Aftermath
Part 1 – Illusion of Isolation
Disclaimer: All characters and places etc are the property of Yoshiki Tanaka, KKS and others. No money being made here.
Is it just me or are my disclaimers starting to sound more professional here? Call it the by-product of reading slash again; they’re always so eloquent about the legality of it all.
The corridors were quiet in the pre-dawn, before the majority of the Palace’s inhabitants stirred. Of course, as the first slivers of light touched the marble floors and pillars the silent activity of the servants would pick up but until then there was little movement either.
Narsus was grateful for the illusion of isolation as he stalked along the seemingly endless passageways. Completely alone he didn’t bother to school his features into the appropriate blankness, which was so often required. Instead, he let his gaze travel over the elaborate carving on the columns that supported the high ceilings, even leaning back from time to time to squint at the frescos above. Taking a few steps forward, he stopped and turned on the spot to consider the view of the corridor he had just travelled down. The predominating colour was white, white stone pillars stretching up to the ceiling, carved in such a manner that they looked like they had grown into some forest canopy. Along one side the walls were relatively bare, with the faintest echoing of the carved pattern of the pillars, so as not to detract from the overall effect. To the other side the elaborate arches formed tall windows that looked out over a courtyard and, in the distance, further walls encapsulating the palace. Currently, lit by only the distant gleam of torches the hallway looked oddly stark but come dawn the marble floors would catch the light, reflecting a warmth that would be carried by the columns, brightening the vivid colours of the artwork above.
It would look, on the whole, quite welcoming, Narsus supposed but he wouldn’t be there to see it, so he couldn’t be sure.
Under any other circumstances he might have lingered, waiting for the dawn simply to see if the image that his mind conjured was the same as the reality, but not now. He didn’t think he’d be able to see the beauty of it all, right now, not in his current state of mind. He was, for lack of a better word, restless.
Restless, ill at ease, pointlessly irritated. All of these things. Narsus could identify every irrational action or thought of his, could label them stupid and pointless but he couldn’t stop himself. Every time he lost his temper because of someone else, because of their stupidity, their inability to comprehend what he was trying to explain, their unwillingness to listen; every single time he tried not to let it show. He’d ended up cutting off what ever spiteful insult he’d been about to hurl, had been reduced to clipped sentences and clenching his teeth till it hurt, just hoping that they’d all leave him alone.
It didn’t make any sense, when he thought about it. This irrational anger at everyone and everything. He didn’t think that he hated everyone, at least he hadn’t thought so before but it was difficult to make any distinctions now. Every single person that he had to suffer through speaking to seemed just as bad as the one before. Even Arslan wasn’t seeming so amazingly bright these days, he was just annoyingly happy. Had he been like that before? Narsus didn’t know, perhaps, in which case it was simply a matter of being too busy to notice at the time. Of course there were other people who were just as insanely cheerful, like Gieve but from the minstrel Narsus expected nothing less. Even Daryoon was happy these days, abet in his own reserved fashion.
Narsus couldn’t stand it. If one more person made a concerned enquiry… hell, if it was Arslan he’d commit regicide. He couldn’t tell what was more annoying, the fact of feeling so ill at ease with himself or the polite enquires that it meant he was subjected to. They kept asking if there was anything wrong and of course there was, unfortunately he didn’t know what, so couldn’t tell them. It had gotten to the point where even Pharangase probably thought that he was just avoiding telling them. If only that was the case but as Narsus already knew, the truth was often a lot stranger than fiction.
The truth being that he honestly didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t know why he was so on edge, why he was acting like an idiot, why he kept loosing his temper. He didn’t have the faintest idea and that was more terrifying than anything else.
Maybe he was just going mad? It was a distinct possibility as far as Narsus could tell. Maybe he was slowly but surely going insane and this was just the beginning. If he was going insane then there was nothing he could do about it and he might as well just watch it happen, it might be entertaining.
Narsus put a halt to that train of thought. He wasn’t going insane, was he? Of course he wasn’t, but then wasn’t that what all mad people told themselves, right up until the moment when they were carted off to be cared for discreetly by servants so that their families could forget that they’d ever existed. The thought was quite depressing. He could almost picture it, complete with gossip afterwards;
“Crazy Lord Narsus, he used to be the King’s strategist, he was a genius…”
“But then that’s always the way it goes.”
