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scarletraven1001 · 5 years

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Chained

Summary: He was a prisoner behind the palace gates. She was the hostage of a mired society. Together, they find the will to escape their fates, and the strength to break their chains.

An Aladdin AU. Inspired by this beautiful NovAUmber art of @rutbisbe.

Rated M.

Also on Ao3.

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Note: Hey, look who’s got another new story! While still writing so many others! LOL!

Forgive me. I couldn’t help it. The art was too good. The premise was so beautiful. My heart and soul were screaming for me to write this. And now, here we are!

I do hope you all enjoy this!

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Chapter 1: The Escape

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Run.

That one word was at the forefront of his mind, while his feet carried him manically, rapidly and euphorically away from the only home he had ever known.

His perpetual prison...

The Palace of Kuldahbar…

Sweat dripped down his temple, but not from the exertion, no, never from the exertion.

He was a machine, a boundless source of power and energy, and it was this unique anomaly in his physiology that had led him to such a life.

Run.

The gates were in his sight, for the first time since he could remember. The golden turrets teased him mercilessly, taunting him with how they seemed so close, he could just reach out and-

A sudden rustling in the trees a few feet away sent his senses into overdrive, and he panicked, tripping over his own legs in his haste, plummeting face-first onto a copse of bushes.

He caught himself mid-fall, his palm pushing against the grass to launch him into a perfect somersault, his trim body spinning in the air until his feet met the ground once more.

Run!

They could find out about his escape any minute now, and he was so close, so, so close…

The gates were just a few feet away…

RUN!

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“Go to hell, you asshole. This couldn’t possibly be worth more than two zenals!”

Bulma huffed as she held a small loaf of bread in her hand, and she glared once more at the greedy baker who clearly wanted more than just money from her in exchange for a tiny bit of food.

“It is eight zenals, pretty girl. Take it or leave it,” he said, holding his hand out for the bread that he knew she would not be able to afford.

With a growl, she almost threw the bread back at him, and as she turned around, she could still feel the man’s beady eyes on her, watching her as she walked stiffly away.

She raised her hands to her head to adjust her hijab, the long shawl that hid her hair as was customary in Kuldahbar, making sure that not a single blue strand was hanging out.

Her blue eyes scanned her surroundings, desperate to find a woman selling wares, but unfortunately, the Grand Bazaar was a man’s world, and all she got were leering stares and catcalls as she frustratedly made her way through the streets.

She hated this place.

How she dreamed of someday leaving the thick walls of Kuldahbar, so she could find a better life for herself.

Bulma knew that she could be so much more than this, a street rat who lived in an abandoned tower on the eastern side of the city.

She sighed to herself as she saw her only companion, her cat, Scratch, make her way towards her, head tilted in question.

“Sorry, girl,” Bulma whispered as she leaned down so that the black feline can climb unto her shoulder. “I don’t have anything today. Looks like we’ll just have to find food through tougher means.”

Scratch simply meowed at her, and Bulma sighed again.

Her melancholy followed her all the way home, to the tall but haphazardly constructed building that stood alone on the top of a small hill. It was the remains of a shop destroyed by a fire, abandoned by its owners in the belief that the spot was inauspicious, causing them bad luck.

Their bad luck, was Bulma’s fortune.

She had claimed one of the top-most rooms, four floors up, and as she parted the flimsy curtains that served as her entrance to her extremely humble abode, she looked around at her belongings, all bits and pieces of things that she had found strewn around town.

Her bed was a cushion stuffed with cotton from discarded pillows, with blankets stitched together from random quilts that she had salvaged from other people’s garbage. She had two chairs that she had hammered together from excess wood from a nearby construction, hacked together with nails that she had literally picked up from a warehouse.

Her favorite part though, was the raised bit of concrete that were the remains of what seemed like a counter, which overlooked a large gap in a wall, giving her a clear view of the entire city.

At the very end of the horizon, stood The Grand Palace.

She smiled wistfully as she looked at the gorgeous structure, with its pristine white walls and sharply angled roofs. The intricate detailing on the edges of the gates called out to her, and not for the first time, Bulma wished that she had been born into a more prosperous life.

It would have been wonderful to be a princess, living in such splendor, with servants and guards at her beck and call, and a beautiful, soft bed that was made out of fresh feathers and silk.

Pulling her legs closer to herself, she leaned back, simply staring at the view.

“Someday,” she vowed. “Someday, my life will be different.”

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It was another day in the marketplace, and Bulma was irritated.

She was trying so, so hard to make an honest living. But how was she supposed to make any progress when she was surrounded by crooks?

Granted, their Sultan was a horrible ruler, and his corruption trickled fluidly down into the very edges of society, so everybody in the horrible hellhole of Kuldahbar was a willing accomplice.

