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shewhowantsmouseears · 6 years

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The Son Of Scheherazade, 16

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Not gunna lie, this chapter actually drained me emotionally after writing it. Aside from taking characters I love to bad places, I also used to have major anger issues when I was younger, so, sore spot. But here we are, and the next chapter will be silly. So silly. Prepare for major silly.

Also also, I had three or four different endings planned, including having Goofy and pals "save" the day. Oh well, maybe next time.

Summary: What does it mean to carry the sins of your family? Is hate naturally born, or does it get inflicted upon you? The contest is over, but there are things worse than losing.

The rest of that day and the following day were much of the same – silly displays of what Father Wander and his servants considered to be the truest of true love. This involved feeding each other cake, reciting poetry made up on the spot, dramatic re-tellings of their first encounters, carrying their bride over dangerous thresholds, and so on and so forth. More couples continued to be dragged away when they didn't meet the ridiculously high standards of Father Wander, but there were still enough people for Mickey, Minnie, Donald and Daisy to lose Runner-Up. All four of them did their best, refusing to give up, and took everything as seriously as possible.

… Well, three of them did.

Donald and Minnie had no troubles with their tasks, so devoted to their friend that they were able to give masterful performances. When Donald accidentally dropped a piece of cake on Minnie's dress, she merely laughed it off, and they chatted about favorite desserts. Minnie discovered she had a talent for rhyming during poetry, Donald made up a well-thought out story of love at first sight, and they crossed their threshold – theirs lined with dangerous metal spikes – without a scratch. Working together, they found there was nothing they couldn't do, and happily enjoyed each other's company.

Mickey and Daisy were such a different story, one could almost say they were another genre entirely. Mickey was trying to play the role of a devoted husband as best he could, but Daisy continued to have fun at his expense. She smashed her cake into his face, wanting to “recreate their wedding”. For poetry, she made an entire list of made-up phobias he had, assuring him that she loved him despite all his weaknesses. As Mickey tried to create a story about their first meeting, Daisy kept interrupting with new details that Mickey had to struggle to connect. Their threshold crossing, which involved fire and brimstone, ended with a singed tail and Daisy whining about her poor ashy dress. Each new section of the contest was like another heavy burden on Mickey's shoulders, and his temper was rising.

By the end of the second night, Mickey had trouble sleeping, due to how much Daisy had utterly and thoroughly annoyed him during all hours of the day. If she had been planning to act this way the entire time, why couldn't she have chosen Donald and left him alone?! He hated thinking this way, wanting someone else to suffer in his stead, but she was driving him crazy. In addition to this, he missed Minnie terribly. Even though he saw her as often as he could, it just wasn't the same as having her by his side and hearing his name. Each part of the contest was a reminder of the things he promised he wouldn't do to her and with her until she was free – and at times he hated himself for making such a promise, even though it had been the morally right thing to do. He wanted to earn her love the right way, but what if when she was free, she only thought of him as the Son of Scheherazade?

Morning came and Mickey was exhausted, having slept very little. Donald flashed him a look of pity as they lined up for breakfast, but when he asked what was wrong with his friend, Mickey barked that nothing was wrong, he just missed his dear little wife so terribly. Donald winced, but didn't give up. “It's the last day,” Donald reminded him, trying to offer a smile. “In just a few hours, this will all be over, and we'll be back on the ship.”

Mickey gave this some thought. “...I guess I could make it a few more hours,” he finally replied, fighting off a yawn. “But after this, I kind of never want to see 'Donna's' face again.” The men were taken to a small dining room, where a hearty meal was being served, and Father Wander was standing at the end of the table, always pleased to see everybody. Mickey tried not to look at him. “And I'm convinced this guy wouldn't know actual love if it bit him on the face.”

Donald paused to consider this. “I guess if we're actually fooling him, you're right. Makes this whole thing a sham, doesn't it?” Perhaps after doing this contest for years and years, the competition had lost its original meaning. It was a shame, he thought, because an actual celebration of happiness that being with certain people brought would have been something great. Maybe once upon a time there hadn't been temptation tests or cake-eating or poetry. As they sat down, Donald lightly slapped Mickey's shoulder, still wanting to help. “When we win the map and get back to the ship, we should have a party!”

Mickey blinked at him, his anger beginning to settle down. “A party?”

“Yeah! To celebrate getting a huge leap closer to your folks! We can be our real selves again, and sing and dance and be with all our friends! Wouldn't that be fun?”

Actually, that did sound like fun, and Mickey missed Goofy and the others, all their odd behavior included. “That's not a bad idea,” he said as he imagined Panchito playing the guitar, Jose asking for all the details, Clarabelle and Horace arguing then dancing together, and Goofy giving Mickey one of his affectionate ruffles between the ears. “Yeah! We should absolutely do that! It'll be great!” Now that he had something to look forward to, perhaps his anger would stay in check today -

Or perhaps it wouldn't as his chair was knocked over, due to Grimwold shoving himself into the next seat adjacent. “Move it, shorty.”

