AHMAD ALI KHAN.

“Oh, it sounds dreadful.” Adelaide added with a soft, good natured chuckle - the mere thought of the heat made her pulse quicken. “Yes, I suppose staying hydrated is the only remedy to such things.” She lightly nodded. During summer, she would always carry enough water with her to satisfy a herd of horses, and it did help - most of the time. Humming lightly at the following words, Adda found herself nodding once more. Indeed, the familiarity was what they all missed the most. People were creatures, nay slaves, of habit and everything that stepped out of the usual, out of comfortable tended to make them paranoid or antsy; she herself was like that. “Indeed, you are right. I think that everyone here misses their habits - stepping out of the comfort zone does not bide well with people. We are all slaves to our own comfort, I believe.”

Jalal grinned up at Ahmad, leaning forward to set his pieces up. He had missed the company of those who would easily challenge him more than he had expected. While, of course, an Emperor needed to be bowed to, it got rather tiring to have no one question a single thing he said for the length of their journey. “My, my, what a bold statement. Are you so much improved that you think you can beat me? Had much practice?” 

He paused with one hand near one of his pawns—white, as always; he never played black—and hummed, lifting it back without touching the piece. “Whatever gave you that idea? Could it be all this dull grey stone?” he asked, laughing. “The mountains and rivers are pretty enough, but that is God’s creation. The people’s… I find lacking. But I have been here far shorter a period than you have. What are your thoughts?” He had been waiting to pick his vizier’s mind on the situation here, who the key players were on both sides of the alliance, what would aid their cause, and so on.

“there is a frenchman in particular who likes his games. let us see if i learned enough, hm?” ahmad looked at the pieces carefully, rolling strategies over in his mind as jalal spoke. he smiled, imagining his friend’s reaction upon arriving in the city. dull grey stone was fair enough. he tapped his finger on the edge of the board.  

“the people here are as varied as the mountains and rivers.” what did ahmad think of switzerland? his opinion was changing every day --- those who might be allies, those from the other side of the conflict who seemed to have as little stake in the war as hindustan, what they might gain and what they might lose. he was wary to say his half-formed opinions and focused on things he knew would interested akbar. “russia does not seem to be faring well. one of their princes found himself without a head.” he quickly added, “nagasani is safe, do not worry. she will remain safe.” 

“i wouldn’t be able to judge, would i?” the teasing remark slipped out quicker than intended as he watched the movements of the other: the cards were pretty to look at despite the inevitable damage through use. louis contemplated what the sultan’s cards looked like and how often he was gifted a new set which he would never use. in comparison to this, ahmad’s nostalgia seemed like yet another puzzle piece to fit into the ever-changing mosaic of the man’s character. the french prince smiled.

“i think they look quite fine. were they a gift to you?” the curiosity was not concealed as he spoke. louis found there was little need to hide or mask his intentions to understand different cultures better, especially the ones france had chosen to ally with. hindustan, the ottoman empire and china offered so many peculiar traditions he did not understand.

the laughter that followed came to the frenchman easily enough. the man’s charm lay in his relaxed nature and louis appreciated the nearly puerile quips that escaped him so easily. “i’d be faring a lot better if you let me win. my ego is deflating rapidly whenever i sit down for a match with you.” looking over his cards in curiosity, his questioning gaze soon met the other man’s. “and here i was, thinking the complete opposite. don’t you miss home, ahmad?”

“yes, they were a gift,” he answered. ahmad was not ashamed of his past; he wore his evolution as a point of pride for all of hindustan --- as the proof of the good of loyalty, of the good of akbar. ( if a serving boy could become grand vizier, any who served faithfully could become something more. ) but he had learned, more than once and by more than one hand, how difficult respect was to earn once lost. those of royalty trusted only those born of royalty. he brushed his thumb across his hand of cards, smiling fondly. “from one of my aunties.” 

it was near enough to the truth that ahmad did not feel bad about it; the woman in the kitchens had called herself his auntie enough times, had hugged him tight and kissed his cheeks enough times, that he almost believed it. the cards had been a parting gift when he had first left on akbar’s campaign. 

ahmad’s attention quickly fell back to the game. louis’s laughter was welcome and warm. if they were not already allied, ahmad would certainly want the man on his side. “we cannot have a deflated ego. i have heard that it is fatal for princes,” he teased. 

“elephant racing, sir, did i hear that right?!” the event sounds like something out of a kid’s worst nightmare but a cultural scholar such as antónio’s best dream. he has no way of picturing the situation, it being so foreign to him, but he’s nonetheless excited. perhaps it is the alcohol taking effect in him, but antónio isn’t completely against the idea of dancing the fandango with a man, of all people. a man from the opposite side of the war. that would give the courts something to talk about. “i shall then!” tonho downs with what is left of wine in his cup, and leads into the direction of the floor again, adjusting his posture. “i should put my hand on your side, sir, and you must do so on my shoulder, if that seems reasonable to you.” however drunken, he would make sure to let the other man know just how scandalous he was talking. two men dancing, close with one another, hand on waist - that would be an unforgettable tale of bellinzona in years to come.

