In A Different Timeline, a Very, Very, Very, Long Time Ago

Many years ago, when Menes fled Alexandria after its fire and the strange massacres that followed after, he brought his grandson with him, and whatever valuables he could fit onto a boat.

He took it upon himself to make a new life for the both of them in the center of the world at the time, Constantinopolis . Plenty of money was to be made there, the perfect place to start over. With the large influx of valuables and gold his son-in-law left before his and his daughter, Ibis’s disappearance, Menes knew that they would be fine.

Shaken but fine.

When they set sail for the capital of the Roman Empire, he held his grandson close, making sure that he would not lose any more family, that he would do a better job as a parent than he was with Ibis. He stared into his grandson’s eyes, and saw the possibilities for him, as he was, after all, the magician's son.

He knew Aelius would grow up to be something that he could never dream of.

Menes was right but not in the way he expected.

In the small palace of the Egyptian quarter of town, lived Menes, his grandson, and their servants. It had a courtyard, with a small statue of a bird, an ibis, to remind him of his daughter.

The home itself had a cistern, connected to the neighborhood’s well, separate from the bottom part of the house, furthest from the filthy smells and squalor of the street. The bottom of the house was stone, but the second floor and roof was wood, hastily made. The outside was ugly, but the inside held all the fine items they could ever dream of.

In this house, Menes worried about his grandson, who never spoke.

Menes was sitting in the courtyard, on a red wooden bench, lost deep in thought and drinking wine, when five-year old Aelius ran outside, shirtless, barefoot, running in loose purple pants, the rarest of dyes.

“Stop that! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find that color,” Menes huffed.

Aelius stopped, scratched his chest and shrugged.

“No, I don’t,” he rasped. “How hard is it?”

Menes was in awe. Completely assured that his grandson was slow, he had given up any plans for education later in his life, and now, on this day, he could speak.

“You can speak,” Menes said in amazement. “How? Why now?”

“I wanted to know something.”

Years of visiting doctors, shamans, churchs, mosques, synagogues, to get Aelius to speak, and that was the reason why he was quiet. He just didn’t feel like it yet.

Stupefied, Menes said nothing, and Aelius spoke again.

“Sorry.”

He ran off and Menes drank more wine, hoping that he wouldn’t be strange like his father. Again, Menes fears were abated once he educated his grandson with the best schooling, the best clothing, treating him as if he were his own son.

As he aged, Aelius proved he was extremely intelligent, spending as much as he could, creating his own personal library, always asking questions, his need to know everything fueling his life.

Menes was filled with joy whenever introducing him to proper society, and when it came time to find a wife, he found it odd that Aelius didn’t seem to care.

In the morning, always wearing new clothes, rings, and fragrances, he went to the market to find more new clothes, rings, perfumes, and books. The grand arches holding up the apartment style homes on top of the bazaar enthralled him, and his latest quest was finding a book on the history of architecture.

He ignored all women, from the prostitutes, the ladies of similar standing who frequently spoke of how they would love to come visit his personal library, or anyone really if they didn’t sell what he was looking for.

Menes was furious when he returned with more books to take up more space instead of a woman. He found him surrounded by more books in a large room dedicated to them, lining the walls. A few he had stolen, which angered Menes even more, and he lost his temper.

“Do you want to be alone forever!? What will you do when I am gone, with no family?”

“Well, I don’t...know.”

Aelius didn’t like not knowing things. He despaired over it, the idea of being completely alone. He didn’t necessarily care for people, he just wanted to be around them in smaller quantities, the smells and amount of people in Constantinopolis suffocating.

“I’ll find someone,” Aelius reassured Menes.

Menes didn’t trust him, because Aelius was not socially adept enough to make his way through normal conversation, and worried that upon his death, an evil woman would come along, marry him, and he would die, under mysterious circumstances.

Just like his daughter.

“Don’t worry about it,” Menes said, softening his tone.

He would take care of it.

Aelius was very aware that his father was attempting to help in the best way that he could, but he was still confused as to how he went about it.