Donald was up in seconds. “Hey! You did that on purpose!”

Grimwold didn't reply to Donald – as he was actually slightly terrified of the duck, who had somehow zapped him into unconsciousness days before – and kept his sights on Mickey. “I still have a bone to pick with you.”

Mickey clenched his teeth as he put his chair back up. “A bone? All I ever did to you was tell you to stop bullying people! It's not my fault you're a huge jerk!” He slammed his hand down on the table, starting to get the attention of the others.

“It's not bullying when someone is clearly stronger and better than you!” Grimwold leaned over Mickey, sneering right back at him. “No one has ever talked back to a Gloom and lived to tell the tale! I think it's about time we settle this!”

“Fine by me!” Mickey snapped back, ignoring Donald's tugging on his sleeve and insistent pleas that this was not the time or place for such an argument. “The sooner I get you off my back, the better! I can't stand people like you, who think they should always get what they want! The world doesn't work that way, and people aren't your toys to play with!” Was he yelling at Grimwold, or someone else?

“Then let's finish this, mano a mano!”

“Right here, right now!”

They both could've sworn they heard the ringing of a boxing bell – except it turned out to be a real bell, much to their confusion. This was Father Wander, ringing a small bell in his hand, eyebrows quirked at the display presented before him. “I must say, gentlemen, I am surprised by this behavior! This isn't in the spirit of our romantic competition!”

Donald jerked – was this impromptu fight going to get them disqualified? He thought quickly, then flailed his hands. “Yes it is! Of course it's in the spirit! Because... because they're fighting over... whose wife is prettier!”

Father Wander watched the two in genuine hopes this was correct. “Really?”

“... Yeah, sure.” Grimwold stood up straight, smoothing down his blue hair. “After all, my Hilda is like a goddess in human form! And this miscreant thought his ragamuffin could honestly compare to her. It's laughable really!”

This was supposed to be the part where Mickey was going to falsely gush about Daisy's beauty and grace and all her likable features, but he couldn't. He was so sick of having to tell lies and praise a woman who was getting on his last nerve, especially to the guy who was getting on the second-to-last nerve. Mickey was angry, Mickey was incredibly angry at everyone and everything – at Grimwold for picking such a stupid fight. At Donald who thought Mickey needed help. At Father Wander for not noticing the obvious, at this whole moronic competition that was never about real passionate love, at Daisy who put him through this, at the Phantom Prince who took his parents and made him go through this ordeal – and then he found anger at people who had nothing to do with anything, except to make this anger grow, Goofy, for agreeing with this whole farce, and Panchito and Jose who never shut up and Horace and Clarabelle for their insipid arguments, and his mother for lying to him and his father for -

And his father for -

IT'S NOT FAIR! HOW DARE YOU LIVE?! WHY DO YOU DESERVE TO LIVE?!

His heart began to beat in his ears and suddenly he was a little boy and he was scared and confused and his parents weren't there and there was blood and there was pain and screaming and tears and -

“Awww!” Father Wander's very loud coo startled Mickey out of his past – Mickey who had begun to sweat and shake, his fingers clutching the tablecloth so hard he'd begun to tear it, his breath coming in and out rapidly. “Mortimer, you're so offended on your wife's behalf, you just can't control yourself, can you?”

It took Mickey a moment to remember where he was, and his breathing slowed, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him. He felt nauseous, and his hand flew to his neck, rubbing the scar over and over. “Yeah,” he answered quietly, afraid of where he'd just been. “I just... love her so much, you know.” The answer came automatically without thinking, and he sat back down, not touching his food. Grimwold also sat down, deciding not to push his luck any further, although he was smirking. As far as he was concerned, he just laid down the first part of his trap. Donald watched Mickey, worried, but over what he wasn't sure of. In that brief second, Mickey had changed into someone unrecognizable. The body had been Mickey's, of course, but the eyes had grown dark and instant, reflecting a hate so powerful that it threatened to swallow everyone whole. Donald had never seen anything like it, not even in Flintheart's cruelest moments, and he could've sworn that if Father Wander hadn't inadvertently put an end to it, the thing that looked like Mickey was going to strike.

“That's just the mood we need for our final day!” Father Wander continued, ringing the bell again, this time for the melody. “We only have one more display of love to go through, and then my friends and I will decide the winners! Ooh, isn't this exciting?” he applauded, expecting everyone to do the same, but didn't mind when they chose not to. “At noon, we'll have everyone gather in the prayer room of the chapel. In there we have a set of magic mirrors! We'll have the chosen pair stand in front of the mirrors, and their reflection will show who they truly love.”

