The Fate of a Woman, Part 2

["Felizia al-Bahir" <felizia@angelfire.com>]

1/18/2002

The Citaonica -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)

        Part reading room, part office, and part salon, the Citaonica is one thing above all else: private. The Sultan's own guards stand ready at the three exits from the room, and a handful of them are clustered against the far wall to serve in the event of any threat. They seem to crowd the small room, but none of its other occupants seem to notice them much.

        The Citaonica resembles the Chamber of Sultans in its homey, if somewhat spartan decoration. Thick rugs hang from the walls, covering them entirely behind abstract weaves of red and gold. A modest desk with a high-backed chair behind it appears to be the Sultan's workplace; papers, a few writing implements, a book or two, and even a communications device are arrayed upon its surface. A bright glowglobe is tethered to the edge of the desk, it's control pad neatly kept in the corner. A guard remains behind the chair at all times, a security precaution.

        Twin sofas have also been tucked into the corner for the few guests that the Sultan allows in here during more relaxed times: close family, mostly. Several books are stacked on a table nearby for casual perusal.

Players:

 Ruhail                                            

Exits:

 Darkwood Door <E> leads to Chamber of Sultans -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain) 

 Thick Tapestry <N> leads to Sultan's Court -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)


The light rap at the darkwood door signifies the arrival of the latest to be presented at the Sultan's pleasure. This one, though, is again the petite strawberry-haired beauty from the Seraglio. Dressed much as she was the previous evening, in a plain shift with hair loose to curl about her shoulders and back, Felizia steps in and executes a graceful low bow. Behind her, the door is closed by one of the guards with a definitive >click!<.

Silently, she stands, head again lowered.

Looking up from his desk, the Sultan moves to greet whomever may be at the door - and pauses in mid-word before his mouth closed. After a momentn he collects himself, and moves to speak.

        "Please, Felizia. Sit down."


An easy task to obey, she moves without hesitation to the nearest chair. Perching on the edge of the chair, she again silently waits.

        Once you've sat, the Sultan puts his pen back in its desktop holder sos that he might turn his attention upon you. "Did you sleep?"

Solemnly, she nods, even while answering softly, "Yes, my Sultan. Some."

        "And how do you feel now that you have rested?" His voice is gentle.

"Alright... I suppose. Though I'm still very confused..." Her hands twitch into the beginnings of a fidget, but she quickly ceases the nervous motion of her own accord and wraps one hand around the other tightly.

        He nods. "If you feel like speaking about it, I have freed my afternoon for discussion."

Stunned to silence, all she can do is nod slowly a time or two. A long moment passes, and then, quietly, she says, "All I have ever wanted to do is please you, my Sultan."

        "And please me you do, Felizia." He smiles. "This whole affair is not your fault, I understand this. I also understand your torment. And it is because I love you so dearly that I wish to help you through this.'

A slight blush creeps up from her bosom, up her neck, and into her face in a slow march. With this revelation, relaxation floods through the woman's body, and she even slides back to a more comfortable posture in the chair. Perching on the edge can be such a... less than nice feeling on the posterior.

"I still don't know what to ask for, most merciful Sultan. I.. I just don't know. I do know... I am penniless. I have nowhere else to go. I have no one else to go to. There is little I could do to support myself. It just doesn't look very good for me, my future."

        He frowns. "You are a lady of my House, Felizia. You will always have a future here; and, if you will resign your post rather than have me oust you from it, you will be able to be given a small estate to go with your freedom. I...know that it is not what you might want, but in time things will be much more simple and you will be able to reclaim your life."

"Of course I would resign the post..."

But then she stops, and sighs. "And then what would I do with myself all day? Surely... not lay around the Seraglio. I did not understand you to mean you wished me to leave. Unless... you do want me to go?"

        "Of course not." He smiles. "What about the diplomatic corps? You did such a wonderful job there. Or perhaps you may turn to your studies?"

"Hmm..." She seems to consider the suggestion very carefully, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth as she thinks.

        "Scholastic aptitude would help quite a bit in raising your son," the Sultan adds. "I would like my grandson to be so educated."

"I'm sure Master Muradin has that already planned and well in hand," she says quietly, though a bit flatly.

        He grunts. "Master Muradin, I suspect, is not going to have quite the role he may have."

Felizia arches a brow slowly. "I have given Halil over to him completely. I have not even seen my son since my return..."

        "I am certain," says Ruhail, "That you will be able to see Halil."

Felizia sighs very quietly. "Perhaps it is best I not... it is one less thing Muradin might use to hurt me, or hold over my head..."

