Disclaimer: All characters and places etc are the property of Yoshiki Tanaka, KKS and others. No money being made here.
The rain splatters down on the plains, washing over grassland and mud-paths alike. Water collects in little murky pools, in small puddles, in the marks of footprints left by soldiers. It drips incessantly off wooden outhouses and ancient masonry. And the soldiers and messengers and whoever else have business to be outside in this weather, hurry on their way.
The fortress might be brightly lit inside where the Prince’s army rests but outside the grey skies and barren landscape are enough to dishearten the bravest soldier. Inside there is laughter and light; outside there is reality.
Watching from one of the high windows the Prince’s protector frowns at the men who trudge slowly through the gate, moving supply wagons into the fortress and other such tasks. Daryoon would be out there himself, supervising if it weren’t for the fact that he’s already stood out there all of the last night and now is under the Prince’s orders to at least come indoors for a while, if he will not rest. So now he stands and watches, and ignores the goings on in the room behind him.
He can feel their eyes on him. Watching him stand, unmoving, by the window. Muttering behind his back. Quishward had tried to coax him away from the window earlier but it had made no difference.
“He’ll come in eventually.” The other General had said knowingly.
“Narsus is perverse. He likes to be outside in weather like this.” Daryoon had replied with a shrug.
They were silent.
“The rain washes away all pains, all sins.” He quoted.
Quishward had looked at him.
Daryoon had shrugged again. “Though you need to have a conscience in the first place to believe that.”
Surprisingly the other man had smiled a little. “You’re starting to sound like each other.”
And Daryoon had made a slight nod in response.
The rain continues to fall, raising a faint mist from the ground. Daryoon continues to stare out of the window, lost in his thoughts. Arslan continues to watch his protector.
Outside, just beyond the walls of the fortress, Narsus watches the grey clouds rather than the procession of men behind him. He wonders if they mind so much, that he is here, doing nothing, when apparently he is supervising their labour. As if these soldiers need his direction. And they don’t, so he watches the sluggish movement of the clouds instead, the sheets of rain that pelt down, the bending of grass stems as they are continually pelted with water.
Moving a little way further from the muddy track that the carts move upon, Narsus holds his hands out in front of him and watches the water slide over his palms.
“The rain washes away all pains, all sins.” He’d told Daryoon once.
He’s not so sure about it now. Blood can always be washed away but the stains it puts upon the soul should not be so easily removed. Or so he’d often thought. To say such a thing was one of those comforting little white lies that could so easily be applied to any situation. The little shimmering lies and half-truths that everyone told themselves, just to keep sane.
Yet the more he thought about it the less sense it made. If the soul was irreversibly stained then it didn’t matter if all the outwards signs where washed away, eventually your crimes would eat away at you from inside. Though by that reckoning, he should have gone insane a long time ago.
They all should have, except perhaps, Arslan. Their pure and unsullied Prince.
That thought irritates him a little. That the Prince retains his innocence in the middle of so much death; clings to it like a child’s blanket. And sometimes it makes Narsus so mad that he wants to do something foolish, like shaking Arslan until his teeth rattle in his head. He wants to shake the boy and yell at him and god, yes, hit him until he looses that stupid innocent look, until blue eyes are clouded by disillusionment, until Arslan realises that they are all no better than the other. Or at least, he’d like to slap the boy, just once and tell him that life was unfair and that he’d better get used to it.
But he won’t. Not because it would be near enough blasphemy to commit such an act, not because the most likely response he would get would be the boy’s tears, not even because he’s unlikely to get the chance in the first place.
But because it would change nothing.
Arslan would never understand what they were trying to tell him; wise and compassionate he might be, beyond his years but ruthless or pragmatic he would never become. Certainly not in this lifetime at least.
Besides, Narsus has seen Daryoon look at the Prince sometimes, as if Arslan is something that Daryoon can’t quite comprehend. As if the Prince is some strange creature that the warrior doesn’t exactly know how to respond to and of course, he is. For all that Andragoras was a terrible ruler and that Hermes might make an insane one, they would be easier to understand. They would talk of war and bloodshed and the glory of conquest. Of what needs to be done, not of what shouldn’t.
Narsus smiles up at the heavy clouds because it is always easier to understand those who are similar. And in another time, another place, Arslan would have been shut away forever, a cast off Prince. He would have been deemed unfit to rule. And Daryoon would have ridden at the head of his troops to conquer one nation after another under the orders of his King.
Narsus fancies that Princess Elenna would have made a fine Queen. She could be the kind, compassionate one for the masses to adore. And he might have played chess with the King’s sorcerer after they had totalled up the lists of the dead after yet another battle.
It would have been the type of existence he could have understood easily. A nation ruled by a magnanimous tyrant. But Arslan will be nothing like that and perhaps Narsus isn’t quite sure what he should expect, when this is all over.
There will be peace and merciful justice dealt out and he will once again have rank and status at court, even more so than before. But their King will be gentle and that, in of itself is bewildering.
The crack of thunder sounds overhead and the rain increases. Narsus turns his attention back to the carts and notes that the last of them is almost at the gate. Time to go back inside, into the warmth and light. Time to watch the Prince’s concern turned in his direction again.
Arslan has been worried lately, that Narsus has been so quiet after their latest battle. The Prince worries that he carries much guilt and pain over the deaths that have occurred. And Narsus almost doesn’t want to go back inside because Arslan will try to talk to him again or worst still, try to get Daryoon to talk to him. Though what Arslan doesn’t know is that every time, Daryoon does not broach the subject of their Prince’s concerns, rather he worries over the fact that Arslan doesn’t seem to understand at all.
“He just doesn’t…”
“You’re right. He’s too innocent.”
“Didn’t I say that from the start?”
“Yes, you did. Many times.”
Narsus had smiled at that.
“But what if… Eventually…”
“Not necessarily. Not with you to protect him.”
Daryoon’s eyes had narrowed in disbelief and suspicion.
“Between the two of us and others it is possible that His Highness might never have to face… shall we say, the darker things in life.”
And this time Daryoon had looked thoughtful instead.
As the last of the men pass under the archway of the fortress, Narsus follows, wondering what he will say to the Prince this time. Perhaps he will tell him the same lie that he has told for almost a year now.
He will tell the Prince that the rain washes away all sins and Arslan will think him remorseful. He will look down at his unstained hands and Arslan will think him melancholy. He will look across the room to meet Daryoon’s gaze and the warrior will understand.
Because in their own ways, they are just as heartless as each other. They are just as cruel.
But for the sake of their Prince, for the sake of his innocence; they will keep on tell those same little white lies.
And today’s idea was rain and consciences!