{Flower
in Full Bloom{
The Complete Story of
Jasmine's Mother
written by
Sedeara
==================================================================
Note: This story is a companion to A Woman Named Mother.
Although it can be read alone and still understood, I believe
enjoyment would be enhanced by reading A Woman Named
Mother first to familiarize yourself with the characters.
Just
to warn you: the only Aladdin characters in this story are
the Sultan, Jafar, and Jasmine. The rest focuses on the characters
first introduced in A Woman Named Mother
==================================================================
Dedicated to Emily, whose interest and encouragement
allowed this story to bloom.
==================================================================
{Part
One{
The Flowering
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears
-William Wordsworth
==================================================================
{Chapter
One {
Amaranth could feel
the warmth of the bench she lay on, her cheek
pressed against the sun-bathed stone. The scent of flowers floated
at her
from everywhere, and she readily breathed in the marvelous fragrance.
Drifting to her ears, was the sweet sound of a flute singing.
The song was
harmonious and slow; very relaxing and very beautiful. She twisted
a flower
around her finger, watching the stem bend and cause the white-petaled
head
to bob, as if it were dancing to the music. She let out a contented
sigh. At that
moment, she doubted even paradise itself could be more beautiful.
The song ended, and
she turned her head, resting her chin on her folded
hands. Sitting at a nearby bench was the musician, young Prince
Yahika of
Tirvaltan, Amaranth's dear friend.
He turned his face
toward the Princess's, placing his golden flute down
on his lap. He smiled at the dreamy, far off statement in her
dark, sparkling
eyes. "Did you like it?" he asked.
"Oh, Yahika, it was
beautiful," she breathed. "I've never heard you
play it before."
"I wrote it for you,"
he said. "It's called "Flower in Full Bloom.""
"You wrote it?" asked
Amaranth, a bit disbelievingly. "You should be
a composer. Your melodies are better than any taught to Leila
and me by our
music teachers."
"I don't know about
that," said Yahika, a bit embarrassed by the
compliment but pleased nonetheless. He enjoyed being with Amaranth
more
than anyone else in the world. It was when he was with her that
his music
truly came alive, for she invoked it eagerly, and didn't consider it
an idle and
useless hobby as his father and older brother did. "So, now what
do you want
to hear?" he asked.
"Play me "Fairy's
Dance,"" decided Amaranth immediately. "I love
that one."
"As you command, my
Princess," he answered, raising his flute to his
lips again. He began playing a light and airy piece, one that
Amaranth
couldn't resist dancing to.
She rose off her bench
and stood in the stone walkway, stepping
around in a simple, improvised dance that she made up as she went along.
The song itself was too bright and lively to be danced to in some boring
form
dance. She laughed as she moved gracefully around, her skirts
feathering
around her legs like misty clouds.
Yahika had played
the song so many times that he no longer needed to
look at the music sheets on his lap, and he raised his eyes to watch
Amaranth's breezy movements. She was the only thing that could
distract
him from his music, and as his focus stayed on her, his concentration
on the
music dwindled, causing it to slowly fade into silence. For a
while she
continued her movements without it. She was so beautiful, so
spirited, unlike
any other princess he'd ever met. He hated the thought of leaving
her . . .
She halted in her
motions and turned toward him, her face pink from
the lively dance. A bit confused by the sad smile on his face,
she asked,
"Why did you stop? I know that's not the end of the song."
"A breeze was blowing
at my music sheets," Yahika answered, unable
to tell her what the real reason was. "I had to get them back
in order." He
again raised the flute to his lips. "I'll finish it now."
He did so and Amaranth
immediately took up her dance again. Her
neat braid was coming lose, and a tiny wind flew around her.
It caused black
strands of hair to tickle her face, and a variety of blossoms that
she'd earlier
woven through her hair fell out onto the stone walkway. She didn't
stop her
movements to pick them up.
Yahika's song ended,
and Amaranth slowly let her dance die. She fell
to the ground and started picking up the flowers that had blown out.
Sitting
down right on the walkway, she began braiding them in again.
Amaranth glanced up
and smiled at Yahika, surprised when he didn't
return it. A sadness crept into his eyes, one that she had noticed
more than
once during this particular visit.
"Yahika, what's wrong?"
she asked.
"I need to talk to
you, Amaranth."
The princess's face
lost its cheerful statement at the solemn tone of his
voice. Not even pulling herself off the ground, she crawled toward
him on
her hands and knees, leaving long sand stains on her lavender dress.
Yahika couldn't help
laughing at her actions. She sat down beside him
and asked, "What?"
"Look at your knees,"
he said, pointing to the brown marks, which
concealed how thin the dress was becoming in that area. "Very
unladylike."
Amaranth shrugged.
"I'm only thirteen, Yahika. I'm not a lady yet, and
I don't have to act like something I'm not."
