Can death be sleep,
When life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss,
Pass as a phantom by?

— John Keats

"YOU DIDN'T INVITE me to your wedding."

"Rouzbeh told me if I did, we'd have my wedding and your funeral on the same day. I didn't want that."

"Bastard," Maymun curses at him. "You don't have my prayers."

"God listens to the pious."

"Wrong. He listens to everyone. He's more Generous than that. Or He wouldn't be providing for you and I."

Maymun bumps his shoulder and walks ahead of him, pretending to be upset. What an annoying, unsightly woman he is.

"Well, I hope He doesn't listen to you this once."

Maymun laughs, turning to look back at him. "Why would it be my funeral if I were to join your wedding though?"

Furat stares at him. Maymun gives him a naive look. It makes Furat smirk.

"You'll bump into a tree. Look ahead," Furat warns him.

Maymun turns back away.

The forest is bathed in morning light. It's bright and alive even when Maymun leads him deeper where the trees get denser. He can hear the river flowing in the distance. It gets louder the closer they get.

"The Amira didn't come to meet me while you were away," Maymun tells him. "Did you forbid her?"

Furat doesn't answer.

Maymun throws him a smirk of his own over his shoulder. "She's loyal to you, I see."

"I didn't forbid her."

"When will you bring her here again?"

The question twists something in him. He doesn't like it and frowns. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm to find her dead brother's grave for her and she's to pay me for it," he replies casually, dismissing his change of tone even if he notices it.

"It's I who'll pay for it. You do the job for her and ask nothing of her."

"Such devotion to your husbandly duties. But I'm sure she can pay me better."

"And I'm sure her brother can pay me better if I tell him about your hide out," he bites out bitterly but calmly.

Instead of taking offense, Maymun laughs, hearty and loud, as his voice bounces off the trees around them.

"Ah, this is what you do better, after all. You rat out your friends. This is what you did to Kanan. And this is what you may do to me."

Furat chuckles darkly, sensing the worry lacing his words even if he tries to hide it. "Kanan was never a friend to me. And I know I'm not to you either."

Maymun stops and faces him completely. The earlier mischief is now replaced by a grim expression. Furat mirrors it.

"True, Furat. But we've agreed to be each other's benefactors, haven't we?"

"True. So long as you don't think of benefiting from Rahaf, I'll forget that you poisoned her father."

The expression of worry is again replaced by mischief. He grins, wide and satisfied, somewhat mocking, almost like a madman. Furat looks at him pensively.

"There's a fig tree in this forest. It stands alone. I heard that the late caliph planted it himself. It was in the memory of someone he held dear. Wife. Mother. Or perhaps a lover. I don't know," Maymun tells him, narrating to him a story he's unaware of. "The late prince held it dear too like his father. But then something changed and he cut it down after his father died. Then he replanted it in the same spot. And it grew better than before."

Furat watches him. Maymun stares back at him but doesn't continues. Furat arches an inquisitive eyebrow. Until the reason behind his story becomes clear to him and his eyes widen in surprise.

"Is that where Tahman bin Motassem is buried?"

Maymun hums. "I believe so."

"How do you know this?"

"What I know can burn down this kingdom to ashes. And I'll sell those secrets to you. Or to the Amira. She cannot benefit me beyond that. So don't threaten me over her. I've got nothing to lose but my own life. And you, Furat, has a lot at stake. Your life. The lives of your men. And the burden of their faith to bring them justice and avenge their deads. If you die, hundreds of men die with you. But if I die?" Maymun just shrugs and resumes to head towards the river.

Furat contemplates over his words. They make him somewhat uneasy but he's quick to dismiss the feeling. He may have made vows, but he intends to keep them and not leave them unfulfilled.

"So, you've found where the grave is?" he asks Maymun.

"I'm still looking for it."

"Shouldn't it be somewhere near where Ameer Tahman's cabin was?"

"No, it's not there."

"How are you so sure there's a grave when you weren't sure before?"