        He nods. "Anything is possible. Leave it to time, Felizia, and see how the thing unfolds. For now, please. Let me give you a life of your own, and live it. Who can say what Allah will bring to you tomorrow?"

Felizia's lips purse, as she again ponders. Slowly, she says, "Half of me... is tempted by the offer of returning to my duties in the diplomatic offices... and the other half is tempted to crawl back to you and beg you to take the burden of freedom from me altogether..."

        "You did that before, you know," says Ruhail gently. "Came to me and begged me to enslave you once more. I could not then, and I cannot now. No, Felizia, you are going to have to shoulder the burden of all free human beings of the Imperium."

"Then it seems I have but one choice, of the two I would consider," she murmurs.

        He smiles. "You have many choices from there."

Something occurs to her, and she asks quickly, "Would I still be permitted to teach the girls things, such as their dancing, and such?"

        "Under the supervision of their new superior, yes."

Felizia nods. "And who.. would that be?"

        A moment's pause marks thoughtfulness. "I will allow you to choose your replacement."

Felizia's jaw visibly tightens, the first real sign of displeasure about losing her current position she's dared to display.

        His curiosity is plain. "This displeases you, Felizia? I would think that you would be happy to be able to ensure they are guided at least a good fraction as well as you would see them guided."

Her frown deepens, and she shakes her head slowly. "I.. am just.. very attached to them. It will be difficult to let go..."

        "I understand. But you will not need to let go entirely. Your role will have but changed."

Felizia nods. "Then I suppose... we are decided."

        He nods. "So it would seem. Are you at least partitally satisfied?"

Felizia slowly nods again, with a small sigh.

        "Then we have done as much as we can, my dearest." He smiles. "I suggest that you go and equip yourself with more flattering vestments, then. I shall soon see to it that you are properly vested with a household."

Felizia rises up from her chair, executing another low bow before the desk.


You pass the Thick Tapestry.

Sultan's Court -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)

        Though roughly the same size as a well-proportioned Conference Room and not quite as grandiose as the massive Adrianopol below, the Sultan's Court nonetheless speaks of quiet opulence and revelry in the senses. The walls are panelled in the style of far away III Delta Kaising in alternating sheets of ebony, teak, and ivory. At the far end of the room, raised three steps from the floor, is the Sultan's Throne. Crafted out of ebony with ruby and golden inlays, it's back is worked out into the fan of a massive peacock; thick velvetine rushes pad it's seat and arms. Two smaller seats are also balanced onto the dais alongside the throne, of smaller proportions but nonetheless quite a spectacle. Behind the dais is a large tapestry.

        The remainder of the room is dominated by tall ebony columns that run from a thick black and golden carpet to the cathedral ceiling above. Multiple chaises covered in myrrh silk are interspersed between these columns, for resting upon in Council.

Players:

 Muradin                                           

Exits:

 Thick Tapestry <S> leads to The Citaonica -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain) 

 Ebony and Ivory Doors <N> leads to Gallery of Windows -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)

Muradin is seated in a chair, next to the throne of the sultan, looking much the pensive man that he is, lost in thought, and distant at that. His dark eyes seem to search things that do not have form. His lips speaks words that have no sound, and he does not notice your entrance...yet.

The tapestry covering the doorway to the Sultan's inner chamber lifts, admitting one whose footsteps are light, silenced by a lack of covering on her feet. Still garbed in a simple white shift, Felizia pauses just across the threshold into the room to collect herself. There are no signs of tears, nor great distress. Just the appearance of a woman who has seen her whole life turned completely upside down in the space of two weeks.

Muradin does turn then, so lost in his own thoughts, he still knows her scent, her breath, everything about her...and his dark eyes take in her form, speaking slowly, quietly..."Felizia."

Felizia lifts her head to gaze in the direction of the voice addressing her. She inclines her head in greeting, but no other expression crosses her face. And no sound passes her lips, either.

Muradin watches your every move, like a student, studying his lessons, watching his master, intently, and focused. "You have spoken further with my father I assume?

Felizia dips another small nod, though the gesture is quicker. "Yes.. he summoned me, to work through my plans for my future with me."

Muradin nods once, sitting up straight in the chair, "And what have the two of you decided? What have you and my father chosen for the mother of our son?"

Felizia paces a few steps towards the seat next to the throne, the better to address it, and its occupant, after all. "That I will once again take up my duties within the diplomatic offices for the House Bajazet... that I will continue my studies, so that I might better assist with the schooling of my son. That I will be perhaps be granted a household of my own. That I will resign my post within the Seraglio.. and choose my successor."

