“ maybe our element has a soft spot for orphans, thieves and clowns” — Aliyah has been on the run since she was born, raised in an orphanage in a nowhere town in the Earth Kingdom, she arrives at Ba Sing Se only striving to keep her head down, keeping her bending secret and not meddle on such matters as the fate of the world. Yet, she meets again and again the boy with the scar, first in a village, now in the town, and something tells her that getting involved with him will ruin her lifetime of laying low.
aliyah, the runaway — “ you may be trouble, lee but i’m more ”
prologue:
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · ORPHANS, THIEVES & CLOWNS · prologue
It started on the day I turned fifteen, birthdays were a big deal at Lady Liu´s Home
Prompt: "That is what I'm known for" | Fictober Day 20
Same world/characters as this and this. It's not required that you read those, though, as this happens before any of them. Happy reading!
*****
The only name of Aliya's that the world knows is what she is. Mercenary.
It's to the point and vague enough that she's hard to pin down. Mercenaries are everywhere and finding one who goes by the title alone? Impossible. Add that the rumor that she can steal faces, born from the ease in which she strolls into homes that are actively attempting to keep her out and it's little wonder she's never been caught, despite the long years she's been active for.
Law is something she tossed over her shoulder at a young age and has never seen reason to pick back up. She's been criminal as long as she's been independent and she became as such at a far younger age than most. Lawfulness is something she only knows to pretend to be and she's happy with things staying that way.
This, though.
The king employing her. It's as lawful as she's ever going to get. As big and notorious a job she can conjure up.
She's never been caught and she's never had a member of the royal family (let alone the king) hire her. The first she will never let happen, but the second?
Her specialty is impossibilities.
When she first saw the declaration, posted in each village square, she saw the code, of course. It did not fit with the king's seal proudly sat at the bottom. The content the people read is a decoy, something about moral, some stupid message they all flock around like vultures on a corpse.
She thinks it's a joke. Some weak attempt at a trap, determined by a random maid's toddler because do they really think the top-wanted criminal is going to waltz into the castle over a coded request? As if she'd ever walk into something so obvious.
But then came the messages from contacts she keeps, frim characters as unlawful as herself, from the maid she knows in the castle, from any contact she trusts for truthful information. It's genuine, this call for aid and she laughs at the informant (the fourth contact) that tells her so. The idea is ridiculous. She's one of the most wanted individuals in the kingdom's history. Yet the king is asking to hire her? How the mighty fall.
She breaks into the castle, despite her weak invitation.
The thought of walking to gate, as she is, and seeing if they let her in is tempting, but sneaking in to places as guarded as this is more fun. It's not even difficult. The thrill of knowing she's traipsing in the king's very home while all his guard is unaware, though? It's exhilarating.
She slips into the throne room via the secret passages only the royal family and their personal guard are supposed to know about.
"King," she says drolly, stepping from behind a pillar and draping length of cloth, where the door was hidden.
She tilts her head lazily as the guards whip towards her and point their swords and spears. She hardly pays them mind. She was invited. And the question of would he punish a man for wounding a criminal who snuck into the throne room is tempting enough that she risks a wound. Nothing fatal, as she's prepared and they're surprised. But the idea of it -- she's disappointed that she gets no answer, as they all fail to lunge at her with attempt to harm. Pity. She would loved the reaction.
Oh well.
"You requested my aid?"
"Stand down," he orders the guards and it's less amusing to see which listen immediately and which hesitate to follow orders. It's always fun, to see which pride their morals over their loyalty, even if it's not as fun as one of them being punished over her. The opportunity is one rare to show itself and the answer is all-too revealing.
She steps further into the room, purposefully brushing her side against a knight who stiffens at the contact, as if her rotten soul and ill morals are things that will taint him with a mere touch. She rolls her eyes. Men working for rulers so often think themselves some blessing of a deity, can-do-no-wrong, the pinnacle of morality. She's wearing a cloak with a large hood that hides her face, for the dramatics and the privacy of rolling her eyes at ridiculous things.