Donald spat out the juice he'd been drinking. “What? Magic?! Honest to goodness magic?!” Why in the world hadn't they just done that on day one and saved everyone the trouble? How were they supposed to fool magic? Their lies would be revealed in an instant! Did Daisy know about this? No, perhaps this was beyond even her – Donald desperately wanted to believe that Daisy had an ounce of goodness, or basic sense, in her. It was probably the desire for another kiss making him believe this, which still popped into his head every day. Donald looked at Mickey, hoping for him to have an idea or to be equally upset, but Mickey was still not entirely there.

The prince now had his hand on his mouth, fighting a battle in his chest, trying to still the monster that had threatened to come out. He had barely heard anything Father Wander had said, the competition now the last thing on his mind. He could not let the beast out now, not ever. His anger had always been one of his biggest flaws, but it had never ate at him so badly before – perhaps because he had been so spoiled and privileged until his parents were taken away. But now he had problems and people he didn't know how to handle and his insides were bubbling hotly. Maybe it would go away on its own. He hoped so.

“Until then,” Father Wander had utterly ignored Donald's outburst, “You're free to spend the day as you wish! I bet you've all missed your significant others so much! So eat up, and then love up! Noon's not that far away!” He tried another attempt at applause and was still met with rejection.

Mickey stabbed a piece of meat with his fork and forced it into his mouth, even though he had no appetite. Donald kept asking him over and over if he was okay and Mickey would not answer. Once Mickey's plate was entirely clear, he shoved himself away from the table, hopped off the chair, and walked away as fast as his feet would take him. Donald wanted to follow him, but felt he still wouldn't be answered. Maybe the girls would have some ideas, he wished, and once he finished his meal he set out to find them. Perhaps for now it would be best to leave Mickey alone with whatever thoughts were haunting him.

Things would be all right, Donald was convinced of this. They would win the map, and have their party, and Mickey would be happy, and Minnie would be happy, and Daisy would tell them where the next part of the map was, and they'd dance and sing and be merry. There was nothing to be worried about. Mickey would be fine.

So why did he keep staring at Mickey's empty chair with a sense of dread?

~*~

Donald did manage to meet up with Daisy and Minnie, and while he told them of the magical mirror mishap, he didn't mention the argument between Mickey and Grimwold. He felt it would serve little purpose, and given Daisy's All Seeing Eye, maybe she already knew. Besides, the mirrors would be a real challenge.

The three of them were sitting outside on the church steps, trying to decide what to do. “Maybe we can use a wish on this,” Daisy suggested, her usually manipulative brain running low on ideas. “I think this is a desperate times call for desperate measures deal.”

Minnie sighed, shaking her head. “My Master is dead-set on not using my wishes. He only uses them when his life is in danger... or a slip of the tongue.” With faint amusement she recalled a time when Mickey had almost accidentally wished Jose to stop smoking, but he had caught himself just as he said the word wish – he slapped his hands over his mouth with such force that he knocked the back of his head against the wall. He then profusely apologized to Minnie, only stopping when he heard her giggling.

“Maybe we can make up some kind of hokey-story to explain the reflections.” Donald furrowed his brows. “Father Wander and his goons believe just about everything we say to them already.”

Daisy smirked as she heard Donald's plan, making her own decisions, and Minnie pouted, looking around. “We really should be discussing this with my Master. Where is he now?”

“I don't know.” Donald didn't meet her eyes, still reluctant to share what had happened. “He just needed to... blow off some steam. I'm sure he'll come find us before everything starts. Worse comes to worse, we can just beg for that map, and maybe they'll have some pity on us.”

Minnie leaned back on the seats, watching the sky. “I hope he's all right. He's been working so hard on those maps every night... Do you think he's getting enough sleep? Or enough to eat?” Minnie missed Mickey just as much as he was missing her, though neither guessed that the other was longing for them so deeply. She disliked sleeping away from her lamp, if only for the fact that it meant she couldn't be at Mickey's side at a second's notice. She just wanted to be useful to him in any way imaginable.

Daisy clicked her tongue. “What are you, his mother?”

What was meant to be a tease brought Minnie somewhere else, as she faced Daisy with a curious expression. “By the way... why is my Master's mother so important anyway? Why was it a big deal that she has the All-Seeing-Eye instead of telling stories?”

Donald made a startled noise in his throat. “What? You don't know? Everyone knows the story of Scheherazade. Even I got told that tale, before my nannies got too scared to watch over me. It's the most famous story in the whole wide world!”

Daisy lit her pipe, coming to the correct conclusion instantly. “Maybe so... but then, not every master thinks their slaves should know everything about the world.”

Minnie bit her lip, saying nothing. It was true that many of her past masters, even ones who had started out kind and generous, treated her more as an object than as a living person, much less a friend to share stories with. It was possible they thought if she was more educated, knew more about the world, she'd try to leave them or influence their wishes. Now it made her feel like a fool, left out of the earth's most obvious facts. “I feel like there's something my Master isn't telling me.” Her voice was quiet, her eyes downward, remembering the hesitation Mickey had shown the last time they spoke of his mother. “If Sultana Scheherazade is such a wonderful and amazing person... why won't he tell me what the story is?”

