to be sleeping?  Not to fucking mention I was only having the best dream of my god damn life.'

Heracles wrapped his arms around himself, glaring.  'Fine then, go back to raping Gupta or whatever sick dreams you have.  Good night.'  He turned and started to stalk away but Sadiq reached out with a groan and grabbed the back of the boy's collar, tugging him sharply to the bedside with a strangled yelp.

'Hey!'

'You little shit.  That was one time, and perfectly consensual, and I know you know that because Gupta himself had to explain to you why you don't have that kind of wrestling in the Olympics.'  Still holding tightly to his shirt collar, Sadiq gave the boy a shake.  'Now, what did you want?'

Heracles' eyes slid to one side, and he didn't answer.  Sadiq sighed and pulled him down onto the bed, resting his forehead on one narrow shoulder and ruffling a hand through the boy's hair.

'Come on, kiddo.  You having nightmares again?'

'No.'

'So what's wrong?'  Suddenly feeling like this whole situation was getting a little too soft, Sadiq gave him another halfhearted shake.  'Hurry up, I wanna go back to bed.'

'It's cold,' Heracles blurted suddenly, and even in the dark Sadiq could see the dark flush spreading across his cheeks.  'I'm cold.'

'So, what?  You want another blanket?'

'No...I just want to sleep with you.  Can I?  You said you were warm.'

Sadiq stared at the kid.  Sure, his country had colder regions than Greece did, allowing him better resistance to the desert nights, and if Heracles was as chilled as his shivering form implied then yeah, body heat was the way to go, just like most of the soldiers outside, but...really?  The brat actually expected Sadiq- the Ottoman Empire, as cold and hard and cruel as the desert surrounding- to cuddle him to sleep?

Well, yeah.  Because he was an arrogant little Greek brat with no proper sense of who he should be scared of.

Sadiq snorted in disbelief, both in himself and the situation, and got off the bed to kneel on the floor.  'Come on.  Up.'

Heracles scrambled at once to jump on his back, wrapping thin arms and legs around his neck and waist, digging poky little feet into his stomach.  Sadiq quickly rolled up his blankets and shoved them under one arm, then tucked his hands under the boy's knees.  Heracles began kicking happily at his hips.

'Hey, stop that.  Now be quiet, ok?  If no one knows I've gone to your tent, no one will wake us up in the morning.'

Heracles immediately stilled and pressed his face into Sadiq's shoulder as though trying to silence even his breathing.  Sadiq chuckled softly and, after checking that the coast was clear, crept silently through the dark to the small tent next to his own, slipping through the opening without a sound.  He crouched down beside Heracles' bedroll- more of a nest, really; clearly he really had been cold- and let go of the boy's legs, so that he slid down Sadiq's back to the ground.  Both kicked off their shoes and Sadiq spread his blankets over the woollen one he'd already donated to the cause of keeping the shivering little Greek warm; said Greek dove between the thick layers before Sadiq even had time to smooth out the wrinkles.  He bit back a smile and shifted to crawl in as well, lying on his side so he could see the kid staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes.  He groaned, and held out his arms.

'Come on.  C'mere.'

Heracles didn't need any more invitation and burrowed into his chest, sighing happily as Sadiq wrapped his arms and the piled blankets around his back.

'You gonna sleep now?'

Sadiq couldn't hear the words that left damp exhalations against his neck, but he felt the nod.

'Good.  We've got a big day tomorrow.  Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll skewer you like a döner kebab.'

Another nod, and Heracles twisted clumsily in his hold to blink sleepily up at him, head pillowed on Sadiq's arm.  'Thank you, bastard.'

Sadiq couldn't hold back the smirk this time, and didn't really want to.  'You're welcome, brat.'

It didn't take long for the kid's shifting to still and his breathing to slow, but Sadiq waited, just in case.  Finally satisfied that his armful was sound asleep he buried his nose in Heracles' messy hair, breathing deeply the heavy scents of olives and sea winds.

'Night, Hera...'

Description
Medina.  Far from Istanbul, but vital; an important city for Islam, and one of his main bastions on the eastern side of the Red Sea.  He needed it.  He had it, and he would keep it.

The journey to Medina was either pleasant, or wretched, depending on which route he took.  When in peace, he went by water.  Setting off in a ship from the capitol harbour, following the coastline through the islands then across to Alexandria, taking a barge up the Nile and then another boat to sail down the Sea; this was bliss, if long, because the Nile always seemed to slow down time and the gentle rocking of so many crafts made his head spin like it did after a long night of hookah and shifting silks and dipping bread into oil he could smell in his skin.

He went by land, sometimes, to remind the world of his strength.  Riding with an earth-shaking following of men across the plateau, south through Damascus and Jerusalem and wherever else the soldiers might find women and water.  By the time the northern reaches of the Sea were within sight, water became more important; this was a long and dry journey, and the sun beat mercilessly off the dusty ground.  Horses quickly grew tired on the relentlessly rocky terrain and the freezing cold nights allowed little chance for rest.  As a show of power, this caravan was highly effective; it was certainly no place for children.