There's a weapon in her hand, and more she can easily reach, just in case this goes south.
Judging by the king, though, his expression and recent actions and all the things his body language screams, she doubts they will.
"You are the Mercenary?" the king asks, raking his eyes over the little of her he can see. Doubt is weak in his eyes, overshadowed by something much stronger, something she wants to call hope.
This was turning out better than she'd hoped and she's hardly said hello.
She smiles, knowing he cannot see it but perhaps he'll hear it in the way it twists her reply. "That's what I'm known for," she says lightly. "And as, I suppose."
And the questions. Was his son truly stolen by the Dark Magician? Does he trust her to return him in one piece? Where does his desperation come from, that he turns to the scum of his people over the polished trust he holds in those in his court?
"Remove your hood."
An order.
"I'd rather not."
A sigh, weary. He looks so reluctant and she's drinking it up. Aliya's never had a king humble himself to her and she's going to enjoy it. He must be at the end of his rope, to send a coded message sent through his entire kingdom in hopes that she would come. "I give my solemn oath as king that you will not be captured on this night, or, if you accept the proposition I hold, that you will not be captured through the entirety of the time you work and for a week thereafter."
Oh.
A king's oath.
He was desperate.
Glee pushes it's way up her chest and she flips her hood over her head. How pitiful it must be for these guards to see her face knowing it is her and be unable to act on the knowledge.
She raises her chin, looking the king in the eye exactly as she's not supposed to. As if she's higher than him. More powerful. It's true, in a way. He's the one who gave it all to her. The eyes of the guards burn, anger hissing in the air at the orders they're following.
The king does not examine her. His eyes flick briefly over her features and he lowers his head to her. Some knight sucks in a breath in his shock. Aliya wrangles her smile back. He was doing absolutely nothing to act as if he had the high ground, any sort of authority over her. Desperation was a light word for the depths he is showing her. She wonders how much she can talk him into giving if she accepts. "I require your aid."
"As I assumed, for your insistence that I arrive to hear your plea." The corner of her mouth tugs outward.
The disrespect she was showing so blatantly. A knight to her left clenches his hand around the hilt of his sword, looking as if he wishes to unburden her body from her head at the audacity she's displaying. She purses her lips at him in a kiss. He scowls. But the king has made his place clear and he nothing besides.
It's pitiful, really.
And so, so entertaining to witness.
"My son has been captured by the Dark Magician. I require your assistance to liberate him."
Not new news, technically. She knew what was going to be asked of her as soon as she first decoded the message, when she thought this was all a joke (and it still is one, to her, undoubtedly her favorite). There's only so many things a king will humble himself before a criminal for and she's heard about the crown prince's capture already.
This is but confirmation.
"And I should aid you for what reason?"
She's a criminal. What does she care, if the prince is lost? If the throne is in trouble, if the kingdom might be empty of an heir. If morals were something she possessed, she wouldn't be known as she was for shattering the law under her heel with the ease of it being an insect.
"Because I ask it of you. Because when he is safe, I will reward you with gold beyond your dreams and a single royal treasure."
And that's-- that's the height of it. The peak of desperation.
He's offering a royal heirloom.
"Because you are the king lowering your head to a criminal," she muses, aloud if only to bother the guards more. The king's shoulders tense but he only lowers his head further, crown in danger of toppling down the steps and to her feet. "Oh, raise your head. I do not bargain with hair and crowns. I'll require your oath in ink before I even consider accepting."
The king gestures to an attendant, who scurries to bring him a quill and sheet of paper.
Aliya does nothing to hide this smile.
This might be her favorite day yet.
*****
I've found the world that will carry me through the rest of fictober. My motivation to stick with it has wavered a bit (these prompts-a-day-for-a-month things are hard) but I'm stubborn and I'll do whatever I have to to get things done. I've gotten this far.
