My Idea Box

ORIGINAL IDEA: The Legend of the Black Knight Begins

Despite the swords clashing and men dying in the distance, nothing struck more than the words, "I won't fight."

Shaddad almost lost his sword hearing those words, and he gripped the wooden handle as tightly as possible after he realized it. Blood of many dead raiders now pooled onto the desert sands. Specks of the same blood stained Shaddad's graying beard and colorful robes, but its dark color was nothing next to the young man sitting under the palm tree.

"Why?" Shaddad asked.

The young man's face twitched. Shaddad didn't know how he saw it, but he did. Before, he only spared a glance at the young man's body posture to give an order. Now, Shaddad had to place his full attention on the young man who now said, "I am but a slave."

Sweat fell from under Shaddad's turban. "We have no time for this! Do you want those raiders to kill you, too?"

The young man wordless ran his hand along the sleeve of his tattered shirt, black clashing against white. It touched a pink scar of flesh on his face. It had been a reminder from the young man's most recent attempt to act like the tribe's great knights.

Reminded of what he had given, Shadadd breathed a ragged groan. "They will give more than just a scar! They will take everything from us! From you! So fight!"

"The slave doesn't know how to fight," the young man said bitterly, "only to milk goats and serve his masters."

The distant fighting faded. How long ago did this... this boy grow a spine? He dared to use Shaddad's own words against him. Why, Shaddad would have whipped his own sword and–

Shaddad stopped and held his sword in the air. At this moment, he saw too much of himself in the young man's face. Not just in those eyes glaring back, but in the strong jaw and powerful physique. The rest, especially the skin color, came from the mother. Zabiba. How could Shaddad have such a child with her and not with his own wife?

However, the young man was not Shaddad's son. He had been a slave since birth. He always would be. The entire tribe and Shaddad had upheld it for all not of their lineage, of their blood. It would no longer matter, if Shaddad did nothing and let the same tribe be destroyed.

Shaddad lowered his sword. The sun glared off its straight edge and shone on the young man's face. Despite it being as dark as a crow's feathers, Shaddad took in every feature. Even the nearby camel snorted in surprise at his next words.

"Defend your tribe and you are free! Free, Antara!"

After a long moment, a hand took the broken half of a raider's blade off the ground. Equally bare feet towards the cloud of dust and the fighting within it. Shaddad barely caught one last look of the hope and vigor in those eyes once glaring at him.

Shaddad followed behind without realizing he had unleashed a legend.

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AN: Man, this was something I had been meaning to get for sometime... Okay, not really this particular short bit, but I have been interested  in telling the story of Antara ibn Shaddad for the past two/three years. I heard the gist of the famed pre-Islamic poet knight a decade ago, and his story (a slave in love with a princess of his tribe, earned his freedom and fame through his poetry and strength, etc.) had been in the back of my mind ever since. I am stuck on giving my own interpretation for some time, but I hope what I've written may interest you at least a little bit.

-W.S.