Return for Me

"Won't you be my lover, then?"

That was the first time Mehrab was asked such a question. He accepted his duty as the Guardian of the Oasis only a few days, or perhaps a few months ago, and he knew the woman shorter, he was sure. His mind was playing tricks on him, the time was passing strangely ever since he took on the Blossoming Crown upon himself, but at the same time he felt as if he knew her for years. She said she loved him, and it made his heart flutter. He must have loved her, too, although he didn't quite remember why. He remembered her hair, heavy locks falling down her shoulders and her back. He remembered her dress of silk, fluttering as she danced barefoot on the flowers. He remembered her laughter, and her body closely held in his arms as she slept by his side.

He remembered her gently taking his hand and pressing it against her freckled cheek. It was the first time he was told goodbye.

"I must go home now," she said, and he understood. She had to leave and he had to stay. That was simply how it ended up. The rains painted the desert with flowers yet again, and she danced for him for the last time.

Never to return.

"Excuse me! Master Guardian? I- I was wondering-"

"I've taken quite a liking to you! What do you think about-"

"I think I am in love with you."

"So? How about it?"

Many more came after, men and women, pilgrims, scholars, merchants, kings. Vying for his attention, asking for his hand, or a kiss, or a night. Some stayed, for what felt like months or years. Some left him the next day, having gotten what they came for to his holy site. Some promised him riches, some the night sky itself.

Some promised him... true love.

They all left, of course, nobody comes to the Oasis forever. They had to leave, to return to their homes, their families, their shops, or their kingdoms. Some had wives and husbands waiting for them, some had sickly parents to care for. The wind carried the pink dunes across the desert like waves on the sea as he waited for their return.

But none of them did.

His lovers revered and feared him. At one point, he realized it became a brag for those beyond his home. Bedding the Guardian of the Oasis was no small feat, he supposed, if you only make one holy pilgrimage in your life. And even if they visited every Oasis and met with every Guardian, he supposed that would only make them more impressive. For a while, he didn't mind it. He was lonely. What was so wrong with feeling the warmth of another, even if it was only for a fleeting moment? He wanted to ask his lovers to stay, but he couldn't bring himself to be so selfish and crude. But every heartbreak made him feel smaller and smaller, until it seemed to him there may be nothing left of his heart. The depths of his love were drained, wasted on people who would leave, never to be seen again.

He was the Guardian of the Oasis, the Blossoming Knight of the Endless Desert. There was magic inherent to this title, and magic became one with him.

Mehrab couldn't cry.

And at the end of the day, things like these couldn't bother him. After all, he was hardly a human anymore. He couldn't remember ever being one, either, so perhaps this was all that was to it. Someone like him shouldn't feel unwell from what people thought or did. The Oasis was a holy place, not one where pain could be inflicted to anyone. In any form.

So, if he was sad, then he was at fault. The magic protected everyone, which had to include him, too. After all, he was the one who agreed to spend nights with the pilgrims and kings, despite knowing they'd have to return to their worldly duties. If it bothered him, and it truly did, then all he had to do was decline their offers.

Unless... they could promise him one thing...

When the Prince first came to the Oasis, she was sickly and weak. She came wearing the pink uniform with golden details of her family, but she need to be carried into one of the clay houses that he had built for the guests. Her entourage was frantically tending to her needs as they tried to keep the weak flame of her soul burning. She was a woman of great beauty, ravaged by a wasting disease that turned her brilliant eyes dull and unfocused. Her dark skin became nearly gray, prone to breaking with the slightest of touches, and her hair had all but fallen off. A terribly sad sight to see on a woman of perhaps twenty years of age. But Mehrab wasn't shaken.

Instead, he got to work.

The Oasis bloomed year-round with herbs of both magic and medicine. The water itself was forever cool, even under the midday sun. Mehrab, himself, was a master of healing. Guiding her to the path of recovery was hardly a difficult feat, although the Prince's entourage worshiped the very ground he would walk upon. In what felt like weeks, or perhaps days, the Prince was healed of her disease. Her weakness stayed, body frail from wasting away in her bed. Every day, she would try to move. At first, only to sit up. Then, to stand. Then, at last, to walk...

She took him by the sleeve as he was tending to her one day.

"Come with me," she said. "Be my husband. I will give you whatever you desire. I owe you my life, and my heart is in your hands."

"I won't be your husband just yet," he said. "Though I will gladly take a kiss. If you truly love me, however, I know you will return for me."

When the King of Thieves came to the Oasis, he came in the form of a giant maned wolf. His fur was black and filled with streaks of gold, his eyes were yellow, and his body covered in arrows and wounds. He was trapped in a canyon, with his pursuers hot on his trail, and he knew the day of his death had come. His fur was raised, and he growled at the soldiers in the distance, readying their arrows as he readied for the end.

He collapsed on the ground. With him, the canyon walls crumbled into nothing. Only Mehrab was left standing, facing the soldiers in the distance.

"You've brought violence to a holy site," he warned.

"That man is the Bandit King! He killed and stole from countless men!"

"And he is dying. These sacred sands won't allow further blood to be spilled. If you choose to come in peacefully, you will be welcomed. Calm your hearts and remove your weapons as you step forward. No harm can come upon you here."

"This is your last warning, Guardian! Men! Ready your arrows! Let us take him and no harm will come to you!"

Mehrab shone in light as a crown of desert flowers blossomed on his head. His sword, straight and made of wood, swung once towards the soldiers and raised a cloud of dust and sand. Thirty soldiers were carried by the wind, defeated in a single blow. The Blossoming Crown, blindingly bright, faded from view yet again as he sheathed his sword.

The King of Thieves growled at him, too.

"Easy now," he said. "They can't hurt you anymore. Carrying a human will be easier than carrying a beast your size, so please turn back. I will tend to your wounds and you will be free to leave."

The giant wolf took the form of a giant man. He was perhaps twenty years in age, but twice the size of Mehrab and likely thrice as heavy. His hair was long, wild and unruly, his dark skin even darker from living under the desert sun, and even in his human form, his golden eyes remained sharp and wary. His clothes were stained by the sand and his glaive reeked of blood and death. He truly was a beast, whether man or wolf.

But it didn't matter to Mehrab. He easily lifted the injured man, and carried him into one of the clay houses where he cared for his injuries. It took days, or perhaps weeks, for the wounds to turn to scars, and scars to fade to nothing.

Healed and well, he grabbed Mehrab by the wrists and pressed him against the wall.

"I've begun to like you, Guardian. I want to steal you away and make you mine. I will hide you with my treasures, and you won't be left wanting neither jewellery nor my love."

What a delight he was. He nearly forgot which of them was stronger. With a smile, Mehrab easily escaped his grip and grabbed his wrists himself. The King was brought to his knees, finally shorter than Mehrab.

"You are only allowed to touch me when I permit you so," he said. "And I recall making no such invitations."

The King's face was red and his smile was bright like a crescent moon. "What am I allowed, then?" he asked as Mehrab released his wrists. He gently placed his hand on Mehrab's chin, his sharp nail pressing against his lips.

"I will gladly give you a kiss," he said. "But should you want more, it won't be that easy. If you truly love me, however, I know you will return for me."