Part 2 – Melancholy Thoughts

 

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.

 

            In the end wakefulness came too early, like so many other nights before.  Narsus found it difficult to sleep after waking a scant five hours after he’d retired to bed.  Lying still, cheek resting against the cool fabric of a pillow he opened his eyes and stared.  Taking in the surroundings without moving his head, it didn’t take long to notice that Daryoon was no longer beside him and strangely, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  Still, he didn’t move, preferring to remain as he was, staring into nothing.

Eventually, he focused his gaze enough to take in his surroundings, after several slow blinks.  The light gauze curtains around the bed had been pulled back ever so slightly, though not enough to let any direct light disturb him.  It was most likely unintentional, Daryoon having forgotten to close them when he’d left.  Beyond that the room was filled with morning light, which shone with a slightly yellowish tint, discolouring everything it touched.  Of course, these warmer colours that infected wood and stone where only the natural shade of various objects but they didn’t seem so welcoming to Narsus’ critical gaze.  The colours that surrounded him seemed a little false, like an extra layer applied to a painting to make the mundane stand out as it never would in reality.  The few shadows that fell appeared to be the only real patches of definition in the room.

            Rolling over onto his back to stare at the canopy above the bed proved no better.  Folding his hands together on top of the covers, Narsus stared at the patterns woven into the silk.  The play of light across the fabric held his attention as a faint breeze moved the canopy the tiniest fraction.  Or perhaps it didn’t, it was entirely possible that he’d been staring at the fabric for too long and was now seeing thing.  Like the times when he ended up working on some project for the King, late into the night, to the point where he could barely keep his eyes open and started seeing things on the edge of his vision, that weren’t really there.  They weren’t quite hallucinations, just spots of darkness or fleeting shadows that he mistook for movement.  It only happened when he was really tired though and was easy to dismiss.  Even if, from time to time to assuage his paranoia, he’d back up against a wall and scan the room for movement that wasn’t his own.

            Paranoia wasn’t exactly a problem for him.  After all, you had to be at least a little paranoid if you wanted to rise to any sort of position in court.  The more watchful you were, the least likely you were to be assassinated or some such, Narsus had always thought.  Didn’t they say that it wasn’t paranoia if they actually were all out to get you?  In which case, he had more of an excuse than most.  The fact that his detractors had been quick to announce his act of self-defence to the King as murder and border-line treason, thus leading to his banishment from court was proof of it.  The fact that Andragoras has just been waiting for a remotely valid excuse to dismiss him hadn’t helped either.

It had all added to his ire and it had been, initially anyway, sorely tempting to deny Arslan his aid simply to see the line of Andragoras put to a humiliating and painful end.  As it turned out Andragoras’ line had ended anyway, with no need of additional help on his part.  The late King’s foolishness over wanting a male heir had led him to banish his own daughter, therefore loosing any chance of keeping his bloodline intact.  Narsus couldn’t keep from smirking; remembering the point at which he’d discovered that Arslan wasn’t Andragoras’ son.  He didn’t think he’d ever laughed that hard before.

Of course, had the unfortunate Princess not been ‘removed’, he’d never been quite sure what end she’d come to, he might well have tried to engineer her marriage to Elam, using whatever means it took.  Narsus didn’t think it would have taken much to badger Daryoon into a false marriage and then pass off Elam as his son.  Besides, he knew that one of Daryoon’s irrational fears was waking up one morning, hung over and finding himself married to some nobles’ daughter.  It was the main reason that Daryoon didn’t drink all that much.

It made much more sense that he’d originally thought, all things considered.  A sham marriage would hardly bother Daryoon as long as the woman involved didn’t pester him and if she did, or even if she didn’t, they could have her conveniently ‘removed’ after a year or so.  Narsus wasn’t squeamish when it came to that sort of thing, to be a half decent strategist you couldn’t be.  Hell, if she started demanding her rights as a wife, he’d put the poison in her wine himself.

Narsus found himself considering the outcome.  It might shock Arslan, if Daryoon’s wife suddenly died under suspicious circumstances and he was blatantly celebrating, though it was highly likely that Daryoon wouldn’t even notice.  As long as there was always the prospect of a good war brewing somewhere in the indefinite future Daryoon would be content.

            Blinking slowly Narsus reviewed the little scenario in his head.  Of course if he was trying to pass Elam off as Daryoon’s son, so that he could get the boy closer to the throne, it wouldn’t be in any reality where Arslan had ever been Crown Prince.  In fact, if he was still in a position of influence, the path his life might have taken would be distinctly lacking in protracted warfare with Luctania.  Or maybe he was wrong about that.  It was possible that as long as the discontented Prince Hermes had been prepared to lend his support to any war against Andragoras the whole mess would have occurred anyway.