"Ah, now the answer to this is interesting." He chuckles to himself. "I saw someone coming to this forest more frequently than he should. And I couldn't think of another reason besides that there's something here for him. I investigated and found out that he's here for a fig tree. Now I've already told you about the significance of that tree, so the rest you can assume."

"Who is the person?"

Maymun doesn't answer him. Furat walks to his side and lightly pushes against his shoulder.

"Tell me," he demands.

"All things comes with a price."

Furat narrows his eyes at him. "You lowly rascal," he hisses but unhooks a pouch of coins from his belt and tosses it at him.

Maymun swiftly catches it and smiles. "Couldn't you guess it? It was easy. But you're so generous with your money. You must have a lot."

"Put your mouth to good use and answer my question, unless you want me to break it and take back my money."

Maymun laughs and slings his arm over his shoulder. "The general of Qurtuba, Marrar bin Muammar."

IT'S NOON WHEN he returns to the palace. The sky is clear blue and the sun is high, yet the wind feels cool and the weather feels nice. He wouldn't have minded a walk through the city if not for his new bride and a thousand things at hand.

He's locking his horse in the stall when he finds Rouzbeh enter the stable. He's mounting his horse, probably out himself and having returned just now. Furat waits for him as he dismounts his horse and locks it in a stall adjacent to his.

"Training?" Furat asks.

He grunts and shakes his head. "More like a meeting with our soldiers."

"All good?"

Rouzbeh nods as they make their way out of the stable. "Where were you?"

"With Maymun."

"That rogue has been any good to you?"

"So far a little. But I believe he can be of benefit to me."

"I wouldn't have my hopes high if I were you."

Guards tip their heads at them as they cross the gateway into the courtyard. Instead of making his way inside the palace, he makes his way to the rose garden. Rouzbeh follows.

"Actually, he told me something surprising today," Furat says.

"What is it?" Rouzbeh becomes curious. "Did he find the grave?"

"No, but he may be close. And you know how important it is for me to find that grave."

"I don't understand why. If someone else has taken care of the trouble for us, we should be grateful and take care of what remains."

"Are you a fool?" Furat reprimands him at his childish stupidity. "If both the son and the father were murdered and we didn't do it, I need to know who did. I must. Not only because I cannot have a competitor for the throne, but because the truth might pave the path for us to victory." He smiles, tilting his head as theories form in his mind. "People are made to believe that Tahman bin Motassem died in a cabin fire, but if it's a lie and the truth is being hid, then what does it mean, Rouzbeh?"

"That perhaps the truth is dangerous than the lies being weaved?"

"Correct. And that the late prince has a grave and there's someone who knows where it is."

"Who?"

They don't get to reach the rose garden. He sees Rahaf, and he sees the little girl with her. Rahaf is smiling. But what takes away his smile is the man with her. He subconsciously fists his right hand.

"Speak of the devil."

Rouzbeh turns to look in the direction at his remark. Rahaf is saying something to the child, Hamama. Marrar is only looking at them. But Furat cannot miss a hint of a smile on his face.

"Why is that ibn Iblees always with her?"

"I wonder." Rouzbeh chuckles, sounding evil and amused. "I'm not surprised that he knows where Tahman bin Motassem lies. In fact, he might even have tried saving him from the fire. Or his executioner. I don't know. Maybe the prince didn't survive and Marrar was able to give him a grave at least. He suffered burns. I always thought he was linked to the incident somehow. They were very close after all."

"Well, it would've been better if he had burnt in that fire with his friend."

"So your heart wouldn't be burning watching him with your wife?"

Furat shuts him up with a glare. Rouzbeh tries not to roar out a laugh.

"This man seems troublesome, Rouzbeh. I feel Rahaf trusts him too much, and I've noticed he cares for her in ways beyond civil. I don't like it."

"Does it matter? You're the one who has married her and whom she chose. But you don't love her. So the matters of heart shouldn't bother you," Rouzbeh dismisses. "Maybe keep an eye, but don't worry too much."

