equal_of_any_man | (no subject)

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conversations with the dead

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Olivier sings to himself softly as he prepares an ointment for Athelstan, to help keep the cold out in the long winter. The rich smell of mustard seed and goose fat warms the air. He doesn't realise that he's singing one of his mother's songs, one he has not heard in many years. Not since his mother died.

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"For this night only, my son." She squeezes her hand, looking up at him. "So we can talk, for I have missed you too. And watched you."

"Then Allah has heard my prayers," He turns her hand in his, gentle and careful as he runs his thumb over her palm. "And has kept you safe in his arms. For that I am so very grateful."

"He has", she confirms, looking seriously into his face. "And He has permitted this, so I can tell you how proud you have made me."

he can't help but surge forward into her arms, embracing her lovingly.

Mariam holds him tightly, as best she can though he's not her little boy now.

"My son. Never fear you have betrayed me in any way."

"I know this is not the life you wanted for me." He whispers, resting his head on the top of hers. "I know you wanted me to stay safe and far from harm."

"That could never have been my decision to make", she says, rubbing his hand, "as you grew older - and before you did, you were left to make your own life."

"You were always wise and kind." He guides her to a chair, fetching her tea. "You taught me languages and the ways of herbs and healing. And more than that, you taught me kindness."

"My Daoud." She slips an arm around him, looking up at him with nothing but love. "I could not have taught you that if it wasn't already in you."

He rests his head on her shoulder, glad simply of her touch. "I have taken the name Olivier now, but in my heart I will always be your Daoud."

"I know. You did what was needful, to live the life that was meant for you. Do you like your new name?"

"It has...become me. Over time. It is part of who I am now." He looks to her, hoping she will understand.

She smiles softly and pats his cheek.

"Then I'm glad, that you don't find yourself too divided."

"There are still time I... struggle. I still pray to Allah for you, I still turn to Mecca when I pray, even to God. I would never tell my priest these things, not at home. There is a priest here but he's more modern and understanding." He ducks his head. "I miss home."

"God or Allah, my son, is always where you look for Him. Do you think you might ever return to Antioch?"

He shrugs, settling at her feet as he did as a child. "I do not yet know. My lord has offered me land and a home in England. Land that I am to tend and guard in his name. I... I want to do well for him." He never begrudged their simple existence in Antioch but land!

She strokes his hair softly, as she used to.

"Do you doubt that you will?"

"But for what you taught me about keeping a garden, I know nothing of tending the land, of leading a village. I have much to learn." But he is determined.

"You have the desire to do it well. That goes a long way to win goodwill, while you learn."

"I hope so." He closes his eyes, enjoying her touch. "Will you sing to me? Please? There's so much I want to show and tell you but... I miss your song."

She leans down to kiss his forehead.

"There will be time enough for showing and telling later."

And she begins to sing one of their lullabies.

Her song soothes his heart, lifting a heaviness that had plagued him since he left the land of his birth. He wants to stay with her, to make the most of this night but her song brings deep peace to his heart and he drifts.

She encourages it, wanting her boy to get the rest and solace he needs. When he wakes, if it's before the night is over, she'll still be there.

Olivier sleeps, deeper and better than he can ever remember sleeping and wakes to the breaking of dawn. He looks for he but knows the night of wonder has past. But still it lingers - the smell of her perfume and the warmth of her touch. He feels a great lightness in his heart with this dawn and goes down to tend his garden with gladness in his step.

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