Narsus tried to imagine it, a similar arrangement to that which Daryoon had described but with a few additional players.  What would he have done?  Was it possible that it would have made any difference?  He supposed that if Karlan’s treachery was so pronounced that he couldn’t be allowed to influence the King, they could have sent assassins to do away with the General the night before the battle.  He had enough reliable assassins capable of performing the task but then so did Daryoon, though he was loath to use them as anything other than a last resort.  Narsus found that he couldn’t quite agree what that logic; after all, what was the use of the element of surprise if you didn’t use it?

He supposed that what it came down to was the fact that Daryoon was a warrior, not a strategist and as everyone knew, warriors seemed to live by their own code of honour.  One called one’s enemy to guard before attacking, waited for him to turn around, to reach for a weapon.  If one’s opponent was unhorsed, you dismounted to continue the fight.  If his spear was broken, you both drew swords and so it went on.  That was half the reason why Karlan had taken so long to kill.

Narsus would have settled for a crossbow bolt in the back or a poisoned knife or even getting the other man trampled by his own horse.  Anything that would have done the job would have sufficed.  Not that he was particularly dishonourable but strategists had their own kind of honour.

If you could trick the enemy into fighting among themselves you earned your opponent’s respect.  If he could fool your generals into thinking that he commanded superior forces, then you acknowledged his superior deceit.  It was all fairly straightforward, as far as Narsus was concerned.  All very pragmatic; you did what you were supposed to do and let none of this fussing about honour or mercy get in the way.  Besides, it was their own fault if they fell into your trap anyway.

Not that he was particularly inclined to cruelty, despite what others might think.  It was all encompassing pragmatism that was the driving force for his actions.  During the war he hadn’t been keen to inflict pain or loss on others but if that occurred as a result of his actions, then he couldn’t regret it.  It was one of the lessons that he’d learnt as a child.

            Regret didn’t change anything; didn’t help you to compensate for whatever you had done, didn’t absolve you of any guilt you might carry.  What ever you did or said, you couldn’t take it back afterwards, even if you wanted to.  He’d learnt never to regret anything, no matter how foolish or needlessly cruel.  Never take back anything said in anger, never flinch, never apologise because the world didn’t care either way.  They’d already made up their minds about you and nothing you could possibly do would ever change it.  Years of apologies forced from his lips simply because he was right and they refused to consider the possibility, years of being marked out and ridiculed for being different, years of being cowed on pain of physical damage had taken its toll.  Now the world saw him as cold and indifferent.  He’d made two promises to himself, back then, two simple childlike vows in all their finality; never to regret, no matter what it cost him and never to shed any tears for his enemies.

Surprisingly, though he sometimes wavered on the latter, he’d always managed to keep to the first.

            Such strange thoughts he was having now of all times.  Narsus peered quizzically at the canopy above, that he hadn’t truly been seeing for the last… however long he’d been caught up in his melancholy thoughts.  Thinking back on his strange train of thought he searched it for some hidden revelation, only to eventually dismiss it all as the meanderings of a morbid mind.  Perhaps he was getting melancholy in his old age but then he’d always been like this.  Always the pessimist; at least that was what he’d been accused of.  He’d insisted that it was realism.  Granted, it was a bitter taste of realism but how could they expect anything different from a jaded artist?

            He’d been so very idealistic before, so stupidly hopeful, in love with the world and where had it gotten him?  He didn’t want to think about it but wasn’t there a saying, something to the effect that those with tender hearts often have them broken early and as a result the scar grows back harder than before?  He’d read it somewhere, a long time ago and had discovered it to be true.

 

            Frowning to himself, Narsus tore his gaze from the canopy and rolled over onto his side.  He scowled at his bout of self-pity and was surprised to meet Daryoon’s concerned gaze as the warrior perched himself on the edge of the bed.  Narsus shut his eyes tightly, not quite sure how he would reply when Daryoon asked what the matter was.

Instead of the calm questioning that he’d expected, Narsus felt a gentle hand rest on his hip, where the covers had slid down.  He blinked slowly, peering up at Daryoon who returned the slow blink in reply.

“You should have been a mountain cat.” Narsus said, smiling a little.

Daryoon seemed to consider it for a moment, “Perhaps I’d rather be a palace cat instead?”

“Oh?”

“And spend my days with you.”

“Oh…  When did you get so romantic?”

Daryoon didn’t reply, instead choosing to trail his hand down Narsus’s side, a small smile lighting his face.

 

TBC…

 

The details about Narsus’ banishment are taken from the manga, as are the references to Andragoras’ daughter and Arslan’s lineage.

 

Cats do blink at each other to communicate that they are non-threatening and in the case of a slow blink, it’s a sign of trust and close familiarity.