"I know many princesses
your age married already," he pointed out.
"Some of them mothers even."
"I know," acknowledged
Amaranth. "But I don't have to worry about
impressing any suitors yet. They all come interested in Leila.
Maybe when
she chooses one, I'll start getting more attention. Until then,
it doesn't matter
how I act. What were you going to tell me?"
Yahika sighed, not
wanting to be brought back to the topic he'd meant
to discuss with her. Finally, he whispered, "War."
"What?"
"Santnohen has declared
war on Tirvaltan," Yahika said. "The fighting
has already begun."
Amaranth gasped.
She'd heard all the rumors of war breaking out in
Tirvaltan, but she'd always ignored them as a way of keeping herself
from
being troubled by thoughts of it. She didn't want Yahika hurt
in any way.
"Do you think it will last long?"
"I don't know." He
lowered his head and pressed his hands against it as
if it pained him. "I knew it was coming though. Since I
was little, all I ever
heard about was our unstable relationships with other kingdoms.
It was
bound to happen sooner or later, but . . . I didn't like to think about
it."
"What will you do,
Yahika?"
"There's only one
thing I can do," he answered. "I will join Tirvaltan's
army and fight."
"No!" cried Amaranth.
"People get hurt in battle, Yahika . . ." She
didn't dare add 'killed', although she knew they were both thinking
it. She
touched his hand. "Don't do it. Stay here in Astaseez with
us. You'll be safe.
I'm sure Leila and my parents wouldn't mind . . ."
Yahika shook his head.
As much as he wanted to, he knew that
wouldn't work. "No, Amaranth. It is my duty as Prince of
Tirvaltan to
defend her at any cost. I cannot abandon my kingdom now.
I'd be hated by
the people."
"At least you'd be
safe," murmured Amaranth, but she knew her
suggestion had been an unrealistic one. She looked into his eyes.
They were
shining with tears, as her own were. "When will I see you again?" she
whispered.
He pulled her close
to him and held her in a tight embrace. "As soon
as possible," he answered.
Amaranth pressed her
face against his shoulder, quietly sobbing
because she couldn't dispel the horrible thought that it might be one
of the last
times she was so close to him.
{ { {
Amaranth sat on Leila's
bed, her legs curled beneath her and concealed
in the light dress she wore. It had been almost a year since
she'd last seen
Yahika, and for the fourth time, she read over the letter she'd received
from
him the day before.
She felt lucky to
have gotten it. She knew he wrote her more letters
than she ever had a chance to read, because Tirvaltan's mail was constantly
being intercepted and destroyed along the way by Santnohen's spies.
She was
sure it worked the same way any time she sent something. Every
time she
went more than a month without hearing from him, countless worries
filled
her head. She thanked Allah that Astaseez had never been through
war in her
lifetime, but she'd heard enough horror stories to be rightfully afraid.
Each
letter she received was gratefully accepted as tangible proof that
everything
was all right.
She refolded the paper
and glanced up to see her sister's form. Leila
was sitting in front of the mirror, preparing to meet another suitor.
Amaranth
could hear his guards announcing his arrival in the distance.
She pulled herself
off the bed and walked up behind Leila, careful to
stay out of the way of the ladies fluttering around her, making sure
she would
appear as stunning as possible for the prince.
Leila saw her sister's
image in the mirror, and smiled without turning
toward her, which Amaranth saw in the reflection and returned.
"Do you
have that letter memorized yet?" she asked jokingly.
Amaranth shook her
head. "Do you have yours?"
"No," laughed Leila.
"But I've only read it once."
Amaranth pulled a
dressing stool away from the wall and scooted it
next to Leila's, so she could look over her shoulder. Their faces
showed back
side by side in the mirror. Amaranth noticed how plain she looked
next to
Leila's primped appearance. "You're so lucky," she sighed.
"All those
suitors. It must be exciting."
Leila gave a half-hearted
laugh. "I wouldn't consider myself lucky,"
she said. "Believe me, it loses its excitement after the first
three. After that,
they're a pain."
"But you never know
when you're going to fall in love with one of
them!" exclaimed Amaranth. "That would give me shivers of anticipation
every time. Do you think you'll fall for this one, Leila?"
Leila stood up from
her stool, fastening the clasp of a pearl necklace.
"I doubt it," she answered, leaving the room to meet the prince.
Amaranth stayed in
Leila's bedroom for the rest of the day, anxiously
awaiting the news of her sister's courter. Leila always shared
the details of it,
and every one was just a little different. She couldn't see how
Leila could
consider it boring.
The elder princess
entered the room at about midnight, looking glad
that it was over. She dropped onto her swan shaped bed, exaggerating
her
exhaustion by giving Amaranth a look that said, "That was not
fun."