“elephant racing!” he called in return, as if his exclamation explained everything. “it is louder than you think.” ahmad watched as the man downed his wine, quickly following suit. the additional liquid only made him that much more certain in his actions, gifting him a confidence that should only be reserved for kings and gods. ( besides, he would tell himself, he was a married man! why should anyone look at him and suspect this was anything more than a normal dance? it was not like they knew of ahmad in his youth, falling in love with anyone who smiled his way. ) he slipped his hand on the man’s shoulder and stepped closer. “and, please, call me ahmad. i am hardly a sir, now that we are to be so well acquainted.” 

“You must, sir!” António is a host at heart. He has the urge to make sure everyone feels welcome to come to him, be it in Lisboa or in the colony. Despite alliances and oppositions, Tonho holds no grudge to anyone in particular on the ‘other side’, specially not this very amicable man he has just met. In fact, he holds an incredible amount of curiosity towards the many countries allied with the Ottoman Empire, including the Empire itself. “Well, then I should pay Hindustan a visit as well. This festival you speak of, what is it about?” Genuine interest peeks through his voice. “All of the above, sir!” António is proud of his country’s culture, there is no masking it. “There is a new dance, I have learned from ladies in court - it is called the Fandango. You dance so close to your partner, I believe it is quite the scandal at the balls of Lisboa. I am eager to try it myself.”

“our own festival of spring is my favorite time of year --- it is full of such color, i have never seen anything as vibrant! there is singing, dancing, even elephant racing. i am convinced it is the largest party in the world.” and, he did not add, people rarely died at the festival, which was an important improvement to switzerland’s own. at the mention of the dance ( he was always eager for new dances ), ahmad lit up. already, it sounded different from anything that was happening around them. “perhaps it is time to cause a mild scandal then --- what is a wedding without one? if you lead, i am only too happy to follow.” 

few appreciated a sense of humour as much as the grand vizier of hindustan. richard’s smile widened into a grin at the reaction while he stifled his own laughter; this was something he’d always struggled with though ahmad didn’t seem to mind. “a good story would be nothing without an audience,” he bowed with a flourish, happy to see the other amused at the tale he’d told. nothing was more spectacular than that (even more so when it didn’t involve the haughty nobles). “i’ve no doubt of that. but maybe, we’ll settle for a visit first? i do have to investigate the competition!”

≠ — A chuckle threatened to escape her lips, but she kept them pursed, as to not let the Grand Vizier know how entertained she was by his antics. The brunette watched him curiously, a brow lightly raised. as Ahmad paced. His words caused the chuckle she had been so desperately holding in to escape, and she tossed her head back whilst doing so. “And here I thought the worst! Perhaps you were conspiring against someone, or someone had deeply offended you! But no, you were simply in want of a good enough partner!” 

Sofya shook her head in amusement and motioned towards the ground they were standing on. “Though we have no music, I am sure I can hum a tune that is melodic enough should you accept my offer of a dance.” It was unorthodox to dance outside unchaperoned with no music, but a surge of girlish silliness ebbed through her, and for once this evening, Sofya felt giddy. “I would hate to think you have gone the whole evening and event without so much as a good dance, if it is something I can attempt to provide.” 

if his expression had been a barely contained brightness before, her suggestion pulled his full joy right to the front. he felt young, he felt full of life! perhaps it would have been scandalous to another ( his wife, for example ), but he finally felt all the things one was supposed to feel at a wedding! in truth, it was like the quiet nights before he had title or the sultan’s friendship, when he would leave his work in the kitchens and have too much to drink with laughing strangers around him --- how they all sang, how they all danced! it was simple, and it was beautiful. and sofia reminded him so much of that --- that such a thing might exist here too.

after all, sofia may have been a princess, but that was not what impressed ahmad. 

“dear sofia, you are a brave and brilliant woman, and i believe you have saved the entire evening.” he started tapping his foot, as if he could already hear the beginning of her tune. he gave a small twirl and presented his hand to her with a flourish. “tsarevna, will you do me the honor of a dance?” 

her smile grew as her daughters danced and jumped around the grand vizer; nura and ruqayyah boasted the looks that belonged to their mother, vision of gulbadan’ youth themselves. they were lucky, for their younger sister - dear husna - already nurtured her father’ nose and chin ( she may have been blessed to travel with her firstborn, but she felt empty without her two youngest… she thought and prayed for husna who had just turned three, then to little habib who was heralded as the sultan’s son - held with pride within his father’s arms.. he would be looked after, of course. but gulbadan felt empty without his little body in her arms ). 

“they grow with each day,” she cooed, holding the dolls out for the girls to take; small hands receiving the gifts before they ran to check on the horses. it had been a tough journey for them, she was sure, but gulbadan found herself too tired to think on it, as she approached ahmad herself. 