Muradin raises an eyebrow, "A house of your own? My father goes from wanting to dispense justice, to giving you a house?" He nods, in spite of his own surprise, "You will then..continue to spend time with Halil?"

"It is the wish of our Sultan, your father," Felizia says quietly. "I asked, actually, that he take from me the burden of freedom... He refused me, again."

Muradin nods, sighing a little, "I see...my father is a wise man, as you say, but you should seek wisdom in yourself as well. Like myself, like any man, he does not know all things."

"It is the best outcome possible for me," Felizia says quietly. "And I still have a place here.. he is not casting me off completely..."

Muradin sighs a bit again, beginning to get fed up with this constant line, "You were never cast off Felizia...I had no wish to hurt you, nor could I ever lie to you. You wanted what I do not think I am capable of...not yet, not now."

Felizia lifts her thin shoulders in a slight shrug. "I did not say you cast me off. I am saying your father has no wish or intention to cast me off. Perhaps if you listened to me every once in a while, you might hear what I am saying."

Muradin shakes his head, "Listen to you Felizia? By Allah, you are one of the few people I value the counsel of..." He slumps over in the chair now, looking quite the tired, and brooding prince, "I grow weary of fighting with you about this. If you wish be to be free of me, then by all means, do so...I cannot stop you. What my father does, is also his own business, and I will not fight him anymore...Perhaps I should return to our homeworld, and consult the Quran, and try and find guidance there."

"Listen to yourself speak, Muradin," Felizia says, her voice still quiet, as it always is. "You do not love me. You say you cannot. Yet you will not tell me why, or how... or even if I might help you learn what love is. You tell me in one breath I am not your concubine. And in the next, you say you do want me. How is it then that you want me, if I am not your concubine? What is it you want of me?"

Muradin slumps further down into the chair, wanting to just dissapear into it at this point, "What I want Felizia? Perhaps I have been here too long, perhaps I am more my father's son than I even realize...I do not want a concubine, I want no slave, at my beckon call...I want a friend, a confidant..." He turns away, a bit ashamed perhaps, to be speaking so openly, "As for how to learn of love...perhaps the lesson is wasted upon me. Certainly my father has said that I am too harsh, too cold, and his sentiments have been echoed by others."

"You want someone who comes to your bed because they want to... and not because they must? Is that it?" Felizia asks suddenly, her brow creased with worry, and, confusion.

Muradin breaths out slowly, evenly, but does not turn towards you, "Perhaps...yes...I don't know. I want....an equal."

The whisper soft sound of her sigh carries, even in this room. "We are truly a mixed pair if there ever was one... You, who don't know how to love. And myself... I don't know how to be free. I don't know how to be a woman. All I know is to be a slave. I begged your father to take this burden from me, to lift the weight of freedom off my shoulders... but he refused. There is much I need to learn."

Muradin turns finally, towards you, "And a bit more I have to learn as well...but those that would teach me, are incapable, or unwilling...I have a place in this world, one that I know clearly, and it does not include love....but I wonder, does it exclude it?" He turns away again, "I have no answers."

Felizia drops her gaze to the floor, watching her toes wriggle and bury themselves into the thick pile of the carpeting beneath her feet. Very quietly, she murmurs, "If you will teach me... of freedom... then I will teach you of love..."

Muradin turns slowly, dark eyes casting a wary look over all of the throne room, "We shall see Felizia...I will teach you what I know, but it is not freedom I offer, but wisdom, and the understanding that Allah guides all...I can only teach you to hear what he has for you, and give the courage to follow that, as best you can. As for love...I will listen, and perhaps, the mother of my son can show me what that word means..."

Felizia nods again, breathing slowly and evenly. "Then we are in agreement... it seems. It is a welcome change, I find. Do you find it so? Perhaps.. a bit more pleasant?"

Muradin offers up a smirk of sorts, something resembling bemusement..."It is a welcome change, we shall see if it continues. I admit, I am of dour mood as of late..." He glances towards the door, "I grow tired Felizia, I shall retire to my suite...my first lesson is this, the door shall remain open, if you should wish to join me and our son, you are welcome. If not, I shall not be offended." With that he stands, and starts to make his way out, giving you ample time to follow, should you wish.

"Perhaps, after I have bathed... and attired myself more suitably," Felizia nods slowly, and does move to follow, though if only as far as the baths across the hall from the Obsidian suite. For the time being.



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