Prompt: "I'm not saying I told you so" | Fictober Day 5
This was fun! Hope you enjoy!
*****
Knight Rami nearly growls in frustration, turning his gaze to Aliya with all the righteous fury of a knight avenging their king. Which was supposed to be the plan, kind of. Until the plan flew south.
Which is not her fault, though it does look suspicious, admittedly. She can't blame him, this once, but it was supposed to be a joke, to lighten the mood. The we’re-sneaking-into-the-Dark-Magician’s-lair-to-recapture-the-prince-while-the-rest-of-our-group-distracts-all-the-guards mood. It was really, really tense. And heavy.
Aliya's never liked tense moods. She never knows what to say. Jokes rarely ever serve her well but that's her go-to.
Which is inappropriate, she'll admit. Especially this time. But she always does espionage alone.
"I'm not saying I told you so," she defends, lifting her arms in an innocent manner, meaning to display her harmlessness. She inches back a step too. "I like having my head. I was just... proposing a what-if scenario we didn't cover in planning. You know, being all gung-ho and considering all the possibilities. I didn't know I'd be right."
He remains unfazed by her words, eyes fixed steadily on her. "You said, and I quote, 'what are we going to do if they've bolted the door shut and we can't get in?'"
"It was just a thought." She smiles flimsily, as if now is the moment where he'll fall for charms and faux innocence. People like to judge her as being harmless by looking at her.
Unfortunately, her whole one-of-the-best-mercenaries-in-all-the-kingdoms reputation has kept Rami from falling for the act.
His stare intensifies. "The door is bolted," he grits, "and we can't get in. You scoped this out three days ago and now the door is bolted."
"That's not my fault."
"Is it really not?"
"I don't get paid until the mission is done," Aliya tells him. "And I'm here for the pay, mostly. So no, I didn't the write the Dark Magician a love letter telling him to bolt his least guarded, creaky as all riches dungeon door so he can foil our plans of sneaking in and breaking the prince out while he’s across the kingdom burning a village right before we do said sneaking and breaking out."
"Well go ahead and do that, why don't you."
"I'm sorry!" she yelps. "I'm nervous. I ramble when I'm nervous. And you're mildly terrifying when you're angry, you know that?"
His anger flares higher, in response, far less righteous. "If you don't shut up, I am going to deliver your head to the king and tell him that hiring an unknown mercenary to join the elite party to save his youngest son is the most idiotic decision I've seen get made."
She hushes him, patting her hand in the air to emphasize. "Shush. Don't you want to yell at me somewhere that's not in the Dark Magician's super evil lair?" She shuffles down the hall and peers around the corner. "And wouldn't insulting the king be like, treason? And also get you beheaded?"
He sidles up behind her. She can feel his glare fixed on the back of her head. "Kala's spell is dampening our voices. And it would be worth it."
"Oh, wow." She waves him to follow her as she darts down the hall, going a different path than the one they came in from, but would take them out in a safer area. "I'm touched," she whispers, tone low enough that he has to strain to hear it. Her eyes meet his, widened in exaggeration. "You're willing to die for me?"
"I'm willing to kill you if you don't get us out of here. Do you even know where we're going?"
"Okay, okay." She hears something faintly and tilts her head to hone in on it. "Touchy. I'll get your clangy-ass out of here in one piece, don't worry. I'm a professional."
"My ass is not--"
She slaps a hand over his mouth and peers into the nearest door, shoving him in and nudging it mostly shut behind them. A guard passes, footsteps heavy, grumbling indistinguishably. She waits for him to be gone, than lowers her hand. "Your ass isn't the point," she whispers. "Now hurry."
They race the rest of the way out with little commentary, dodging the light patrol.
When they're a good distance away, Rami relaxes, waving for her to stop as the tension drops out of him like a flicked level. Aliya stares back at the lair, pensive. Unsettled.