And yet, a child was there, seated on a war horse at the very front of the column.  And, as could only be expected under the circumstances, he was completely, utterly miserable.

The boy hadn't said so- he was far too proud for that- but to Sadiq his distress was obvious in the furrows of his brow and the slack way his hands gripped the saddle.  And, perhaps, the stifled whimper every morning when Sadiq barked through the opening of his tent that it was time to leave.  He might've felt bad- and an observer with no sense of self preservation might have argued that he did feel slightly bad, because why else would he give the child wine to help him sleep instead of leaving him to lie in terror of the war stories told to him by the rest of the soldiers?  Or the protected seat on Sadiq's own horse instead of his rightful place alone in the back of a lurching wagon?  Or the soft, woollen blanket off Sadiq's own bed, claiming to be too warm and throwing it aside that first evening, instead of leaving him to huddle under a regulation rug?

But he didn't feel bad about dragging the kid along, he would swear to it, because really, it was the brat's own damn fault.  Secretly swapping out Sadiq's personal seal with one that read, instead of his name and title, 'Sadiq, perverted bastard and king of everything stupid'?  Organising his cats into an admittedly clever military movement to systematically spread fur on every single formal garment Sadiq owned, hours before the Sultan's feast?  Telling a bemused Gupta that Sadiq had finally decided to go on a diet and thus charged his Egyptian captive with removing every sweet and tasty treat from the kitchen?  So the brat was inspired, Sadiq had to give him that.  And if he'd pulled the same pranks on anyone else, Sadiq would've been roaring with laughter and gifted the kid his own damn pony or whatever it was that brats his age wanted.  But as it was, he'd yelled, raged, ordered the cook to never slip Heracles anything remotely Greek ever again (and gave the man a blindfold for the next time Hera pouted and begged, because Sadiq had seen those pleading green eyes in action, and god help him, they were effective), and told the kid to pack up a travel bag.  Because clearly, he couldn't let him out of his sight.

The brat in question let his grip relax even more, starting to slide sideways.  Sadiq shifted the reins to one hand so he could wrap an arm around the boy's waist, holding him upright.  Heracles didn't move, finally having fallen into an exhausted sleep.  Even with the added help of the wine and extra blanket, he wasn't getting any rest at night; Hera's home was on the breezy, sea-warmed coasts, and Sadiq could see that the cruel chill and dry heat of an unending desert were even more harsh on the Greek than he'd expected.  Still.  At least he probably wouldn't try to mess with his seal again.  Selim would never let him live this one down....

The boy's muscles, tensed even in sleep with the stiffness from so many long days of riding, finally gave way and he slumped heavily into Sadiq's arm, the dust on his cheeks leaving a smear along Sadiq's sleeves.

The Turk sighed, and motioned to the general behind him.

'How far are we from Medina?'

'At this pace, another six hours.  Eight at most if the wagons have to find a way down the slopes.'

'It's after sunset already...and we need to make an impressive entrance.  We'll stop now.  Let the men rest; tomorrow will not be an early start.'

Without waiting for a response, Sadiq turned his horse and headed off to wait.  It wasn't long before his tent was erected and furnished; in these campaigns he ranked as highly as the absent Sultan, after all.  He shook Heracles gruffly.  'Wake up, brat.  We're stopping.'

As soon as the boy's eyes opened Sadiq jumped down from his horse, causing Heracles to yelp and clutch at the saddle before he tumbled off.  'Stupid jerk!'

'Yeah, yeah.'  Sadiq waved a hand and strode into his tent.  He heard the small poof of a little body hitting the dusty ground, then an 'Oww...', then tiny feet running towards him.  By the time he'd stripped off his riding jacket and shaken some of the dust from his hair, Heracles was comfortably ensconced in a pile of pillows on the floor, eyes drooping.  'Don't even think about falling asleep in here, brat.  No lessons tonight.  Go to your own tent and go to bed.'

Heracles picked at the fringe on a pillow.  'Don't wanna.'

'I don't really give a fuck, kid.'  Sadiq turned away and kicked off his boots, expecting Heracles to growl childishly and probably swear and then leave in a huff, but he didn't.  He just kept picking at that damn pillow, knees drawn tight to his chest.  Sadiq hesitated.  'Why?  You hungry or somethin?  You know you have to go ask the cooks about that, not me.'

'I'm not hungry.'  Heracles let go of the threads and tucked his hands into the sleeves of his jacket.

'Well, then...'  Sadiq waited, but nothing else came from the boy on his floor.  He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair.  'I'm not in the mood for games tonight, Hera.  Get out.'

Silently, the boy got to his feet, wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, and shuffled out.  Sadiq firmly squashed down any traitorous feelings of guilt, and went to bed.

Sadiq breathed deeply and felt the clean, fragrant air caress his lungs.  He was lying on a hill overlooking the Sea of Marmara, and a cool, salty breeze tempered the soothing warmth of the sun.  Light filtered down to him between the branches of an old olive tree, creaking lowly as the branches swayed, and the whisper of waving grasses made him imagine he could hear the faint crashing of sparkling blue waves against the white shores to the west.  Greece's shores.  He took another full breath, taking in the rich scent of the olive tree and the sweetness carried to him from the almond grove over the crest of the hill.  The breeze playfully ruffled his hair and traced along the uncovered lines of his face and neck.  No mask?  No...he didn't need it here.