"Too many affairs all at once has knocked sense and shame out of you," Furat replies, a little harshly than intended. "He can be a threat to me if he's always this close to her. And I'm not allowing another man to seek an opportunity with her."

Rouzbeh lifts his palms, giving up the argument, and Furat walks to where Rahaf and Marrar stand. Rahaf is the first to see him approaching and her face lights up with a smile. Furat forces a smile of his own. She steps forward to receive him.

"Marhaba," she greets.

"Thank you." He greets back with a subtle touch to her back as he draws her near him. "I was on my way to the rose garden to find a rose for you," he whispers only for her to hear. "But I find my rose here." With her thorn. He wishes to add but doesn't.

Rahaf blushes, and the sight pleases him. He finds it a good moment to acknowledge Marrar and turns to look at him.

"General Marrar." Furat tips his head.

Marrar tips back his head. "Ameer Furat. I was just asking the Amira to thank you again, on my behalf, for the kindness you showed my daughter the other night."

"You didn't have to."

The fake smile tires the muscles of his face but he keeps it there. Though he knows Marrar can clearly see through his act. The man before him is shrewd and perceptive, that Furat gathered right in their first meeting. But he's acting oblivious himself.

"Rahaf!" Hamama calls. "Look! I found a butterfly."

Furat removes his hand from her back as Rahaf excuses herself and makes her way towards Hamama a little further from them. The moment she's away, he drops his smile.

"General." Furat ties his hands behind his back and steps closer to Marrar. "Maybe the next time you've something to say to me, approach me directly than seeking Amira Rahaf for it."

Marrar studies him with empty eyes. As if not understanding him. As if not knowing why he would say such a thing to him. Yet when he speaks, his words betray him.

"I understand. But my encounters with the Amira has purely been by chance," he says.

"Well then, I hope you don't take anymore chances than you already have."

Something flashes in Marrar's eyes. Anger, displeasure, he cannot quite decipher it. It's gone as quickly as it appeared. But at least those eyes aren't empty anymore. Now they're regarding him more seriously. He seems to want to say something but holding back. Then he simply smiles and tips his head again at Furat, apologetically this time.

"Whatever gave you the impression, sayyidi, I assure you—"

"I don't know if you see me as a child, but I'm not one," Furat cuts him, crisply but evenly. "You'll agree with me that a man around a woman is oftentimes seen as a wolf around a gazelle. And that those who are wise must keep the wolves at bay."

Marrar doesn't say anything anymore, remaining composed and quiet, except for the slight ticking of his jaw. It's a calm rage both of them are feeling, their gazes on each other blunt and cold. Yet what he has done needed to be done. He had to remind the general of Qurtuba his place, and it's nowhere near his woman.

"A flower for you!"

Something wraps around his legs. He looks down to find Hamama grinning up at him with a jasmine. Furat smiles and crouches down.

"For me?"

She nods.

"Thank you." He accept the jasmine from her and smells it. "How sweet, like you."

"You're my new friend," Hamama decides, and Rahaf behind her smiles at them.

"Hamama?" Marrar steps in. "Come, my dove, it's time to clean up and eat."

"But I'm not done playing with Rahaf," she protests.

"You may play another time."

"Baba!" she whines when Marrar lifts her up in his arms.

Furat gets to his feet and Marrar excuses himself. He's finally left alone with Rahaf. She comes to his side.

"Would you like to stroll with me through the rose garden?" he offers.

"I would love to."

They walk side by side in silence to the garden. The smell of flowers surround them. He twirls the jasmine between his fingers. He has won over the child and the thought makes his lips curl up.

"What are you thinking?" Rahaf asks.

"Hamama told me that she didn't like me because I stole you from her."

"Well, I suppose it has come to change."

"It looks like it."

Rahaf slowly, coyly, links her arm with his, blushing, as she says, "Thank you for what you did for her. It was very kind of you, Furat."