She was hungry, and Scratch was hungry, and they needed food.

The only option left was to steal it.

“Alright Scratch. Just like we practiced. Now, go,” she pushed the cat, and as she watched the small creature distract the shopkeeper, Bulma leaned down from her perch on top of a small wooden cart.

She had a small gadget that acted as extenders for grasping objects, and she used the scissor-like mechanism to reach forward, quickly swiping a loaf of bread and a piece of dried fish while the owner was angrily shooing her persistent pet.

After she had her items, she jumped off the cart, running quickly to crouch into a concealed corner, heart beating loudly at the adrenaline, even while she rejoiced at the fact that she finally had food again.

Bulma glanced back, and saw Scratch completely acing her ‘performance’.

She giggled. The black fur ball didn’t seem to realize that the show was over.

She pursed her lips, emitting a soft huff that only her cat could hear. This was their signal, and with that, Scratch happily moved, running back into their agreed-upon hiding place.

“Good girl!” Bulma greeted, and she happily ruffled the black fur below her cat’s chin.

She moved to put her stolen food into a small bag she had at her side, placing it beside an apple that she had lifted from another cart earlier.

Patting the dust off of her worn pants, she stood, and she was about to walk away when she heard the commotion.

“Thief!” she heard a deep voice yell, and panicked that she had been found, her wide blue eyes searched her surroundings for the expected angry shopkeeper.

Yet, there was no one threatening to bludgeon her for her theft, and now that she really thought about it, the screaming was a bit too far from her current hiding place.

Curious, Bulma peeked out from behind the wooden panels that hid her from view, brushing back the hair that had slipped out of her hijab.

What she found both amused and surprised her.

A man of slightly below average height was struggling cautiously against the owner of a nearby fruit stall. By his actions, it seemed as if he wasn’t even sure what to do, as he seemed hesitant, more confused than actually afraid of the humongous man who held him by the arm, a large sword poised threateningly over his covered head.

He had his back to her, but from what Bulma could see, he was dressed in rather fine clothes. His head cover was of what looked to be satin, and he wore a dark cloak that was trimmed in strips of golden silk. He had shiny metal bands around his arms, and his thin slippers were of fine leather.

“He’s a thief?” she muttered, watching as his head cover fell off his head, pooling around his broad shoulders in the struggle.

His hair was dark, swept up into the shape of furious flames, and his skin was a smooth caramel.

He turned her way slightly, and she gasped.

He had naturally-narrowed eyes that were open widely in his confusion, and plump lips the color of ripe peaches. His face was beautifully-angled, with a sharp jaw that led down into a strong chin.

“Wow,” she breathed, transfixed.

That was one fine looking man.

She snapped out of her staring, however, when she noticed that the hulking shop owner had lifted the sword, about to take a swing that would surely sever the man’s arm.

Without another thought, Bulma leapt into action.

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It was all too much.

The smells, the sights, the utter chaos was beautiful, and he took in a deep breath, uncaring as his sensitive nose was painfully-assaulted by the mixture of sweat, spices and freshly-made food.

So this was what a street market was like!

He looked around at all the people hawking their wares, men of different shapes and sizes, selling fruit, jewelry, small metal gadgets, wooden spoons and earthen pots.

It was maddening!

He picked up the sharp scent of pepper and curry, the gentle aroma of white and green teas, the mouthwatering smell of sugar wafting from a nearby table filled with tiny cakes and bread.

He turned around, pulling his cloak tighter against himself as he listened to the clanking of metal pans, the arguments and haggling of people, the twittering of birds and the sound of horse hooves a short distance away.

The colorful rugs arrested his attention, and he moved closer to a particularly attractive one, a blue carpet with various colorful threads weaving into the tapestry, and golden bits of string hanging out of each corner.

It was only that morning, as he finally looked up into skies that were unobstructed by domed ceilings, that he realized how glorious the color blue truly was.

It was all so utterly confounding, but he was elated, overjoyed to be in the midst of all the uncontrolled disorder.

He moved past the carpets, and gazed confusedly at a pile of rounded fruits in different shades of orange, red and yellow. Were those all apples?

He was pulled from his wonderings when, in the midst of all the scents that were assailing him from all angles, a sudden whiff of something… strangely alluring… brushed past his nose.

It was a seductive mix of jasmine and springtime, of unmistakable beauty and strength, and he stiffened when every part of him went on high alert, his heart pounding in his ears.

He looked up, sniffing eagerly at the air, trying to determine the source of the incredible scent.

Up… up… up…

When the source of the scent became clear, his hawk-like eyes zeroed in on the roof of a small cart, a barely noticeable little structure that was due to collapse at any second.