"My ass," he says, head tipped back against a tree as he rests for a moment, "is only clangy when I'm in my battle armor. And it--"
"That was too easy," she interrupts, frowning. "We ran into what, four guards?"
"Yeah. The rest were dealing with everyone else. As we planned."
She shakes her head. "No. The prince is important. Even if this was a full-scale invasion they wouldn't leave him alone. And the door was bolted."
"So?"
Aliya turns her glare on him. "The Dark Magician is a magician. He'd lock the prince behind a charmed door, not a bolted one."
Rami adopts her frown, straightening his back. "So you're saying..."
'The prince isn't here. Not in the dungeon, at least."
"But where else would the prince be?"
She bites her lip. She doesn't want to answer the question as she only has one guess. "With the Dark Magician?"
He blinks at her. "There's no way we're going to be able to rescue him if that's true."
She lifts a shoulder.
"We need to tell the others." He climbs to his feet, a steely determination in his eyes. "Let's head to the meetup point."
"You mean you're tired of me already?"
"Yes."
Aliya presses a hand to her heart and stumbles a few dramatic steps back. "Oh, my heart! What sins still stain my soul from my past life for my dearest love to detest me so?"
"I can still kill you."
She straightens, dropping the theatrics in a blink. "I'd like to see you try. You're useless without your clangy-ass armor."
“My armor is what keeps me from being stabbed to death. What defenses do you have, huh? Some leather? If I stab you right now, you’ll die.”
"If I shank you in the armpit, you'll die," she retorts. "That's a stupid place for a weak spot, by the way."
“Oh, I’ll make sure to tell the castle blacksmith to fix that and move the vulnerable sections somewhere more convenient like my heart.”
“Good. Your corpse will look epic, like a true warrior." Her eyes light. "Ooh, or we could spin it into a tragic romance." She lifts a hand to the sky, fingers splayed and reaching for the sun, dramatic like a stage has formed under her. "Devastated by the loss of his lover, his brother-in-arms, Knight Rami takes his own sword to the heart in his grief, so that he perishes alongside his belo--"
Rami slaps her arm down. "Still your tongue!"
How dare he interrupt her dramatic acting? "I'm surprised you've never threatened to cut it out," she says lightly.
"If you ask nicely, I will."
"But then who would torture you about your pining for Knight Thaddeus?" Her step obtains a bounce that, in recent days, is typically brought on when she teases Rami about his oh-so-obvious infatuation for his fellow knight.
"No one," he says flatly.
She pouts. "But that's boring. You need to be needled so maybe one day you’ll confess. Knights do not fall in love if neither of them speak off of the battlefield."
Rami squints at her. "...are you implying that Thaddeus returns my feelings?"
She smiles brightly at him. "Why don't you confess and find out?"
"The moment this ordeal is over," he points an accusing finger at her, "I swear I will slay you in a way that keeps me clean from the offense."
Aliya keeps walking to the meetup, unfazed by the threat. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Rami."
Same world/characters as this prompt, though reading that part isn't necessary.
*****
Rami slaps his hand to his face. "Not this again," he moans.
Aliya fixes him with her brightest smile, the one that's so innocent, it screams danger. "Always this again," she chirps, ushering him into a seat. Her eyes roam the bar, taking in the occupants and which look promising. "Would you prefer ale or mead?"
"Neither."
"Oh, come on. How're we supposed to bond, if not over drinks and talks of love?"
"I don't want to drink with you. And we're not here on leisure."
"The best always mix pleasure with their business," she informs him. "There's no reason we can't do both." Her eyes turn to him, prodding. "Unless you can't hold your drink."
He snorts. "I can hold my liquor fine."
She gestures to the bartender for two ales. "Prove it, then."
"I have nothing to prove to you."