Furat gazes at her face. For some reason her words make him feel strange. What he did was not intentional, nor was it done to impress anyone. Yet if it has pulled Rahaf deeper into his love, he doesn't think he can complain.

"Don't you do the same for her every time?" he reminds her. "What could I do but to console a weeping child."

"Do you think everyone thinks the same?"

Her question makes him pause and reflect. Once again, he's dragged down the memory lane. When him and Rouzbeh were left as orphans. When there was no one to console him and when he didn't know how to console Rouzbeh when he would cry. And Farya. God, Farya. How he was so helpless once. But then, he was only a child too. What could he have done to save anyone?

He sighs and turns his face to the sky. It's still bright and beautiful. Just like how he loves it, especially from his ship. He never thought he would stand under the sky he so loves, in the palace of his enemy, with his daughter at his arm. He could never have dreamt.

"I don't know. What do you think about it?" he asks instead.

They enter the rose garden. She leads him to the middle of it where the fountain stands and they sit down on one of the benches. She lets go of his arm and folds her hands on her lap.

"When I was a child, sometimes when the thunder was too loud, it would scare me too. One day, I went to the bazaar with my mother. Now this is a very old memory and I remember it in pieces only, but it's very dear to me," she tells him, smiling softly. "It began to rain and my mother lost me in the crowd. Then the rain grew heavy and the thunder was loud. I began to cry. And no one stopped to console me."

He searches her eyes, wanting to know what's there to hold dear about the memory. It sounds pitiful to him. Yet she's narrating the memory to him with genuine passion.

"Since you're here with me now, I'd like to believe this story has a good ending," Furat says.

She chuckles, fidgeting with a pearl on her sleeve as she nods. Furat notices she's wearing the armlet he had gifted her. He resists the urge to touch it.

"A young woman stopped to help me and to calm me down, she told me a story. It was about how a firefly helps a nightingale finds it's way home in a dark, rainy night with its light. I've forgotten details of that story now, but back then that woman certainly was a firefly to me."

He recognizes the story. But like her, he too has forgotten the details. When his mother was alive, she used to narrate stories to him and Farya. After her death, stories were the last thing he could hear.

"Did she return you to your mother?"

Rahaf nods again and looks at him. This time she smiles sadly. "To answer your question, I don't think everyone will stop to console a weeping child. A weeping woman. A weeping man. Not everyone can see it, Furat."

Once more, he searches her eyes. And she allows him to do so. Yet he finds nothing but an abyss in them. He's not willing to leap in, not caring to find more. If she has wept in silence on some dark nights, should it bother him?

But why does Rahaf look at him that way? She looks at him a strange way. Not expecting sympathy and sorrow of him. But as if expecting him to understand. He does understand. Maybe he even relates to her somewhat, no matter if he doesn't admit it. She's doing some kind of sorcery with those eyes of hers. Furat blinks out of the moment.

"Do you..." He stops, swallowing, and looks away from her to the flower in his hand. "Do you wish someone would stop to console you, just like when you were a child?"

She stays still besides him. She doesn't answer him. For some odd reason it makes him extremely uncomfortable. A little flustered even. He regrets asking her something so foolish— so intimate. As if he can comfort her in any way. As if he's capable of doing so.

"Even if no else was there for you, I think you for yourself were enough," he says. "When you showed up at the brothel to hold Kanan accountable for his actions, I think it proved how strong for a woman you were. I think that's what I liked the most about you."

What he tells her isn't entirely a lie. Though he may not actually like her, she did fascinate him that night with her courage. What he doesn't realize is why he should tell her this. So he doesn't add anymore to it. Nor does she.

Rahaf quietly leans her head at the side of his arm. He doesn't offer her the warmth of his embrace, or anymore gentleness in words. He doesn't have anything more than this to give her. So he allows her to have this moment to herself.

What greater folly there is than to fall in love? What greater sin there can be than to break a heart? Yet she chose to be a fool, and he has chosen to be a sinner.

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I've an exam coming up, hence the very slow updates. Can we all please pray that I pass it? Say ameen.