I don't own Magi.

Chapter 9: Step by Step

I. Butterflies

The sight of her green eyes intrigued him. They were warm and kind, but could be cold and cruel. In the past, in the present and in the future, they'd never leave his memories.

Whenever she stood next to her father, talking to each other or watching him train, he was intimidated. The gaze of his teacher was as piercing and sharp as a dagger, striking exactly through his back and ready to aim for his pride and dignity. After a couple of days, Sinbad learned that he didn't care, Akhdir was ready to humiliate him if he wouldn't understand. He'd stare at his pupil with those green orbs, lift his chin and leave him behind.

His daughter was the exact opposite.

Whenever he was done for the day, laying on the ground, panting and sweating like a buffalo, she'd wait for him at the brink, smiling at him. She felt responsible for him, after all, she once told him. She knew how strict her father can be and that it's daunting for an outsider. She'd shrug, push him to the closest water source and let him wash up, so she wouldn't have to endure his smelly state during dinner.

Sinbad was only a man. He'd follow her advice, washed his clothes in the closest river and returned to the tent where he was allowed to stay. He'd accept dinner with a thankful sigh and dug in, ready to devour any kind of food. Sometimes, she'd retire to bed or stay on guard duty during night. But whenever she was helping other members of the Yambala, he'd catch her sprint between the tents and in the village, sometimes carrying all kinds of belongings, other times he saw her with one of the children on her shoulders, bouncing them. On the rarest occasion, he'd see her with her father talking outside. He couldn't resist the need to listen on them, listening to her voice and her playful tone. The gruff sounds of her father. They always spoke shortly, exchanging small conversation when she'd retire and went to bed.

He found it strange. He never saw them have a complete conversation yet.

Even during the times where the village changed its location after its individual period of time. They'd back up, move the carriages and even then, her father was walking at the front, his daughter in the middle. Normally, she was surrounded by children, chasing and pining for her attention, pulling on her skirts and her hands, trying to grab them and walk with her hand in hand. Various people tried to hold a conversation with him during that time, asking him after his adventures and his life. At the beginning, it was only a friendly conversation. But after two months of staying with the Yambalas, he felt a stare on his profile and when he searched for the source, he saw her green eyes on him.

Especially one time remained in his memory.

Everything seemed ordinary. He trained with Akhdir, was taught the way of Magoi Manipulation, and the next day, they'd change their location again. He packed up, helped the men with the tents and carriages and walked at the end of the group. This time, nobody asked for his attention and he simply walked behind all the Yambala. Until suddenly, he received a visitor.

"Excuse me?"

Sinbad was so absorbed in his thoughts and the silence that surrounded him, that he didn't hear the tiny footsteps of the young girl in front of him. Hosoya, the girl that was mostly responsible for the hair decoration of the warrior princess, looked at him with those big round eyes of her. Before he could utter a word, she reached for something, stretching out her hand with her palm upwards. She blinked rapidly, impatience written on her face.

"Huh?"

With a huff and pouted lips, she grabbed his hand and yanked him forward, pushing him out of his balance for a moment and pulling him into the mass of Yambala. With quick feet and a great agility for her age, they've managed to weave between the people, catching puzzled and surprised looks, filled with curiosity.

Her grip was firm, she wouldn't let him go at all costs.

When he looked upwards, he could already imagine what kind of destination this girl had. Flowers braided into her ponytail.

"Hosoya?" The brown haired warrior princess blinked at the pair when they reached her. And Hosoya repeated the motion, stretching her other hand for Layla's and grabbed it, holding it firmly.

What kind of picture they had to give at that moment.

Layla looked at him with those green eyes, surprise turning into an embarrassed smile. "Oh my..." She chuckled quietly, scratching her cheek. "This is kinda awkward..." She exchanged looks with him, glancing at the girl between them. "She always insists on grabbing a hand when we change location, but I didn't know she liked you so much, Sinbad."

The girl between them looked forward, tightening her hold on both their hands. Sinbad on her right side, Layla on her left.

Sinbad caught a glimpse of Layla's profile, when she looked forward. Her cheekbone, her bronze-skin, her beautiful eyes, and the flowers in the hem of her high ponytail.

She was ethereal. Excitement rushed through his veins, adrenaline pumping through his body.

She shot him a smile.

Something innocent. But it was enough to let the bolder roll.

II. Building

It just had to be fate. Or something else. But this couldn't be a coincidence.

Three months after beginning his training at the Yambala, he, Layla and a couple of other young people were sent for the next town to gather new supplies. So, when they reached the small town and fulfilled their task, both he and Layla were walking across the market and admiring all the different offers the merchants made. It was bustling, around lunchtime and while the most of them probably already returned to the carriage to bring back the supplies, Layla refused to go, strolling along the small businesses. Sinbad tagged along.