Donald and Daisy looked at each other, a cold dread creeping up their backs. They had a fairly good idea that it wasn't so much Mickey's mother that was the problem. Was it their place to speak of it? Even Daisy, who reveled in the pain of others, seemed to be debating. She was about to come to a final choice, when the church bells rang, loud but melodic. She exhaled a stream of smoke. “They're probably about to start setting things up in the prayer room... Let's get there early and try to see what we can do.”

Minnie frowned, but made no objection. The explanation could wait another day, she supposed, and if they lost the mirror challenge, they could try to find a way around it. Nothing was impossible, so long as they had her magic and Mickey's cleverness. Maybe that's what he was doing now, using his brilliant mind to think of a winning strategy. Dear, darling, clever master. Minnie didn't need, nor want, fancy poetry or cakes or fights to prove how Mickey felt about her, since he wore his emotions on not just his sleeve but his entire outfit. As long as he was himself, Minnie was content. She hadn't realized she began smiling, but Donald did, and he felt that worry from before get stronger.

No, surely everything would be all right. The three of them thought this calming phrase over and over – everything would be all right.

~*~

Mickey had been, of all places, up on the roof. To him, it was the closest thing that resembled the balcony of his room back at the palace. He had hoped that the familiar view would calm him down, and while it did ease his anger, it didn't erase it entirely . His hate found new forms to attack with, and they all centered around himself. How could he be so immature, rising to Grimwold's taunts, when there were much fiercer enemies up ahead? If he couldn't handle himself in front of a simple man, how could he hope to defeat the Phantom Prince? He was doing nothing but bringing shame to his parents. The only thing he was grateful for was that Minnie hadn't seen that childish display. Minnie, Minnie, Minnie, he wanted to see her, he wanted to see her so badly, he wanted her touch and her kiss and her love even though he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

If she could just fall in love with him before she knew what Mickey's father had done, what his mother had done, what the story was, then maybe things would work out. She could love him for him and not where he came from. But in the end he knew that it was far, far better to be worshiped as a false idol than to be hated. He knew what it was like to be hated. And while it was not impossible to say she wouldn't hate him if she knew, that one in a million chance would never go away, even though he had not been at fault. The sins carried through his blood. He felt nauseous again.

The church bells rang, and Mickey was glad to hear them. Now he could enter the final lap of this whole frivolous affair, get the map, get back on the ship, and hear his name again. He stood up, smoothed down his robes, and headed for the door that led back into the church – only to find Grimwold was on the other side. Mickey slammed the door in his face. “First off,” Grimwold said on the other side, “Rude. Second, there isn't another way down.”

Mickey sighed very, very deeply, before opening the door. “The bells are ringing, that probably means the last part of the contest is ready. If we're late, they'll probably disqualify us. So we don't have time to fight.”

But instead of taunting or insulting, Grimwold backed up from the door, showing the stairs. “Actually, I wanted to make you an offer. You were right, bullying isn't going to get me anywhere. It certainly hasn't helped with the contest one bit.”

That was... suspiciously nice and quick of a conclusion. Mickey squinted, and headed for the stairs, Grimwold trailing behind him. “An offer? What are you talking about?”

“The truth is, there's really only one prize me and my amazing Hilda are after.” Grimwold put a hand to his heart, closing his eyes to emphasize his sincerity – but this wasn't the best idea, as he tripped and fell down, and had Mickey not stepped aside in time he would have joined him. Mickey blinked at the crumpled heap on the floor, wondering if perhaps the Glooms had more bark than bite. But then Grimwold popped back on his feet, using the same pose, as if nothing had happened. “You see, we never got the honeymoon we wanted. I just want her to have the best in life, and if I could help get her that prize, I'd be the happiest man in the world.”

Mickey walked onto the floor and into the hallway. “What's that got to do with me?”

“I'm no fool.” Grimwold now walked at Mickey's side. “The judges have been studying you and your wife intensely. You're going to be a winner, I can tell. Maybe that's why I can't help but... act impolitely to you and your friends at every opportunity.” A hearty chuckle. “Why not let bygones be bygones, and have a chat about what to do about it? We can use the men's chambers – with everyone filing into the prayer room, it's sure to be empty. And since you guys entered last, you'll probably be chosen last for the mirror match.”

Mickey stopped walking to give Grimwold a deadpan look. “This is a trap.”

“A trap?” Grimwold staggered backwards, his acting getting so hammy a pig would've been envious. “A trap! I am wounded! I am hurt! Here I am, offering an olive branch of friendship, and you dare call it a trap!”

“A-huh.” Mickey crossed his arms, unimpressed. “So if we go into the men's chambers, your wife isn't going to be there to help outnumber me, and you two aren't going to threaten me into dropping out?”

It took five seconds for Grimwold to answer – Mickey counted. “...Nnnnooo.”

