Shoes Chapter Two

An Aladdin fanfiction.

Mozenrath finds himself in Aladdin's place after his latest toy shatters into millions of pieces. With no way back to how things were, he's stuck with the princess and the others, who all call him Aladdin.

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Chapter Two: Against the Flow

Mozenrath fought to squeeze through the swarm of people around him. He had to get away from the shop; from the word ‘forever’ that echoed in his mind.

Human flesh seemed to pack the marketplace, cutting off any escape. Conversations had merged into an almost inhuman droning, and did little to distract from the shopkeeper’s words. He shoved, even knocked a few people over, anything to get by. But every time he made it past one person, he would only crash into another. He pushed between several people, only to trip over a wheeled cart creeping across the street and spill its contents. He only half heard the shouts directed at him. On the other side of the cart were yet more people. He pushed past person after person, still moving even though it seemed he wasn’t making any progress.

However, a part of him began to realize that wasn’t the case. There was more and more time between bumping into people, and he was able to build up more speed between obstacles. The crowd was gradually thinning out. He was soon running freely: past the shops, past the people, past the wide streets. He skidded around corners, making split second decisions on which turns to take. The scenery changed to a blur of grubby alleys and crumbling buildings, and he kept running, as fast as he could.

He wanted to go home. To be in his dark citadel, away from everything and everyone. To be somewhere he knew.

But there was just street after street, like an endless golden-brown maze without an exit.

---

He was reduced to a slow walk when he returned to the palace. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him and didn’t even glance at the guards who wordlessly opened the gate for him without request. The palace hallways were empty and he saw no one as he pulled the cord that opened the secret entrance to the winding staircase. The dim tower had been the only place he could think of going. He sat down in a deeply shadowed area on the steps. The stinging cold of the stone went through his clothing, but he didn’t care. He leaned back against the cold wall and deeply inhaled the musty air.

He had nothing. He’d lost his magic, his citadel, his mamluks, his land, and even his own identity. He didn’t even know if the citadel still existed. This was just as bad as the Khartoum incident.

No, this was worse.

After his run-in with Khartoum, he’d lost his magic, and his citadel was in ruins. He had broken down in front of Aladdin. He hadn’t known Khartoum had only placed a temporary block on his magic. At the time, he thought the sorcerer had taken everything from him; now he knew there was more to lose than just those two things.

And there was his research. He’d lost that, too.

And Xerxes.

He stared at the central pillar, which supported the staircase. He needed to quit thinking about what he’d lost. The whole point of coming here was to get away from that. Away from people who would tell him things he didn’t want to hear.

And his magic collection.

He tried to take some comfort in the similarity of the staircase to the old stone rooms of his citadel. Though he infrequently visited those rooms, they had a calming quality. However, he couldn’t ignore the dull orange color of these unfamiliar stones.

They were so similar, yet so different. Orange instead of gray. Why was everything different? He moved his left hand into a nearby patch of light. The arm that had never been mangled by the gauntlet. It was different, too. It was the same, but it was different. A bit darker than it should be. His palm rougher than it should be. He couldn’t compare his right arm. It was too long since he had seen it. When he had seen his reflection earlier, his face had also been a shade darker than it should be, and he hadn’t seen the dark tint of his eyelids he had come to be used to seeing. Did the Shoes of Milouwen restore some of the life energy that the gauntlet had taken from him? Was that what it meant? They had given him back his right arm.

But it was still something he didn’t want. So the Shoes gave him something back, but that was still taking away what he had grown familiar with. All they did was take.

They had probably only given that back so he could better fit the role of Aladdin.

He stood abruptly, dusted off his pants - which weren’t actually his, despite being dark blue - and walked up to the lab. He opened the door, but remained in the doorway for a moment.

If he was completely honest with himself and ignored his pride, this lab probably was at least as good as his own, if not better.

Not that it mattered anymore. - He no longer had his lab.

It was a large room, with the wide bookcase by the door, and a set of stairs circling around the platform at the center of the room. There was a partial second level with a window, plus a wooden ladder leading to it. He had wanted to see what this lab had to offer, right? Looking through the books and collectables would give him something to do, and get his mind off things.