She shrugs. “Be a bore, then. See where it gets you with the locals.” The bartender sets down the mugs and Aliya takes one happily, immediately taking a gulp. She eyes the patrons, feeling attention weak on her, scoping out who is more likely to be useful. “Come on,” she waves at the seat beside her and nudges the other mug over. “Let me share some trade secrets with you.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “I finish that, we get to work?”
“I’ll drink and work at the same time. You will tell me about Thaddeus.”
He settles, ginger, onto the barstool. He takes a sip. “Fine. But it better work.”
“Of course it will. Don’t you trust my prowess?”
He rolls his eyes as he takes a bigger drink. He tips the mug at her. “Work.”
“Tell me about Thaddeus,” she says, tone smooth and slick, with sweetness that’s put many a lord into a stupor.
“I said work.”
“Trust me. Answer the question. It’s necessary.”
“He’s a comrade.”
As if she can’t read body language. The way the skin around his eyes tightens, his mouth pressing flatter -- holding in a secret, disappointment. How he presses the mug to his lips, instinct prodding him to cover his mouth so he remembers to watch it.
He was a story read by a mother. She didn’t need to look, hardly, to read him.
She sighs. “The truth, Rami.”
“That is the truth.”
“If you just admit it, I will not have cause to keep harassing you. You will know some peace.”
Suspicion. It’s a wonder they’ve gotten this far with his lack of trust in her. “I admit it, you stop harassing me all the time?”
“Some of the time,” she bargains.
He weighs the deal. Agrees with a nodding sigh. “Fine. Thaddeus is...” He shakes his head. “No, I can’t. It doesn’t matter. We’re brothers in arms.”
“So that’s all you want from him? Camaraderie? If I told you about the barmaid he flirted with in the last town, you wouldn’t mind?” She turns her body away from him, enough that he’s only in her peripherals. It’s all she needs.
He frowns at the bartop. “That doesn’t matter.”
She hums, a low flat note. Assuring him that he’s listening while also suggesting that it’s not important -- perhaps he’ll be lucky and she’ll forget it. She won’t, of course, but the way one holds themself is everything.
“I have no reason to care who he flirts with. If he’s found love, I’m happy for him.”
She spins around on her stool and leans back against the counter. Lets her gaze turn around the small establishment as things catch her eye. There’s only a few patrons, at this hour, and she’s pinned most of them.
Files a note in the back of her mind that he means that, or thinks he does.
“His life is his to do with as he wishes.”
She’s never understood martyring oneself in such a way, not in battle, but for another’s heart when they don’t know if they could just hold the other’s instead, as they wish to. People tend to sneak around it so carefully, which was wonderful for her, but idiotic, too. It was just dragging out the pain.
“We agreed on the truth, Rami. I’ve yet to hear it.”
He sighs, a quivering thing. “I do wish for nothing but his joy, however he may see it. But… It would bring me some, too, if he found it with me.”
She smiles at him. “Was that so difficult and torturous?”
“Yes.”
She slams back the rest of her mug. “Done,” she proclaims, leaving the mug and some gold on the counter, hopping off the stool. She feels Rami’s eyes boring into her, but she’s striding to a seat and sliding into it confidently.
Rami hesitates on the stool, unsure if he should follow or not.
“Hello,” she greets, with a wide smile. “How fares your day?”
“Buzz off.”
She takes out another coin from her pocket and sets it down so it clinks against the table. “Answer me a question,” she says, “and I’ll pay for your drink.”
The man eyes the coin and grunts. Affirmative, by the way he waves a hand for her to continue and takes a swig. She slides the coin over. “I need information,” she says. “Over a delicate matter. Where would I find such a listening ear?”
“West bridge. Sundown.”
She nods thankfully and rises from her seat, leaving the coin behind as promised.
She walks towards and entrance and waves over her shoulder for Rami to follow her out. He jogs to catch up and snags her elbow. “What are you doing? What was that?”
“I found our informant,” she tells him.
His eyes widen. “What? How did-- you talked to one man for a minute.”