The prince rolled his eyes so far in his head he almost saw brain matter. These two almost weren't worth getting angry about. But Mickey thought this through – if he denied Grimwold now, maybe he'd do something worse in the prayer room, disrupting the whole thing for a temper tantrum and making this whole ordeal longer. If it was a trap, and it absolutely was, Mickey believed he could handle the Glooms very easily. His combat skills had improved immensely during his time on the ship, and what did they have? Bottles of acid he could dodge, and a stolen sword – he saw it on Grimwold's hip – that they didn't even know how to wield? Maybe once they were defeated, they'd shut up and leave Mickey alone.

With a regretful sigh, Mickey resumed walking. “Yeah, sure. Let's go and hear the offer.”

“Yes! Excellent!” Grimwold rubbed his hands, genuinely under the belief that Mickey had fallen for the asinine plot. “Right this way, my young friend!” It was only a hop, skip, and a jump to the chambers, and when they opened the doors, Mickey was totally and completely not surprised to see Hilda there, standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, bursting into evil laughter.

“Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly!” Hilda cackled, giving Grimwold a thumbs-up as he closed the door behind them. “You've fallen right into our trap!”

“Oh no,” Mickey said without a single trace of emotion. “A trap. I never would have guessed. Oh gee. Oh my.”

Grimwold frowned and looked over at his wife. “Honey, I don't think he's appreciating all the hard work we put into this plan!”

“Well, he'll care when we tell him the real reason we're here.”

Mickey could feel his temper rising again, and he rubbed one of his temples. “You two can have whatever prizes you want, okay? We just want the map! A map that's of no use to anyone else! So you win, hurray, good for you, can I leave now?”

“You're leaving all right,” said Hilda as she began to walk forward. “But with us... the Phantom Prince has big plans for you, Son of Scheherazade.”

Those two titles slammed down onto Mickey like falling bricks, and hearing them together by someone else's voice was such a shock that at first Mickey was sure it couldn't have happened. He knew his real name hadn't been used once, not once, and even if it had, no one else even knew what or who the Phantom Prince was. After all, wasn't it only a legend that a dying tribe passed along? “What... did you say?” His voice came out weaker than expected.

“You heard us, your highness.” Grimwold pushed Mickey from behind, making him stumble. “As if we need some cheap prizes to prove we're the best couple in the whole world... the Phantom Prince has promised us riches beyond our wildest imaginings if we bring you in! Do you have any idea how far his dark power reaches?”

“He's told us all we need to know,” Hilda added, leaving out the more truthful interpretation that they only knew what they had asked. “So if you don't want any more trouble, you'll be a good boy and come along with us quietly.”

So far they had only been right about a few things – Mickey had no idea how far the Phantom Prince's reach was, or how many minions he had around the world, lying in wait to capture him. How many were willing to sell him out for their own greed? How did they find Mickey in the first place and know to enter the contest? Was his mother being forced into using her All-Seeing-Eye? Was she being threatened into doing so? Tortured? Heat filled his head. “You two can't possibly think I'd just agree to be your prisoner!” He placed one foot back, and steadied his arms, remembering the vital lessons Horace and Clarabelle had taught him. “If it's a fight you want, that's exactly what you'll get!”

“Now why would we make such a mess.” Grimwold pulled out his sword, but made no threatening moves with it just yet. “When we can do this the easy way? Either you come with us now... or we can all head into the prayer room together... and Hilda and I will tell everyone who you really are!”

“Forget about just disqualification.” Hilda moved to stay by Grimwold's side, her heels pressing hard into the floor. “But what about your precious wife? Does she know the full story? Does she know where you came from?”

Mickey gawked – they knew who he was, but didn't realize Daisy's role was fake? It was laughable, and he almost did laugh, except – except there was someone who didn't know the full story. Someone who Mickey cared very deeply for. He could feel his arms trembling. She didn't know. She didn't have to know. She didn't have to be given the choice of love or hate, not yet, not today, that wasn't fair, they didn't have a right to say anything.

“I must say.” Grimwold smirked, rubbing his nose. “Fetching yourself a beauty like that is impressive... and it'll be amazing to see her reaction when she finds out her husband is the Child Born Of Blood.”

It's not fair. It's not fair. Mickey's heart was thumping hard, and his breath came in quickly through his nostrils. They couldn't say this. They didn't know anything. They didn't understand.

“In a way, we'd be doing her a favor.” Hilda nodded to herself. “After all, history does tend to repeat itself. We could be saving her life by telling her who you are. I bet you're just the exact image of your father... in every single way.”

Shut up.

It wasn't like that.

He didn't mean to. He lost control. He stopped. He learned.

Mickey wasn't like that. No he wasn't. He could never be like that.