To complete the picture he could imagine something being unnecessarily hurled out of a window, possibly by himself; it appeared to be one of Daryoon’s precious volumes of early Pulsian poetry.
Narsus bit his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud in the middle of the corridor. It wouldn’t help if anyone saw him apparently laughing at nothing.
After that brief bout of mirth, he sobered quickly, suddenly thinking of how that amusing scene could easily end up quite tragic. Besides, it brought him no closer to the cause of his irritation. He still didn’t know why he was feeling the way that he did. It didn’t make any sense.
Continuing on his meandering path, Narsus realised that at last the first glimpse of sunlight was bleeding across the sky. He’d spent the whole night wandering through the palace, lost in his thoughts. With a sigh, he turned in the direction of his chambers. He’d sleep until lunch, most likely and then would find enquiring gazes turned upon him as he tried to hide his fatigue later in the day. Still, no one had guessed just how little sleep he really was getting. Or why.
It was a very strange situation really. Now that the war was over and the kingdom was being rebuilt what was there that was such a great worry? Nothing, as far as he could tell. Which left the unanswered question; when had his life become such a mess? Or was he simply causing the problem himself? Was it possible that his lack of concentration, his encroaching despair was all of his own making? A stupid display of a subconscious feeling of superiority, pretending that he was above the domestic chores of day to day life.
That too was possible, that somehow buried in his mind was the belief that he was above this plain, banal business of uneventful living. It was possible but if it was the case, if it really was true that he was drawn, no matter how unconsciously, to the bloodshed and drama of war then it was, perhaps, the worst of all outcomes. It would prove him an unreliable advisor, unstable and suffering from delusions of grandeur. A determent to the King he served; an embarrassment to the kingdom. It would also mean that he should, at the very least, be locked up for the rest of his life.
Yet, Narsus remembered, from some dry text on healing, that prolonged dependence on alcohol, which Daryoon termed ‘the drinking illness’, did sometimes make individuals susceptible to such things as grandiose fantasies. Luckily, he’d never been prey to such illusions, at least not due to drink, which had always made him even more morose that he’d been before. Not that he really had been capable of sinking any lower once he’d been banished from court, perhaps that was why he’d ended up drinking so much.
He hadn’t bothered anyone with it, except
Narsus caught himself about to smile. He could admit privately that he was often enough more than a little ill-tempered but if Daryoon said it, he’d accuse the other man of being belligerent.
He wasn’t perfect, far from it and would readily admit it so perhaps it wasn’t an innate and foolish belief in his own superiority that was causing his restlessness. Yet he was no closer to the solution after yet another night of wondering. He didn’t even know how many nights he’d spent like this; he’d lost count some time ago. On a physiological level, it couldn’t be healthy; perhaps it wasn’t on a psychological one too.
Night after night prowling the empty hallways, his thoughts tumbling and running over themselves. No closer to the reason for the unsettled feelings that plagued him and while they did, he was of no use to anyone. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus. It was as if everything was slipping away from him, all control, his sense of equilibrium, all the things that needed to balance so that he could function at all. Then what would happen if he couldn’t recover it, if he couldn’t find a way to focus his wayward thoughts and emotions? He’d be no use then, no use at all.
Shivering, Narsus discovered that he’d reached his chambers. He rested a hand against the doors for a moment, trying to gather enough strength to drive from his thoughts the possibility of loosing everything. That was what would happen, after all. If he couldn’t pull himself together, they’d just have to replace him and there were plenty of other advisors that would be waiting should he fail.
In his outer rooms Narsus found Daryoon sprawled on a couch, apparently having fallen asleep waiting for him. Narsus paused beside the couch, debating waking Daryoon or simply covering him with a blanket. Then Daryoon woke, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“You didn’t have to sleep out here.” Narsus said quietly as Daryoon stood up, stretching.
“I didn’t mean to. I was waiting for you.”
Narsus shook his head. “You know me, Daryoon. I sometimes loose track of time.”
A non-committal grunt was the answer as Daryoon slid his arms round Narsus.
“It’ll probably all look better once you’ve had some sleep.” He muttered, steering them towards the bedroom.
Narsus made some small sound in reply, that couldn’t be defined as agreement or otherwise.
TBC…
My first attempt at a long-ish Arslan piece, on the same scale as my Matrix fics and its not even going to be a cross-over… Will wonders never cease?