Clothes, jewelry, fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, even oil and decoration were proclaimed across the plaza. And while many were certainly interesting, Sinbad focused on probably the smallest business this market had to offer.

And old lady sitting at a fountain, a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

Layla was lost in her conversation with a merchant, so he silently approached the old woman.

"Excuse me?"

The woman lifted her head, her eyes squinted, a hood covering her head. Still, he saw her hollow cheeks and her bony fingers. "Ah, hello." She showed a toothy smile. "My, luck seems to favor me today. What a handsome young man." A quiet chuckle escaped her, followed by a heavy cough which ended as fast as it came. "How may I help you?"

"I've noticed the flowers in your hand." He motioned towards the bouquet. "And I was wondering if you would sell one of those flowers to this handsome man?"

Giggling into her hand, she let her bony shoulders fall and titled her head. "How could I say no to such a question?" Her eyes passed him by and her toothy smile brightened. "A present for a young lady?"

The smile, the green eyes, her kindness. Sinbad chuckled. "Indeed."

"She is a very lucky girl." She held out the flowers. "Pick one, whichever you like."

It was a difficult choice. Flowers in all forms and colors were presented to him. Some in full bloom, others hidden beneath their petals. The scent of the bouquet infiltrated his nostrils, a lovely mix of decent and strong.

His eyes fell on a white flower, partly closed, but still lovely. He pointed his index finger on it. "That one, please."

The woman chuckled while she plucked it from her hands and passed it to him. "My, she must be really special." But instead of looking at him, she found something interesting behind him and when Sinbad turned around, he saw the young warrior princess staring at him, confusion written on her features. She titled her head. "I can see the reason. She's charming." Her eyes twinkled. "You two are a fine match."

He grinned, feeling something akin to a blush climbing on his face. "Thank you." And when he started to reach for his money, she shook her head. "Take it, young man. When I see a happy young woman with a flower gifted to her by a handsome young man, it is enough payment for me." She freed the right hand from the flowers, rose it and made a fist. "Good luck to you, young man."

Sinbad nodded, thanked her again and returned to the young lady. "Sinbad?," she asked with puzzled expression, her eyes falling on the flower.

"For you."

Confusion befell her face, her beautiful features dominated by something unspoken. He wanted to see her smile, her eyes lighting up in joy. "Thank you." But instead, her voice was quiet. "It's a beautiful flower."

"What's wrong?"

"Huh?" She lifted her head, looked at him and suddenly, she waved her free hand in front of him. "Oh, please, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I love it, really. It's just..." She looked at the flower in her hand. "It's just that this flower was my mother's favorite and I had to think of her."

Of all possible flowers, he had to pick that one?

Fate was indeed cruel.

"It's the same flower she'd always put in between her clothes to let them smell like it." Softly, she brought the petals close to her nose, inhaled lightly and the smile on her lips tugged at his heart, pulling it down. "I haven't seen one in ages. My father detests them, so I dropped the search for some." Her shoulders fell and he could feel her agony. "Thank you, Sinbad. Truly."

She held it close to her chest, looked at him and smiled that smile which let his knees feel weak and suddenly, he knew what he was supposed to feel.

"It's beautiful." Rarely had he ever spoke words more true. "Like you."

Layla halted, looked at him. "I'm glad."

Nothing more needed to be said.

Sinbad looked over his shoulder to see the old lady sitting at the fountain and she nodded at him, and strangely, he felt relieved.

III. Assimilation

She leaned her head into his shoulder and it felt so right.

Although Sinbad could feel the alcohol's influence, he felt the warmth of her skin against his neck, the tickling of her hair and her steady breathing. He looked at her sleepy face, content and happy, put her hands around his arm and steadied her figure on his form. They sat side by side in front of the large fire, prepared for the wedding that occurred on this day. The bride and groom were already on their way to the next town, the majority of the Yambala already in their tents. Only the minority of the warriors was still up, but were lying on the ground, only slurring weird sentences or just downright snoring on the hard and uncomfortable earth.

Nobody would made a comment on their state. Even though many suspected that something was brewing between the two of them, to his teacher's great distaste. After all, the flower she brought home was pressed when she started to wither and she made a habit to put it between her clothes.

The scent of the flower, dust and the fire was mixed to a combo which would forever graved into his memory.

After a couple of minutes, filled with the crackling of fire and the light howling of the wind, he felt her head moving and was sure that she was standing up. But instead, her head glided over his shoulder, on to his chest and right above his heartbeat. His eyes widened lightly and he put his arms around her form.