They had no right THEY HAD NO RIGHT -

Grimwold approached Mickey, the sword out, but he didn't feel he'd really have to use it. “So, what's it going to be? A harmless get-a-way with us, or do we get to play storyteller to the love of your life?” He pointed the sword at Mickey's neck, right where the scar was -

He pointed the sword at Mickey's neck -

And suddenly – and suddenly -

And suddenly Mickey was four years old, a bright little child who was the apple of his parents' eyes. It took longer for him to learn how to walk and talk because his parents spoiled him endlessly. Mama was telling one of her stories even though Mickey could only grasp at a few concepts, and was paying more attention to the plush bear she was playing with, making it mime walking and talking. He giggled and clapped his hands, and Papa was trying to get in on the fun, tickling Mama until she shrieked with laughter. Papa loved Mama and Mama loved Papa, and Papa and Mama loved Mickey, and Mickey loved them.

But their good time was interrupted when one of the older servants entered the room, a kindly quiet maid whose hair was graying several years too early. An ambassador had arrived a whole day early, much to his parents' surprise. The maid offered to put Mickey down for his nap while they spoke with the ambassador, and she picked him up, cuddling him close. Mickey fussed about naptime, but she booped his nose with a wrinkled finger, and he laughed again. Mama and Papa left, but Mama was frowning, deep in thought.

The nice maid carried Mickey off to his room, telling him how lucky he was and how everyone loved the Son of Scheherazade. Mickey merely nodded, sucking his thumb. In his brightly colored room, she didn't put him down on the bed. Instead she knelt on the floor, and sat him down. “You love your Mama very much, don't you?”

Mickey smiled. “Love Mama!” he repeated with true enthusiasm.

The woman smiled back, but her smile was dark, secretive, something ugly brewing under the surface. “And you love your Papa very much, don't you?”

“Love Papa!” Mickey agreed, clapping his hands. Was this a new game?

“I had someone I loved once,” the maid said, reaching to grab something hidden in her dress. “But your Papa took her away from me. Your Papa took away so many people's loved ones.” Her sickly sweet voice began to hiss with strong acid, her pretty eyes swirling into a loathing that Mickey couldn't fathom. “But now your Papa gets to live happily ever after. And you get to make him happy. That doesn't seem fair, does it?” Mickey didn't answer, couldn't answer, he didn't understand what was being asked of him. “Why do you, the Child Born of Blood, get to live, when my sweet sister didn't? What great purpose do you serve in life? Why were you born?”

Mickey didn't know what was going on, but he did understand he was very afraid, and he wanted Mama and Papa. The woman then struck her hand onto his chest, pressing him down into the floor, and in her hand was a sharp knife, and she was hissing and crying, “He doesn't deserve to be happy! And you don't deserve to live!”

Mickey screamed even when the knife sliced into his neck, screamed as the hot blood gushed out of his skin, screamed as the doors burst open and his parents rushed in with the guards, screamed as his hysterical mother took him into her arms and yelled for someone to get a medicine man. But no matter how loudly he screamed, he could still hear the maid even as she was dragged away.

“IT'S NOT FAIR! HOW DARE YOU LIVE?! WHY DO YOU DESERVE TO LIVE?!”

No, it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault. Was not, was not, was not his fault, they couldn't do this to him, wasn't fair, wasn't his fault, they wouldn't do this to him, not, not, NOT, NOT, GOING TO DO THIS TO HIM, NOT AGAIN, NOT EVER EVER AGAIN!

~*~

The mirror competition was starting, and several couples had been eliminated. The process was kind of simple – the couple stood in front of two golden, rather plain-looking mirrors, and waited to see their reflection. If they saw their own face, they were booted out. If they saw their loved one – and the “right” loved one – they stayed. Minnie, Donald, and Daisy nervously waited in the pews, glancing at the door every so often to see if Mickey would run in late. Minnie's patience was wearing out, and she whispered to her friends, “What could possibly be taking him so long? I think we should try to find him.”

Donald nodded nervously. “Yeah, we're really cutting it close. 'Donna', can you use your All-Seeing-Eye to find out where he is?”

Daisy huffed. “Such nervous Nellies. Fine, fine, but if I catch him doing something embarrassing, that's on you.” She leaned back in her seat, concentrated...

… And then went very pale. “Oh. Oh, no.” Her voice was unusually hushed, a fear that Donald and Minnie had never seen before, had never thought Daisy was capable of. “By the gods... we...we have to stop him!” She was on her feet then, but her legs were weak, sickened by some display, breathing erratically, not caring if she was making a scene. “We have to find him, now!”

“Stop him?” Donald asked, trying to catch Daisy from falling. “Stop him from what?”

“JUST GO!” Daisy screeched, catching everyone's attention and not caring. “Find him, now!” She couldn't even make out what room it was, too horrified by what she was seeing.

Minnie backed up, and then began running, even as she heard Father Wander ask what was going on. It didn't occur to her to simply will herself to Mickey's side, because if Mickey was in danger, he'd call her with his lamp, wouldn't he? So, logically, he shouldn't be in any danger, right? Yes, surely this was one of Daisy's tricks – even if she truly looked like death itself. No, Mickey was all right, had to be all right. She checked every door she came across, calling for “Mortimer”, and then she found the men's chambers, and opened the door.

