Behind the Mask
Disclamer: Not mine, never mine…
Set before the war with Lucitania, during the reign of Andragoras.
Before Daryoon and Narsus really know each other.
There was not a moment’s silence to be found within the palace walls that night, or so it seemed to a weary Daryoon. Preparations for the ball had kept servants busy since the early hours and now that evening had arrived the nobility of Ekubatana were equally busy mingling amongst themselves. Perhaps there was a reason for the ball but it was most likely forgotten by the chattering crowds, all vying to outdo each other with finery and tall tales.
Daryoon was tired of it already. Not that he didn’t appreciate the entertainment but he couldn’t help but feel that he had better things to do with his time… like sleeping or rearranging the furniture in his palace quarters. It also didn’t help that there were several visiting nobles who had travelled to the capital simply to posture amongst themselves and argue in harsh conversation. If only they could take themselves off somewhere else to strut about with their flamboyant boasts… Not that the court nobles were any better, though there was no reason for them to have anything new to talk about. As far as could be told, the courtesans simply regurgitated the same nonsense over and over again, only just barely changing the format each time.
On the topic of courtesans, Daryoon’s gaze was drawn across the hall to the sight of Lord Narsus smiling a politely interested smile at some doubtless boring individual. Daryoon wondered what it must be like to be like that, always smiling in the right places, always making the appropriate responses. Narsus was charming, he supposed; witty, after a fashion and with about as much going on inside that pretty head as the average nightingale… or possibly less, considering the resourcefulness that wild birds could display at times.
Hiding behind a group of other young officers Daryoon stared hard, finding himself unconsciously looking for a flaw in all that painted beauty. There had to be a crack in the façade somewhere, something that might indicate that it was a façade in the first place. Daryoon almost willed there to be an obvious mistake somewhere, just to prove that this rising star of the nobility wasn’t completely an empty-headed fool. Though to have reached the point that he had, it was evident that Narsus was no fool; it just didn’t mean that he wasn’t as shallow as the rest though.
Watching as that flawless smile was turned on various conversational partners (Daryoon used the term loosely), as lips parted in soft, worthless, laughter, he saw nothing to revise his opinion of this latest addition to the ranks of courtesans. He could picture them all; lined up in rows, like alabaster dolls; smiles painted in place, hands carefully arranged, submissively clasped; eyes, all colours of the rainbow, flat and empty. Nothing but decorative figurines, worth nothing save the value of being looked upon. Again, nothing that he didn’t already know.
Dismissing the thought, Daryoon turned back to the topics of conversation around him. Talk of warfare and the political intrigues between commanding officers; and the far reaching repercussions of either. Yet regardless of the distraction, Daryoon found that his eyes were drawn again and again to this latest painted courtesan.
Perhaps he did need some distraction after all. The sweet, meaningless song of a nightingale in the evening’s shadows. And in the waking light of dawn, how could it possibly matter if those alluring eyes, that had so beguiled him, held as much depth as a pane of glass.
Decision made, it was only a few light conversations later that Daryoon found himself standing only a few steps away from Narsus. Around him there was nothing but pointless chattering which normally would have irritated Daryoon beyond words but for the moment he let pass. He said something equally pointless, in keeping with the general flow of the conversation and received that polite laughter in reply, accompanied by an artful tilt of the head and a blank-eyed glance.
Daryoon found himself wondering, again, what it would be like to be numbered among such creatures. Graceful, empty-headed things whose petty concerns were the foundations of their world. It would be a simpler life, he supposed, never having to worry about anything beyond self. A world peopled with the shallowest of feelings reflected back time and time again from the same mask-like faces. Surely they must bleed into each other, one painted smile just the same as the next, until they all became reflections of the same thing; with no one even noticing that there didn’t seem to be an original of the many copies. It was a frightening thought but then might it not be better to see only the surface of such things, never having to be concerned with all the great many things that plagued the rest of the world?
Blank eyes had once again turned on Daryoon and the mask that was Narsus’ face was marred for a moment with the beginnings of a frown. Yet as soon as Daryoon noticed, it was gone again and he was left staring at sculpted alabaster once more.
Strangely, it was enough to put Daryoon off the hunt. Let the nightingale alight elsewhere tonight, least fragile beauty be crushed inadvertently by his hands. Yet as he moved to put some distance between then, Daryoon didn’t notice the blank eyes slide sideways to follow his departure.
As the night drew on, despite all earlier resolve, it was impossible for Daryoon to cease his observation. Regardless of his company and the turn of their speech he found himself drawn to what was, as he kept reminding himself, just another petty courtesan. It was an inexplicable allure that drew him and held him fast. Daryoon almost fancied that he could see the red silken cord that had been skilfully looped around his wrist. His distance from its source only as far as would be allowed, but he was left puzzled, for every time that face turned in his direction the eyes were blank and unseeing. Perhaps it was possible that this practiced courtesan had lived so long in his role that he could no longer knew any different, didn’t even realise the fascination that he created.
Watching even more closely, there was still no indication of any depth to the situation, just a mindless attraction, the drawing of one to the other for no reason other than the image presented. Having previously turned away, Daryoon resolved to find a way to end such foolishness on his part. If the nightingale was of a mind to be crushed beneath his brutal hands, then so be it.
Returning to his place among the pale conversations Daryoon found that his prey had vanished, but subtle indication sent him in the direction of the stone archways that led to the, now dark, ornamental courtyards. And there, in the artificially structured gardens he found that painted face upturned towards the sky. The once-empty eyes held a fey light as they narrowed, peering at the stars overhead. From the angle, Daryoon could guess that the belt of the constellation of the Warrior was under scrutiny but he could speculate no further as those eyes were turned upon him.
Suddenly there was nothing for him to say, caught in those eerie depths. The eyes behind the mask making him shudder. Then they were blank again; the pale face becoming smooth and artificial, painted lips turning up the familiar caricature of a smile.
Drawing a breath Daryoon stepped forward, taking the delicately extended hand in his own; finding himself wondering as he did, if his previous analogies might have all fallen short. Perhaps this was no nightingale then. After all, in the old legends didn’t Dragons sometimes walk the earth in human form?
I’ve had an odd day…