Not two minutes later, he found that he couldn’t get interested in the task. What good was it to look at this stuff if he couldn’t add it to his collection? It was pointless. Still, he walked up the steps to the platform. Judging from the dirty flasks and the hourglass sitting out, the lab had been abandoned shortly after an experiment. He walked over the arch that connected the platform with the second level of the room. There were storage pots lying around, but he wasn’t in the mood to see what was in them. He pouted as he turned away from them. He just wanted everything to be back to normal. He didn’t want anything to do with this warped life.

He began to walk past the window, located next to the ladder that would complete his circuit, but paused to look out. The window was on the front of the palace, looking out toward the city. It was so different from the Land of the Black Sand. The city was larger, and the whole thing was bathed in that golden color of the sand. Most of the buildings were square shaped with flat roofs, though there were also some domes and towers scattered throughout. He noticed one domed building that was a bit larger and had some decoration. He could tell that one was a mosque. He absently traced the golden spirals on its dome with his eyes.

Maybe God could save him from this life. He blinked at the random thought. Oh, right. God would want nothing to do with him, seeing as he was the villain who wanted to take over the seven deserts.

Well, not anymore. He stared hollowly at his bare right hand and turned away from the window. The glove that had, for so long, defined him was no longer there.

Now he was A-la-ddin. He sneered at the sarcastic thought.

It was obvious that coming here hadn’t gotten his mind off anything. Everything he saw just made him think of how it was different from what he was used to, and reminded him of what he no longer had. Orange adobe buildings and orange stone walls reminded him of the Land of the Black Sand’s gray, spell books and magical objects reminded him of his own collection. He was tired of it. But the only way he could get away from this, would be if he could just wake up from this ridiculous nightmare and go home. And that hadn’t happened yet.

He descended the ladder, and quickly made his way across the floor and out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He left the hidden rooms and walked through the hall with barely restrained steps. - He wasn’t going to make himself look like a fool by stomping through the halls. He was disgusted that the one place he had thought he could take refuge, had instead been anything but. The farther he got from that treacherous tower, the better.

The end of one hallway became the beginning of another, and yet another. He slowed as he realized he didn’t have any destination in mind. He was running again, wasn’t he? But he didn’t know what else to do. At least when moving, there was nothing to focus on. The scenery was always changing. It didn’t matter how different anything was from his citadel or anything else, because he was only passing by. The thoughts he had had at that shoddy shop, or within the tower, they couldn’t catch up with him if he kept moving. He wouldn’t let himself keep thinking along that path, couldn’t let himself completely give up and accept everything.

He was startled by a sound coming from the left. The halls had been empty, inviting him to walk them without being bothered, but now he could hear a voice. He slowed as he approached that particular room, and saw Aladdin’s friends within it. Thankfully none of them were looking his direction. He should have known he would eventually see them if he walked around the palace. Perhaps he could make it past the doorway before they noticed him and wanted to take him vest shopping.

“Aladdin!”

Apparently not. He started walking faster.

He felt a hand circle around his arm from behind, and he tensed as he stopped walking.

“Aladdin, what’s wrong?” It was the princess.

Mozenrath slowly turned to face her, absently noticing her concerned frown. “ ‘What’s wrong’?” he repeated. He laughed, suddenly finding it a bit funny. She was inviting him to tell her what was wrong? After he had been trying to tell them without success, now they simply ask him? No. He had already told them! He had told them several times! “What is wrong, princess, is you calling me by that name!”

She seemed to completely ignore him. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, still hanging onto his arm to keep him from leaving. “We might be able to help if you tell us why you’re upset.”

Definitely something keeping them from hearing him. He wrenched his arm out of her grasp. “I don’t want to be around you! Be a good little princess and go play with your hair or something.”

That seemed to get through to her, since she put her hands on her hips, puckered her mouth, and gave him a good glare. But alas, it lasted only a second. Her expression turned to one of surprise and she gave a little gasp. “Oh no!” She paled as she looked at him with wide eyes. “This is about the money, isn’t it?”

Mozenrath drew a blank. “What money?” Oh, wait, no. Don’t ask them questions! That would just cause them to talk more!

“It wasn’t a handout - you’ve been stopping so many attacks against Agrabah lately, Father just wanted to reward you for a job well done. Truly, it was only-”

He quit listening. He had no idea what she was going on about and he didn’t really care. “This has nothing to do with that!” Forget whatever kept them from acknowledging he wasn’t Aladdin - he’d make them realize it! “This has to do with everyone thinking I’m the filthy street rat!” he shouted. He could now see the genie and pets peeking through the doorway at them. “I don’t want you hanging out with me. I don’t need all of you being nice to me. Thinking I’m needy little Aladdin. I’m not! I’m not Aladdin!” He made a slashing gesture for emphasis.