The first thing she saw was blood.

Blood splattered across the walls in small spurts, broken beds and destroyed drawers, the carpet was ripped, and the stench of blood was everywhere. Hilda was thrown in a corner, suffering from many sharp cuts, dark bruises on her pale skin, her ankle twisted if not outright broken. She was on her hip, crying out for her husband, begging someone to stop.

And there, in the middle of the room was... a monster that had taken the form of her master.

Grimwold was on his back, both eyes blackened, and unlike Hilda, there was no doubt his arm was broken – no, not just broken, it was as if every last bone had been shattered. He was also cut to ribbons, bleeding openly in many places, and he would have been excruciating pain if he wasn't unconscious. Yet despite having clearly been knocked out, the beast that was sitting on his chest was still punching his face, smashing out a tooth, a mangled snarl behind his lips.

Minnie could not even blink. She knew this was Mickey but it couldn't be Mickey, not sweet, gentle Mickey who wanted her freedom and embraced Donald at the height of danger. This was a nightmare and she'd wake up any second now. She felt a sting in her eyes, and her breath caught. Don't cry, don't cry, you absolutely mustn't cry, if you cry everything will get worse, it is the law of genies, you must not cry, even if what you're seeing is enough to drive you to the brink of utter despair. She could not find words, could not find strength, could not believe this was the Mickey who stammered her name and touched her hands with softness.

The creature spotted the sword which had been dropped during the brawl, and he reached for it, because wouldn't it be fitting? Grimwold wanted this stupid sword so badly, he could have it. He could have the thing driven into his heart, and then he would learn, oh he would learn. Then they would never come after Mickey again, they would leave him alone, and he held the sword high, they would leave him alone and his parents alone and everyone would just shut up and stop blaming him and -

“STOP IT, MASTER!”

The world.

Went.

Still.

Mickey's body stopped where it was, and he slowly, slowly, slowly lifted his head. There was Minnie, now in front of him, her hands clasped around the sword in a desperate attempt to stop him, her fingers sliced open in the process. And it was here that Mickey saw in her eyes, those deep gorgeous green eyes that gave him comfort in his dreams, he saw something just as terrible as hatred – fear. Fear of him, and what he had done, and what he could do – and it was then that Mickey understood just what he had been doing.

His eyes widened, taking in the room, finally hearing Hilda's retching sobs, feeling the man he almost murdered breathing underneath him. “No,” Mickey whispered, dropping the sword, hands falling at his side. “No,” he said again, knowing it was futile, tears filling his eyes. “No... I didn't mean...” What had he done? What was he about to do? He hadn't meant – he just wanted – what did he want? There was no justification here, this had been a foolish pair of humans who hadn't thought things through, there had been no need to do... this.

Mickey crawled off Grimwold's body, his vision blurry from tears. It wasn't too late, and he looked at Minnie – then couldn't bear to look at her again. She was afraid of him. She sat where she was, staring at him as if he was a new breed of animal that'd been hiding in the darkest of shadows. Her body trembled, one of her hands on her pounding heart, the blood on her fingers staining her clothes. She was clearly fighting not to cry, with staggering breaths and a choke in her throat. How could he explain things to her when he couldn't explain it himself? “I'm sorry,” he pleaded, to Hilda, to Grimwold, to Minnie. “I'm so sorry.” But sorry wouldn't make things better, wouldn't save the man bleeding on the floor. “I wish... I wish the Glooms were healed.”

Minnie raised her hand, and Mickey's scar glowed – a glittering rain of sparkles descended onto the humans, and with each touch of pixie dust their bruises faded, their wounds closed. The familiar pain struck both mice, making them heap forward to gasp for air, but it seemed so mildly insignificant now compared to what had been done to the Glooms. Hilda didn't care what was happening or why, scrambling to reach her husband and cradle him in her arms. She pressed her forehead to his, weeping openly, telling him that she loved him and she was going to take him home, and the Phantom Prince could find someone else to do his dirty work.

Mickey tried to stand and couldn't, but knew it wasn't just the wish draining his energy. Minnie's eyes were still upon him, her gaze like a cold dagger of ice right into his heart. He deserved it. Even with magic, there was no reset button to undo what he'd done. He needed to get away from here. “I wish... I wish we were in my room, on the ship.”

In another puff of pink smoke, Mickey was suddenly on his bed, startling his sleeping dog. The agony of two wishes, and the crash of adrenaline from the fight, made every muscle in his body burn in pain, his bones aching as if they were being pulled apart, and even breathing became a fight with hard, loud gasps. Mickey laid on his back as Pluto yipped in concern, only having enough power to move his eyes to try and find Minnie, maybe explain what had led to everything. He didn't see her body, but he saw her pink smoke entering the lamp, and understood she was there now, and would be there for some time, unable to stand the sight of him.