Menes took him to visit a distant relative of some noble whom he was friends with and told Aelius, he is just like you, you’ll be great together! There was a party— he didn’t know what it was about— and assumed that it was another social situation, with too many people, and more women that would bore him.

The party was held in a courtyard, filled to the brim with roses, and upon that day he told himself he would have one that rivaled it. Every grand part of the home made him feel small, the outside of it painted, not halfway done such as his home, and suddenly, for the first time in his life, he wanted something other than knowledge.

The guests played polo, drank wine, water with fruit inside of it, and made small talk while he felt horribly underdressed with his older clothes. He did not think it would be that important of a party, accustomed to being the most important person in sight, especially at the bazaar. He had not made his daily stroll of extravagance, but no one thought his clothes were bad except for himself.

No one spoke to him, it was dreadful, up until the young owner of the house, Hayri, came to welcome him to his home. He too had a taste for finer things such as collecting for the sake of it, and had many parties to show it all off.

Hayri had short black hair, a small hat, red and gold, and loose garments. It was held together by a belt, its silver buckle, and red shoes to match his hat as well.

Aelius was delighted for someone to be so friendly, and they had so much in common. He however felt very uncomfortable, during the entire conversation because Menes was staring at the both of them from afar, with the intensity of a small star.

“You say you’re a collector of literature. Would you like to see my personal collection,” Hayri asked Aelius.

“Well, yes.”

Aelius had never walked so fast to anywhere so fast in his life.

They went up the grand stairs, away from the party, and soon it was only the sound of their rapid voices, speaking about great scholars, all the places they wanted to go, and Hayri was his first real friend.

A while after, Aelius disappeared.

Once again, Menes was furious.

His grandson was missing.

It was not strange for him to leave for a few days without telling a soul and return with more items he didn’t need. A few times he returned with live animals, and only once did he return with a person, albeit a man who claimed he drank blood and called himself master of saints, whom Menes quickly ran out of his home.

Menes knew after a few days he would return.

After a few weeks he started to worry.

He spent nights awake, staring at the ceiling, crying regretting all his life choices. His grandson had run away, possibly because he was too hard on him. He was stricken with grief, afraid of dying alone in his ivory tower.

Until one day he returned home.

Many months had passed, and Menes had given up hope he would return. He woke up, ate a piece of stale bread, and went downstairs for his morning walk. On his way out through the courtyard, he once again had run into his grandson, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing fine pants.

This time his brown long hair was cut short, chopped straight, his face was dirty, and his curved, pointed ears stuck out, with nicked scars on the ends of them.

Menes, now old and becoming frail, sighed.

“I’m sorry, I know these color pants are hard to come by.”

Menes ignored him, and simply embraced him, and Aelius, confused, held him.

“Why did you leave me,” Menes asked.

“Hayri said that we would see the world, and he would make me a proper man. I wanted to know what that meant.”

Menes laughed, and started to cough, that of course, his grandson would only return over a lover’s spat.

“We had so much fun, we were brothers, but then he became cross with me, saying foul things,” Aelius lamented. “After a few fights, he took a sword, and chopped my hair off, knowing it would bring attention to me.”

“Apologize. Your grandmother and I fought all the time, but when you really love someone, you can speak to them about anything.”

“I did. I loved him deeply, and he kissed me fervently whenever he had the chance. He was overly affectionate.”

Menes didn’t want to know any more, and waved his hands in a shooing motion.

“Hayri was an odd man, thinking that we were lovers. We kissed, as brothers do, of course.”

The look Menes gave him could burn a hole into the ground.

“ I found you someone, but you were too thick to notice! You are a fool!”

“Don’t say that. He said the same thing...he called me Narcissus as he cut my hair.”

“I have never felt sorry for a man-lover before until today,” Menes said in disdain. “Hayri must have been terribly confused.”

“Well, of course he is. Who ever thinks of having those sort of thoughts about someone else? Man or woman? ”

Menes sighed.

“Just come inside.”