It had to be uncomfortable sleeping like this.

Putting his cup of wine away, he stood up from this seat and moved her with him. Sitting on the dusty ground, he put her head on his chest and just looked at her sleeping form. The contentment, the silence, everything fit together like a puzzle. It felt like the only thing he needed to achieve.

Which was nonsense, but alcohol was known to swirl the thoughts of a man in very simple ways.

He stared at her brown hair, at the little flowers bound into the base of her ponytail. The deep red clashed with her dark hair. It looked soft.

Slowly, with reverent respect and tenderness, he caressed her locks slowly. He scratched her scalp, down the back of her head and repeated. Once, twice, three times, up to an eternity. He didn't keep count, just heard her soft humming. She fidgeted in his hold, curling like a fetus, pulling her legs close to her chest, resting her ear against his form.

He dreamed of doing this, but tucked his chances away when he saw the fearsome gaze of her father on him.

But he had already gone to bed, was nowhere in sight and he couldn't imagine that anyone would try to stop him.

To go further, he buried his nose into her hair and closed his own eyes. Fell asleep under the twinkling of stars and the dying flame in front of him. With this beautiful woman in his arms.

On the next morning, he was shaken awake by Tiz, another leader of the tribe. "Wake up, Sinbad. Your lesson with Akhdir starts in twenty minutes."

"Huh?" Deprived from sleep, he shook his head, felt the weight against his chest and looked at the mass of brown hair.

"She fell asleep yesterday." The youngest of the leaders shot him a smile. "I'm happy to see that you get along well." He inclined towards her with a nod. "Shall I bring her back so you can refresh yourself?"

"No, no..." He didn't want to get his chance whisked away. "I'll bring her back."

"I see, of course. If you want, you can bring her to my tent."

The hidden message was clear. Try your best not to get discovered by her father.

Sinbad nodded, put a hand under her knees and under her back, lifted her from his body and slowly stood up. She was warm against his chest and the scent infiltrated his nose once again.

"Thank you, Tiz."

"No problem. Go and hurry. You know Akhdir, he doesn't like it when you're late for your lesson."

If he finds out that the reason involved his only daughter, Sinbad would find out a new definition of hell.

He crossed the village, found the tent and lay her softly back to sleep again. With a sigh, he went back and started his lesson for the day with Akhdir.

Hours later, when sunset was already starting to show, he returned after washing his clothes and himself in the closest river. With wet hair, he felt shivers down his spine when the wind caressed his back and neck.

Sinbad rose his face and on the edge of the village, he saw the young Yambala standing there, looking into his direction. A smile spread on her face, she lifted her hand and beckoned him over.

"Thank you for last night." A light blush appeared on her cheeks, letting her skin glow. "I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable."

And Sinbad could only shake his head and grin. "Of course not. If you want, we can repeat this on another occasion."

Layla snorted, put a hand on her mouth and her eyes twinkled.

When they started to sleep regularly side by side, it was their best way to sleep in. Layla, curled in, her head on his chest, her knees drawn on her chest, his arms around her.

But on this day, both couldn't even forebode what was coming towards them.

IV. Honesty

Sinbad woke up with a weird feeling in his stomach. If he could, he would just lay on the other side and never get up.

It was one of those days.

And in the middle of the night, when he sat at the river with the young Yambala beside him, he realized it was truly one of these days.

"My mother was a noble of Reim." She pulled her knees towards her chest and placed her chin on them. "She was originally engaged to a young man. According to my father, his own family was on the downgrade and the marriage to my mother was the only way how they would keep their status." Her eyes fell on the moon and the stars above them. "She was obedient, and would never have hesitated to agree to the union of their houses."

A wry smile was formed on her lips. "But my father was around that time in Napolia and well, you see what happened. My mother ran away with him, left my grandparents behind and the engagement has been annulled. She joined the Yambalas, had my sister and me."

Sinbad looked at her, confusion and surprise dominating his features. "You have a sister?"

At the sight of her pain ridden eyes, he already knew the answer to an innocent question.

Agony filled her voice, her movements controlled by sorrow. "Had."

Past. Sinbad lowered his face.

"She died a couple of days after my mother. The healers were trying their best to keep her alive, but she didn't make it. The fire which killed my mother was also responsible for my sister's death." She inhaled and exhaled, trembling like leafs. "My father hates me. He hates me because I survived."

Everything she spoke after that resembled a river. She couldn't stop talking, telling him every detail – to him, a mere stranger who wouldn't have known her a year ago. She told him about the doubts, that she's not enough, that she's tied in shackles, that her only exit is a way to die. She wants to be free, but to this point, she doesn't know if that would be possible.