“do not apologise, it is good to see you!” she announced, loud for the courtyard to hear as she held her hand out for him to take. 

what an oddity, to look to ahmad without her husband’s eye over her shoulder. this event, perhaps, would be the greatest of trials to her fidelity and loyalty. 

“it was a long journey, but we are here now. i hope to put the girls to sleep, but nura has become quite the rebel without the presence of mahal gulrukh… i have brought a tutor for the children, some foods and gifts to our hosts in the name of the sultan…” gulbadan mused, her eyes straying from his own; large brown eyes anxious to remain on his person as her daughters called her name. 

“how have you been, ahmad? have they been treating you well?”

she looked well, which relieved him. yes, he knew akbar favored her, that it was in the way the man spoke with such pride in his voice whenever he talked of her --- but, beyond that, she was too kind a woman to deserve the hardships of the road. ahmad took her hand, his thumb brushing the back of hers. he meant: you are not alone, i will keep you safe now. 

“you are most welcome here then. the courts will enjoy your presence.” he was certain of this, far more certain than he was in his own dealings with the other countries. why else would akbar send her? “besides, i am not sure how well-fitted i am to handle such issues alone.”

he paused, watching the girls buzz around their horses like eager flies. how strange it was, to feel more like himself now than he had in all the weeks past. his attention returned to gulbadan, to the steady intent that lived in her gaze.  

The scenery was beautiful, the other man was right. Arthur didn’t bother looking over towards the source of the voice, instead looking out into the distance. “I expect to wake up in Whitehall each morning, still.” While the concept of “homesickness” wasn’t something he was truly familiar with, as Arthur had spent a majority of his life between London and Edinburgh. “England,” he answers, the question, “And you?” He’s still not looked to his left, his eyes fixed on the horizon, or he probably would have already recognized the man next to him. 

open to all. 

location : the common grounds. 

   🌙 yuri was liking bellinzona more than he thought he would. without the presence of his wife & not needing to be with his family ( mostly dmitry and yekaterina, as he cherish the company of his dear sisters ) all the time, he felt free. if yuri were younger, he would love that freedom. he always felt like a caged bird within kremlim castle walls — especially when tsar ivan was still alive, and his iron gaze would follow yuri whenever he went. sometimes, he could still feel that gaze. it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. if he could, he would erase all the memories of his father from his mind. 

but the beauties of bellinzona didn’t escaped his eyes. he took a day off to be alone and venture in the city — a day where he wasn’t the tsarevich, the brother of the tsar. he was just yuri, a man that enjoyed the renaissance art. yuri felt like the young boy he was observing the painters doing their work — they remind him of the few artists in the russian court on his father reign. stepping out of an atelier, yuri spoke to the unfamiliar face who was near. ❝ it’s amazing how they can create life with a few brushes and ink. ❞

ahmad did not believe in coincidence; he believed in luck. what else could he call it that he should find himself here at the same time as the very man who had inadvertently caused so much turmoil in the inner courts of hindustan? what else could he call it that he should even recognize the tsarevich when it had been so long since the wedding? ahmad could not help himself --- he nearly snorted at the man’s words. he was left with a choice: he could try and fix the spurned relationship between man and bride, between country and country, or he could let it be. 

( since when had ahmad ever kept his mouth shut? ) 

“it always seems they are just uncovering the life that is already on the canvas. i marvel at their abilities --- and at all the truths they manage to reveal.” he turned toward the other man, drawing himself up to his full authority. “you are tsarevich yuri, aren’t you? i am grand vizier ahmad ali khan of hindustan. you married my wife’s sister and, from what i have heard, have managed to cause quite an upset. i am not certain if we should talk about it or if it would be better to simply enjoy a few drinks together and fight.”

Adelaide softly laughed at the question. “The cold? Oh, I love it. I find the heat to be much more unbearable to me. In fact, I am rather prone to faints during the summer, due to the intense heat.” She replied, an amused smile dancing on her lips. “How do you deal with the heat?” She retorted, but his following question made her purse her lips in thought. What did she miss the most? “The forests, I think. The deep, darkgreen hues of the evergreen woods. The shade the provide and the comfort which they invoke in me.” Adda’s smile softened at the thought, before countering; “What do you miss the most about your country?”

“perhaps it is best you never travel to my country then. we have as many deserts as jungles, and all trap heat in.” her question earned her a chuckle --- he supposed he had never thought of his own home as being anything other than favorable. “a fair question. we drink a lot. the secret is stay hydrated,” he teased. 

“i miss home. everything was more certain there.” it was a world of purpose, of black and white intent. faced with so many strange people and stranger customs, that could not be said anymore. everyone had their own purpose here, including himself. “freedom is --- messy, i suppose. confusing. i have much more power here, yet i do not always know what to do with it. if i feel freer in switzerland, i do not know what the cost of that freedom will be. and i am not sure if i trust it.”