Her own enthusiasm
undampened by Leila's manner, Amaranth said,
"Okay, Leila, how did it go? Was he enchanted by your beauty?"
Leila snickered.
"He seemed happy enough."
"You rejected him,
didn't you?" guessed Amaranth.
"Yep."
"He looked nice enough
to me," Amaranth commented. "And he was
handsome. Did he like you?"
"I don't know," admitted
Leila. "You can never tell with those suitors.
They're all so phony, that it's impossible to know what's sincere.
That's why I
don't want to choose one. I think the moment I married him, he'd
turn out to
be a completely different person."
"I'm sure everything
they show for you is genuine," said Amaranth.
"You're so smart and beautiful. You probably broke that poor
man's heart."
"I don't think so,"
said Leila. "And I'm not so beautiful, Amaranth. If
any of my suitors had a chance to look at you, I'd appear an overdressed
commoner. You got the looks in this family."
"Thank you for saying
so, Leila, but I don't agree. Then again," added
Amaranth, a hint of laughter in her voice, "if someone doesn't
choose
herself a suitor, I'll never get my chance!"
"Don't be in such
a hurry," murmured Leila, sitting up on the bed.
"I'm not really,"
said Amaranth. "I just like to tease you. I'll bet no one
has rejected as many suitors as you have!"
"That's not true!"
laughed Leila. "I heard that the deceased Queen
Halima of Egypt rejected one hundred and twelve suitors before marrying.
So there!"
"Seriously, Leila,
what didn't you like about him?"
"I don't know," she
sighed. "I don't feel comfortable with any of them.
To tell you the truth, I don't know if I ever want to choose
a suitor. I'm not
sure I want to marry."
"I do," said Amaranth.
"But only if I fall in love with him. Don't you
think Father will be angry if you don't choose soon?"
"I don't think so.
He still has you as a secure heiress, and I know you'll
have a worthy husband. I think you were born under a lucky star,"
said Leila.
"You'll marry someone who loves you more than anything."
"I hope so," sighed
Amaranth.
"I know so,"
said Leila, a secret smile on her face.
Amaranth gave her
sister a questioning look, but she would say no
more.
Two days later, Amaranth
managed to steal away from the monotony
of palace affairs into the glorious freedom of her garden. She
was kneeling
on the ground, bent over a bench which was serving for a desk, and
writing a
reply to the letter received earlier from Yahika.
She knew that her
knees against the dirty stone would ruin yet another
of her delicate dresses, and she'd be reprimanded by her father for
not taking
proper care of her attire. She had plenty though, and it was
worth sitting
through the minor lecture for the hours of liberty she spent outdoors.
A breeze tickled her
face, and she smiled, holding the paper firmly
against the bench to keep the tiny gust from blowing the vellum away.
Despite her solitude, she was completely content.
"Amaranth," came her
sister's voice from the garden's entrance. "Come
inside. Father wants to talk to us."
Amaranth glanced up.
"What for?" she asked, folding the paper and
slipping it into her pocket.
"I don't know," Leila's
voice was solemn. "Something important."
Amaranth pulled herself
off the ground and tried her best to dispel the
dirt from her knees. She trotted toward Leila. "Let's get
going then. It's
probably just some speech about an ambassador we'll have to dine with
or
something."
They entered their
father's throne room together, and upon seeing them
Sultan Amaranian arose from his chair. Their mother, Sultana
Lily, remained
seated, her face etched with lines of sadness.
"Leila, Amaranth,"
addressed their father, "I have some very grave
news to tell you."
Amaranth's stomach
tightened up. She didn't like the statement on his
face or his tone of voice and she feared what was coming.
"A messenger arrived
from Tirvaltan today bearing bad news," he
continued.
Amaranth went numb.
Dear Allah, please not Yahika . . . she
prayed. She glanced at her sister, whose facial statement was
one of
apprehensive attention. She turned back to her father.
"Sultan Nusair has
been slain," he said, his voice expressionless.
"Stabbed in the night by an enemy soldier."
Amaranth's first thought
was to be thankful that it hadn't been Yahika.
But the effect his father's death had on him could change who he was
forever.
She whispered, "What of Yahika?"
"He is all right,"
assured her father. "It was he who first discovered his
father lying dead. Nusair's eldest son, Jameen, has already taken
his dutiful
place as Sultan."
Amaranth bit her lip
to keep from crying and glanced at Leila,
surprised that her sister's face was not clouded with sadness.
She stepped forward.
"Do they know who did it?" she asked angrily.
"Yahika saw the man,"
answered the Sultan, "but he was not caught."
"What will happen
to him if he is?" demanded Leila.
"I do not know how
Tirvaltan goes about sentencing convicts,"
admitted her father. "But I pray that justice will be served."