'Sadiq...'

Whose almond-sweet voice was that, calling his name as gently as the breeze?

'Sadiq...'

He'd let them come here, rest his head in their lap, let them run their fingers through his hair as he reached up and fed them bread dipped in lavender honey with his own hands.

'Sadiq, bastard, wake up!'

He snapped upright at once, hand tight around the hilt of his raised sword before he'd even opened his eyes.  There was a startled eep! and a thump and then he could see, in the darkness, terrified green eyes looking up at him from the floor.

'What...god damn it, Hera.'  Sadiq scraped a hand over his face, trying to forcibly slow his pounding heart.  'What the fuck do you think you're doing, idiot?  I could've killed you!  Never wake a soundly sleeping soldier, I've told you that a thousand times!'

Heracles pulled himself shakily to his feet, biting his lip.  'But you wouldn't wake up....'

'No shit.  Because it's night time, ya know?  When people are supposed to be sleeping?  Not to fucking mention I was only having the best dream of my god damn life.'

Heracles wrapped his arms around himself, glaring.  'Fine then, go back to raping Gupta or whatever sick dreams you have.  Good night.'  He turned and started to stalk away but Sadiq reached out with a groan and grabbed the back of the boy's collar, tugging him sharply to the bedside with a strangled yelp.

'Hey!'

'You little shit.  That was one time, and perfectly consensual, and I know you know that because Gupta himself had to explain to you why you don't have that kind of wrestling in the Olympics.'  Still holding tightly to his shirt collar, Sadiq gave the boy a shake.  'Now, what did you want?'

Heracles' eyes slid to one side, and he didn't answer.  Sadiq sighed and pulled him down onto the bed, resting his forehead on one narrow shoulder and ruffling a hand through the boy's hair.

'Come on, kiddo.  You having nightmares again?'

'No.'

'So what's wrong?'  Suddenly feeling like this whole situation was getting a little too soft, Sadiq gave him another halfhearted shake.  'Hurry up, I wanna go back to bed.'

'It's cold,' Heracles blurted suddenly, and even in the dark Sadiq could see the dark flush spreading across his cheeks.  'I'm cold.'

'So, what?  You want another blanket?'

'No...I just want to sleep with you.  Can I?  You said you were warm.'

Sadiq stared at the kid.  Sure, his country had colder regions than Greece did, allowing him better resistance to the desert nights, and if Heracles was as chilled as his shivering form implied then yeah, body heat was the way to go, just like most of the soldiers outside, but...really?  The brat actually expected Sadiq- the Ottoman Empire, as cold and hard and cruel as the desert surrounding- to cuddle him to sleep?

Well, yeah.  Because he was an arrogant little Greek brat with no proper sense of who he should be scared of.

Sadiq snorted in disbelief, both in himself and the situation, and got off the bed to kneel on the floor.  'Come on.  Up.'

Heracles scrambled at once to jump on his back, wrapping thin arms and legs around his neck and waist, digging poky little feet into his stomach.  Sadiq quickly rolled up his blankets and shoved them under one arm, then tucked his hands under the boy's knees.  Heracles began kicking happily at his hips.

'Hey, stop that.  Now be quiet, ok?  If no one knows I've gone to your tent, no one will wake us up in the morning.'

Heracles immediately stilled and pressed his face into Sadiq's shoulder as though trying to silence even his breathing.  Sadiq chuckled softly and, after checking that the coast was clear, crept silently through the dark to the small tent next to his own, slipping through the opening without a sound.  He crouched down beside Heracles' bedroll- more of a nest, really; clearly he really had been cold- and let go of the boy's legs, so that he slid down Sadiq's back to the ground.  Both kicked off their shoes and Sadiq spread his blankets over the woollen one he'd already donated to the cause of keeping the shivering little Greek warm; said Greek dove between the thick layers before Sadiq even had time to smooth out the wrinkles.  He bit back a smile and shifted to crawl in as well, lying on his side so he could see the kid staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes.  He groaned, and held out his arms.

'Come on.  C'mere.'

Heracles didn't need any more invitation and burrowed into his chest, sighing happily as Sadiq wrapped his arms and the piled blankets around his back.

'You gonna sleep now?'

Sadiq couldn't hear the words that left damp exhalations against his neck, but he felt the nod.

'Good.  We've got a big day tomorrow.  Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this, I'll skewer you like a döner kebab.'

Another nod, and Heracles twisted clumsily in his hold to blink sleepily up at him, head pillowed on Sadiq's arm.  'Thank you, bastard.'

Sadiq couldn't hold back the smirk this time, and didn't really want to.  'You're welcome, brat.'

It didn't take long for the kid's shifting to still and his breathing to slow, but Sadiq waited, just in case.  Finally satisfied that his armful was sound asleep he buried his nose in Heracles' messy hair, breathing deeply the heavy scents of olives and sea winds.

'Night, Hera...'