A small black creature jumped out, but before he could follow it with his gaze, he spied a thin tool made of what looked like wood and worn metal begin to peak out, and, amused, he watched as the pincer-like edges caught onto a brown loaf of bread before quickly retracting.

It slipped out again, only to grab onto a small piece of fish, and a small smirk tugged at the sides of his lips when the person operating the gadget straightened, revealing a small head wrapped in cloth, followed by slender shoulders cloaked in a very worn-out brown vest.

A soft gust of wind blew past, making the cloth on the person’s head flutter, pulling with it a thick lock of silky, blue hair.

Blue hair…

The person turned, and his breath caught in his throat, the sight stunning him into motionlessness for the short second that it took for the person to jump off the roof and into the shadows below.

For the crafty person was a woman; a breathtaking woman, with wide, clear blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and plump lips pulled up into a grin, looking softer than the silk that he wore on his shoulders.

He stood on tip-toes, trying in vain to see where she had gone, and it was as he was desperately trying to find her with his gaze that a small boy moved beside him, apparently reaching for one of the small fruits.

Distractedly, he reached down, picked up a fruit, and handed it to the boy, who then took off with barely a glance back at him.

He took a step forward, intending to find the woman, but a heavy, large hand took hold of his arm, pulling him out of his daze.

“Oi, little man,” a gruff, angry voice said, making him turn to face the source.

A man who looked at least twice his size loomed over him, holding tightly onto his arm, close to the metal cuffs on his wrist.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You gave my fruit away. I expect payment,” the man said, and he noticed that the man had reached down, apparently trying to grab something hidden beneath his fruits.

He was confused. “Payment?”

“Ha!” the man cried. “Thief!”

He noticed several heads turn towards them, and a few gasps were heard from the surrounding patrons when the man pulled out a large, curved sword.

Confused, he tried to pull his arm back, but the man held tightly, lifting his other hand to raise his sword threateningly over his head.

He tried to pull back again, this time with a bit more force, and the movement made the cloth covering his head loosen, falling to pool around his shoulders.

With wide eyes, he took in the man who was turning redder by the second, who was screaming different variations of the word ‘thief’ at him, and he snapped out of his shocked confusion when he realized that the man was about to bring his sword down onto his exposed arm.

It took barely a second for his defenses to rise, as he felt his ki unfurl from within his chest, his spark of anger making the energy from inside him begin to burst forth.

His free hand began to gather up power, and he knew that this man was about to die.

“Wait!”a small voice called, halting both him and the large man, as both turned around to find who had spoken.

He felt his eyes widen, the ki in his hand dissipating into thin air.

It was the girl, the one with the blue hair and eyes, but now she stood with her hair fully-concealed, a sheepish grin curving her pink lips.

“Mister, thank you so much for finding my husband!” she cried, pulling on his free arm with surprising strength.

The large man seemed surprised too, as he let go of his arm, dropping the sword to the ground.

He recovered a second later, big eyes red with fury. “Woman, your husband is a thief! He stole my fruit!”

“Oh, he did! I am so sorry!” she cried.

Then, turning to him, she lifted a slender hand up to slap softly at his arm. “Habibi. Apologize!”

“What?” he asked, confounded.

The girl then turned back to the man. “He just got back from being a war hostage, see. He is very confused. Please forgive him!”

“But…”

“Here,” she began, as she dug into her bag, pulling out another red fruit. “Please take this as compensation. I will keep him away from your store from now on.”

The large man begrudgingly took the fruit, and with a grin, the woman grabbed his arm and began to pull him from the store and away from the prying eyes of the people surrounding them.

Completely confused now, he followed dumbly, and when they were finally out of sight of everyone else, she let out a relieved breath, releasing her hold on his arm.

“Wow. That was close,” she said, before she turned around and lifted her gaze up to his.

Her smile was so bright that it could have blinded him, but he soaked it up, stunned by the naughty sparkle that he spied in her eyes' blue depths.

“Hey. The next time you decide to steal something from the Grand Bazaar, at least make sure you don’t get caught, alright?” she said.

He just nodded, jumping slightly when something soft and fuzzy brushed across his foot.

“Here, Scratch!” she called, motioning for the small creature to stay beside her.

He looked up at her again, mouth gaping, as he tried to find his voice.

“Umm… thank you,” he finally managed, and he watched as the woman’s smile widened.

“You’re welcome,” she answered, before she held out a hand to him. “The name’s Bulma, by the way. And you are?”

He stared at her hand, and slowly, hesitantly reached out to hold it in his much larger grip.

Something akin to lightning rushed through his veins as he touched her, and with a gulp, he stared into her eyes, strangely finding the will to speak as he took in the mesmerizing shimmer of her gaze.

“My name,” he started. “My name is Vegeta.”

She giggled. “Nice to meet you, Vegeta.”

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To be continued…

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