"It had better," muttered
Leila, her face twisted with rage. "That man
doesn't deserve to live."
"Terrible things happen
in war, Leila," reminded her father. "I do not
doubt that Tirvaltan's side has taken many of Santnohen's lives."
"Well they deserve
it!" cried Leila. "It was Santnohen that waged war
on Tirvaltan. It's their fault!"
Amaranth didn't want
to listen to any more about war or injustice or
blame or death. She rushed out of the room, leaving her sister
still voicing
her fury over what had happened.
She didn't decide
to go out to her garden, her feet just naturally took
her there. She ran to the bench she'd been at earlier, yanked
the letter out of
her pocket, and smoothed it against the seat's surface. She'd
left her ink
bottle and quill on it, so she jerked the feather out of the black
liquid and
proceeded to finish the letter.
As she scribbled away,
she pretended she hadn't even heard about the
death of Yahika's father. She wrote of everything that had happened
except
that, as if it hadn't yet occurred. She wanted to cry, but forced
herself not to
until she'd written the closing line, making sure her tears wouldn't
cause the
ink to run.
Amaranth was having
trouble concentrating on the lessons from her
tutor. She glanced out the window. It was a beautiful day,
unusually cool for
the desert, and normally that would be a terrible distraction.
However, it was
not this that drew her attention today. It was what she had in
her pocket.
She slipped her hand
into it to finger the smooth paper. The letter was
from Yahika, but because her tutor had been keeping her extra busy
all day,
she hadn't had a chance to read it. It had been two weeks since
she'd heard
about the death of his father. This letter would no doubt hold
information on
it.
Amaranth's tutor was
neither blind nor dumb, and she could see that
something was diverting her pupil's attention from the arts she taught.
Knowing that the war in Tirvaltan bothered her and thinking she was
distracted by worry for Astaseez's allies, she dismissed the Princess
an hour
early, not a moment too soon for Amaranth.
She thanked her tutor
quickly and rushed up to her room, closing the
door tightly behind her. After opening a few curtains to let
sunlight in, she
walked to her swan shaped bed and let herself down on it. Finally,
she
slowly drew out the letter.
Although she knew
what it would say, she was a bit afraid to open it.
She didn't want to read about Yahika's misery. His words, whatever
they
may be, would no doubt replay themselves in her mind and haunt her
that
night.
His father was dead.
Killed brutally and unjustly because of the
terrible violence of war. Amaranth shuddered. How would
she react if her
father died? Or her mother? And not to be prepared for
it . . . to one day
have a healthy parent and the next day have him gone . . . How could
anyone
go through that? Her heart ached for Jameen and Yahika.
She cautiously unfolded
the letter, as if afraid something might jump
out of it and snap at her. Taking a deep breath, she lowered
her eyes to read
it.
Dearest Amaranth,
I received your letter today.
It was as always a pleasure to
hear from you and be assured that you are doing well . . . Look
at me,
writing this letter as if it was like all the others. I'm
sorry. This is
difficult.
You know. I'm sure someone has
told you. Which is all very well,
because I can't bring myself to write it. I know it happened.
I know I
can't change it. And I know I'm not ready to accept it.
If I print it down
on paper, it will make it too real. It will raise too many
ugly emotions
which I don't want to show you. I'm truly sorry, Amaranth.
I cannot
write anymore.
Love Always,
Yahika
Amaranth stared at
the letter after she'd read it for a few minutes.
Some of the words were hard to decipher because the ink had smeared
and
run. Yahika had shed a few tears while writing and hadn't bothered
to recopy
it onto a clean sheet. She knew it had been difficult for Yahika
to write, and
that he hadn't really wanted to do it. It was the shortest of
all his letters and
the most impersonal, distant. Not that she could blame him.
What was he
suppose to say?
What was she
suppose to say? she wondered, walking over to her
desk. She sat down at it and pushed flower vases aside to make
room for the
paper she was pulling out of her drawer and smoothing against the top.
She dipped her quill
in the ink and held it over the paper, not knowing
what she could say to a man whose father had been killed in war.
She had
known before, but had been able to pretend she didn't. She could
no longer
do that. Finally, after what seemed hours of contemplation, she
could write
only a few sentences.
Dear Yahika,
I'm sorry about what happened.
There is nothing I can say to
make it better. Forgive me. I only wish I could help.
Remember I am still
here if you want to talk about it.
Love,
Amaranth
The letter was pathetically
written and hardly adequate to express what
she felt she should say. But not knowing what else she could
do in this
touchy situation, she folded and sealed it, giving it to the Royal
Messenger
first thing the next morning.
Maybe Yahika wouldn't
even receive the letter. Perhaps it would be
intercepted along the way. Amaranth didn't know the answer until
nearly a
year later, for after the short message of his father's death, Yahika's
letters
stopped coming.