“I'm sorry.” Mickey felt himself crying again, and the self-loathing he had managed to bury for so long came back with a furious vengeance, eating at his soul. “I'm sorry...” Pluto climbed onto the bed, snuggling up to his master, wishing to comfort him somehow.

He could not blame her for her fear, and he was now afraid as well – afraid of the monster called Mickey.

~*~

Donald would have gone on to chase with Minnie, but he was so concerned with Daisy's well-being that he couldn't bring himself to let her go. He held her close as she trembled, stroking her hair and asking what was going on, and the other couples and servants gathered around, hoping the poor girl was all right. Daisy finally began to show signs of calming down, sighing in relief once she “saw” that the Glooms would be healed. “They're going to be okay...”

“Well and good, whoever they are,” Donald said, cupping Daisy's cheeks. “But what about you? Are you okay?” As much as he wanted to get to know the “real” her, he never wanted it to be like this.

Daisy at last seemed to realize Donald was there, and had been there for some time, comforting her as she broke down. “Didn't I tell you to go?”

“But... I couldn't just leave you like that.” Donald hoped he wasn't in for a lecture or teasing. “He's important to me, but so are you, so's everyone in the crew. No man left behind, right?”

Daisy blinked at him, perplexed, because she thought she understood Donald completely, which made him so easy to mess with. This was not what she thought he was capable of, and it was... charming, in a way. Silly, foolish, and not helpful, but... charming. That could lead to problems. Speaking of problems, they were still surrounded by everyone, and she cleared her throat to alert Donald about the situation.

Father Wander made his way through the crowd. “My goodness, what in the world is going on here? Why did Madeline run off like that? And what's with you two?”

Donald looked at Daisy, and Daisy looked at Donald. It looked like the jig was up. Daisy rolled her shoulders, and grew serious. “Father Wander, it's time you heard the truth.”

“The truth?!” Donald spat, startled. “You're choosing now, of all times, to speak the truth?!”

Father Wander frowned, leaning forward but still trying to believe the best of them. “And the truth is what, exactly?”

Daisy placed her hands together, begging for understanding. “We've been lying to you this whole time. I'm sorry... but we had no choice. We never meant to make a mockery of your blessed celebration. I don't dare ask your forgiveness.”

Donald ran a hand down his face, but if Daisy was going to spill the beans, he might as well go along with her. “I know it was a dumb thing to do, but if you'll hear us out, I'm sure you'll agree, we had to do it.”

Daisy took Donald's hand and squeezed it. “Yes, for you see, the truth is...Gladstone and I are the ones in love!”

“Yes, that's exactly-” Donald's brain caught up with his ears. “... Wait, what?”

Daisy was easily back in lying mode, slumping her body against Donald's and cuddling up to him. “Our cruel master, Mortimer, made us enter this contest so we could win those prizes! So he forced me to pretend to be his bride! But I can't hold it back anymore...Gladstone is the one I'll always love, and I don't care who knows! Nothing Mortimer can ever do to me will stop me from loving him! As long as we're together, I can endure anything!”

“...You're unbelievable.” And Donald did not mean this as a compliment. Come on, surely even Father Wander wouldn't fall for this – he was going to fall for it, wasn't he.

“That's...so...romantic!” Father Wander began to cry, in loud, heaping, overly dramatic sobs. “A forbidden love inside a forbidden love? It's too beautiful! It's exactly in the spirit of Rumansy!” He threw his arms around Donald and Daisy, hugging them tightly. “We have true love right here! I don't need to hear anything more, they deserve a prize for having to hide their precious love! Never hide it again, it must be shared with the whole wide world! Shout it from the rooftops! I'll do it myself if I have to!”

“Please don't,” Donald insisted.

“Well, we don't need much,” Daisy fluttered her eyelashes, upping her innocent act. “Buuut... my darling Gladstone enjoys collecting maps, so if we could have the Runner Up Prize, that would just make everything worth it!”

“Of course, of course!” Father Wander signaled to the servants. “Hurry up and get that map piece out of storage! Glad to get rid of the weird thing, anyway.” As he flagrantly ignored his own rules and regulations, the remaining couples couldn't help but think if entering this contest had been worth anything. Luckily for Father Wander, websites devoted to giving tourist location reviews had yet to be invented.

As the servants rushed to fetch the map, Donald whispered to Daisy. “Did you plan this since the start, or have you been making it up as you go along?”

“Fiddle-dee-dee. I'll never tell.”

Donald made an exasperated sound, but found it difficult to get really mad at her. He wondered why that was, and it was a long time before he let go of her hand. He didn't notice that she didn't let go of his for a long time either. Instead he focused on what he knew to be correct – everything had turned out all right.

Yes, everything was all right, wasn't it?

#disney #fanfic #the son of scheherazade #mickey mouse #minnie mouse #donald duck #daisy duck

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