She obtained a djinn's power, a djinn of lighting, but she felt like a little girl. She had no idea, was clueless and foolish, and maybe her father was right. Her sister Mona was intelligent and smart, and from the very beginning, she seemed to be promising.

"I'm sure that you would have liked my sister."

The implication was silent.

He grabbed her shoulders, pulled her towards his chest and seconds later, she started to cry. Snot and tears were running over her face, hiccups echoing against his chest, her shoulders shaking and her fingers digging deeply into the fabric of his tunic. The stronger his hold of her became, the more did she pry her hands away from him to hide her face. She cried into her palms, making herself as small as possible. It felt like the opening of a dam and the deluge was approaching. Only time would make her calm, so he clung to her like she'd drown if he wouldn't keep her out of the water.

And while she talked, Sinbad didn't know what to say.

It was the beginning of Sinbad's disdain towards Akhdir.

Sinbad remembered his own father. A hero, who was declared a traitor, who saved him from a spy and did everything in his power to protect him. The scars that came from war, his bravery and courage, the love for his family, for his wife and son. He questioned war in its existence and Sinbad was assured, that his father was the greatest man he ever knew.

So, how was it possible for a father to let her feel this way? Layla, despite her smile and her kindness towards the people around her, was nothing but a small and uncertain girl, who doubted her place in this world.

She wanted to die. She thought that freedom could only be achieved through death. If her heart would stop beating, her chains would be ripped apart and she could breath for the first time in decades.

"My sister would have liked you."

Instead of being grateful for the child that survived, because of her mother's words, her father hated her. In the greatest need, he would leave her behind.

The coldness, the silence which felt pressuring, the mistrust of everything around him.

"Sinbad." Her hiccups were quiet now, small sniffles accompanied her voice. She let her hands fall to her lap. "Would you-"

"I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere." Just like so many nights before, he put his arms around her form and pulled her close to his chest. Layla made a still grunt of surprise, but he heard her shaking breath. "I'll stay with you. Let it all out."

Under the guidance of the moon and the stars, a bond was formed between the two of them.

Two days later, they kissed under the same moon, with a promise on their lips and their foreheads pressed together, their fingers intervened.

A couple of weeks later, under the same moon, they united in the most intimate way possible.

Nine months into his stay at the Yambala, she sat down next to him and pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "I love you, Sinbad."

One month before he departed, he asked her. "Wouldn't you consider coming with me?"

And Layla said yes.

V. Stability

Years after, the burning fire dimmed to a flame, but many things were discovered.

For example, Sinbad and Layla were a unit. If one was moving, the other would adjust, acting in sync and nobody would ever question this unity.

One day, King Sinbad of Sindria would wake up to an empty bed.

A yawn escaped him, sleep tugging on his eyelids and pulling them down. Putting a hand on his face, he considered dosing of for a couple of minutes until he had to return to his role as king.

The first rays of dawn fell into their chamber, but a small candle was lit. Sinbad looked over his shoulder and saw his lover sitting in front of her mirror, the little flame highlighting her features while she combed her long brown hair. Swaying her head from one side to the other, she seemed to hum a silent tune only she could hear.

Putting her comb down, Layla took the cascades of hair over her right shoulder and with quick and skilled fingers, she slowly turned it into a fine braid. Some strands were falling out, tickling her cheeks and with a sigh, she checked her face in the mirror and stood up.

Their eyes met and a smile spread upon her lips. "Good morning." Her bare feet tapped over the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. "When did you wake up?"

"Just a few moments ago." He folded his arms behind his head. "I didn't want to interrupt you."

"I'm doing this every morning. Even if you'd interrupt me, that wouldn't make a difference." Rolling her yes, she placed her arms on his sides and leaned down, kissed him fully on the lips and making them both hum into each other's mouth. "And for that, you can always interrupt me."

He grinned at her, snaking his hands around her waist and pulling her flush against him. "Is that so?" He kissed her on that one spot which made her putty under his fingers and mouths and grinned. "I will gladly take you up on that offer."

Hi. Long time no see.

Actually this chapter was supposed to be the announcement of their relationship to the Yambala, but the Internet can be distracting and an Inspiration, so this came out. This was inspired by the "5 stages of falling in love" by various Internet sources. I hope I did it justice.

I found myself once again in this deep addicting hole called Magi, so expect some other oneshots coming in the upcoming time. I won't do any Suggestion this time, but I'm always open to ideas. If someone has an idea, or even a Scenario, I can try to take it into account. Until then, I will start to write the next one.

Thank you for the upcoming favors and followers. And since someone asked in the Reviews, nobody has made any fan art of Layla yet.

Thank you for reading the chapter and I hope you enjoyed it. Till next time.