The princess tucked her arms in close to her body, taking a hesitant step back and looking at him with a hurt expression. “Aladdin, I...”

“Stop it! I don’t even want to be here. I want everything to go back to the way it was and I want to go home!”

Mozenrath waited. One more ‘Aladdin’ and he was walking out of the palace, with or without the princess and the rest of the sidekicks hanging from his limbs.

“Okay, the kid’s gone crazy,” the bird announced, though was ignored by everyone.

The genie hovered farther into the hall. There was something about the motion that drew Mozenrath’s attention. He was currently in his true genie form, with the transparent tail. His head was down and he seemed to move unnaturally slow. “Is that what you really want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. It still seemed loud in the otherwise silent hallway. There was no hint of a smile as his gaze drifted up to Mozenrath. For once, he was neither comical, nor loud and showy. He seemed to radiate some kind of hurt or sad feeling, maybe disappointment, maybe reluctance. “I don’t approve of your actions... but, I can take you home.” He extended a large blue hand. The three fingers and thumb were outstretched, with the palm facing up.

The genie didn’t move from that position. - He was waiting patiently for an answer.

Mozenrath’s eyes slowly widened. Did he actually get through to them? He hadn’t expected anything to happen - not really. Maybe he did just need to convince them. Or maybe the genie was never affected in the first place. But even then, he had made the genie comply. He could wake up. Have everything back to normal.

He started to take a step forward.

And then he was gone.

---

Mozenrath found himself standing in a dim room. A few large, blue curtains hung from the ceiling, while smaller ones most likely covered windows. However, nothing could hide the flaking plaster on the walls. There were pots in the corner to the left, most of them either cracked or broken, as well as a few other items that didn’t look usable. In front of him, three room-length steps led up to one of the largest curtains, which hung from wall to wall. A blue rug, lined with red and gold, had been laid over the right side of the steps, along with several cushions.

At first, he didn’t know why the place seemed familiar, but then recognized it as the same dilapidated hovel he had tracked Aladdin to after their first meeting. He spun around, yelling, “This is not-!”

But all he saw behind him was fading blue smoke.

He yelled into the empty hovel until he ran out of breath and had to stop to breathe. He swung to his left, toward the right wall. He used both hands to rake objects from one of the wooden shelves anchored to the wall. The earthen containers smashed onto the stone floor. He did the same to the shelf below it. “No; no; no!” He was supposed to be in his citadel, not Aladdin’s condemned hovel! That worthless genie tricked him! He turned his attention to the nearby pillows, kicking them across the room. Some landed in the middle of the floor, while others traveled far enough to bounce off a wall before settling, feathers leaking from the seams. Having run out of objects where he was, he made his way to the left side of the room, savoring the crunching sound of pottery and glass under his boots. He took the long way around, down a fourth step that was set apart from the other three, to kick some of the pillows a second time. Once at the desired pile of junk, he tossed broken pots and rolls of fabric across the floor. He grabbed the edge of the small blue curtain that hung above that corner, tearing the fabric to expose a boarded up window. He tore down another curtain that covered a similar window. He jerked on one of the large curtains hanging from the ceiling, tugging harder when it didn’t budge. The whole thing came down at once, a wooden beam with it, along with some of the ceiling. He frowned as he pushed a hand through his hair to remove some of the grit that had rained down on him, but didn’t let it stop him. He pulled down another large curtain, and then marched back up the steps, through the mess he’d made, to grab the one that covered the front wall. He started to pull, but it slid open. He didn’t notice as his hand faltered and fell away from the fabric.

Through the gaping hole, off-white towers and golden domes gleamed in the sun, standing out from everything else. The sun had started to set and the towers were tinged with red, while the domes reflected the color brilliantly. Agrabah’s palace... One of seven he had dreamed of taking over as Mozenrath, the lord of the Black Sand. He was going to take over all seven deserts and their respective palaces, and everyone would know Mozenrath was the one to achieve it, that Mozenrath was the most powerful sorcerer of this age. Everyone would know...

His legs started to give out and he let himself slide down against the remains of the old wall, resting on the ledge as he stared off toward the palace.

If people thought he was Aladdin, they wouldn’t attribute any accomplishments to Mozenrath.

It was no longer possible. None of his dreams were possible.