Shounan-ai, angst…
Don’t own them, never will, not making any money… I have £2.84 to my name right now.
Concentric = having the same focal point
The sun hung at mid-point in the clear sky, shedding it’s warmth on the myriad of figures below. Casting flickering shadows along the stone courtyard, the soldiers going about their business. Illuminating the golden armour of the Crown Prince high on the battlements.
Arslan:
The sun’s so bright today, it’s so warm. Like Misra’s blessing. Hopefully the Goddess approves of everything. Pharangase says that she does and of course, Pharangase should know. Pharangase says I’m Misra’s chosen, says it reverently like I’m some holy artifact, not the way Narsus says it. He says it with a sneer, quietly so that no one notices because he doesn’t dare offend a Goddess but always faintly tinged with something… like he’s going to laugh. He’s always so bitter, well maybe not always, not when he’s with Daryoon.
Daryoon… The very mention of his name brings the colour to my cheeks. My Protector, my Guardian. I shouldn’t have such thoughts about him, shouldn’t want… Oh, but I do, I want him to love me, to take me… I wish… Just once would be enough. But what chance would I have? He doesn’t see me as anything other than his Royal Charge, the Prince he is sworn to protect. Why even look at me as anything other when he has Narsus. Beautiful, sophisticated Narsus. How could I even begin to compete with that? And even if I tried, I can imagine how stupid I’d look, a foolish child, nothing more.
And if I told Daryoon how I feel? That I can imagine with perfect clarity, he’d smile, be kind about it all, say something pleasant… and send me on my way. He’d tell Narsus I suppose, who’d just shake his head and smile his perfect smile, ‘childish crush’ he’d probably say.
What if he’s right? What if this is something I’ll just ‘grow out of’? No! It can’t be, I know these feelings are real. I’m not some fool who doesn’t understand his own heart. So I’m young, so what… I’m old enough to lead my country in battle. But… I know Daryoon is trying to protect me, protect my innocence. He doesn’t want to see me jaded and disillusioned, loosing my hope… like Narsus. Narsus calls it pragmatism. But isn’t that a dual standard, Daryoon, trying to preserve the very reason that you’d never want me? I’m not sure I care for Narsus’ brand of pragmatism though, sure this is war, people suffer, many die but… I’ve seen him sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, smiling that smile, horrible resonant laughter echoing, perfectly content as people die. The Devil’s strategist.
I don’t want to be like that, it terrifies me and perhaps I am being childish. I need to be strong to rule, dispassionate, without my illusions, if we’re to survive this war. The Lucitanian girl, Estelle, said that Pulsar had lost it’s way, that our kings no longer knew how to rule… perhaps she was right. I know I’m too soft, too weak. I need to be stronger, colder… but I don’t want to be!
And I know why Daryoon couldn’t love me, they say that I’m softness and light, but he likes the darkness better.
The air is chilled, the light from the torches casting long shadows but little warmth. Above the sky appears empty of stars, the moon hidden in it’s darkened phase. It would take sharper eyes than most to pick out the deeper patch of darkness on the battlements, the cloaked figure of the Prince’s strategist.
Narsus:
It’s so cold, the darkness sucking the warmth out of everything. I can see my breath freezing in front of me, it’s about the only thing I can see. The nights are so dark, so lonely. I imagine that I can see a figure moving soundlessly among the piles of dead on the frozen battlefield, death in her black armour. I imagine because I can’t really see the battlefield from here, can barely see in front of my own face. The darkness encompasses everything, hides all sins. How may have died today? I don’t know, I won’t ask, one life or a thousand, it doesn’t negate that fact that the taking of another human life is wrong. The lesser of two evils… but it’s still evil though isn’t it?
Daryoon called me the Devil’s strategist and somehow the nickname has passed through the ranks. I hear it whispered behind my back and I smile. It’s funny really, that to be this successful in my particular craft I must employ supernatural means. I take it as a compliment, it feeds my arrogance, perfects my mask. Nothing ever penetrates this guise of mine, let them say what they will, none of it can really touch me. None of them will ever know how I used to cry myself to sleep at night after the battle, how I plunged my hands into scalding water to rid myself of the blood the first time I ever killed a man, my abortive suicide attempt… Now I don’t let anything get past the mask, well, almost anything.
There was always Daryoon. He was always the only one who could look at me and truly see my soul and he didn’t turn away. He didn’t laugh and call me pathetic, wasn’t disgusted by the real me. I’m grateful for that. He’s the only one who sees me weak and I find the sweetest comfort in his arms.
He says I’m cute when I blush but he wouldn’t be saying that if he knew the reason. He’ll never know though, I won’t ever tell him, I’ll admit to it only in my own mind. I love him. It’s as simple as that, I love him.
Pathetic isn’t it? After all I can recognise the truth behind his devotion to the Prince. How can I compare with that? Arslan is everything that I am not. Sweetness, innocence, kindness, the sun in it’s fullness reigning over the day. And what am I? Some sort of reptile, I suppose.
And if I did confess… It doesn’t bear thinking about, the humiliation, not because either of them would hate me but because they’d both be so gentle and understanding. I couldn’t take that sort of pity. Perhaps I’m offended by goodness in general?
When Pharangase calls the Prince ‘Misra’s chosen’ I am disgusted. Not by him but by myself. Here Arslan is surrounded by such dedicated warriors, holy advisors, and here I am, a small splot of darkness, daring to disturb his light.
Sometimes I wonder how Daryoon can bare to look at me. The one he loves so different from this abomination that crouches in his shadow. If only he could love me… then perhaps I could be redeemed. It would forgive all my crimes, for one brief moment, if only…
But Daryoon will never love me, could never love me for he is inexplicably drawn to the light.
Ooh, that’s the first time I’ve actually written Arslan in as anything other than a plot device. And I’m getting awfully Catholic in my references to sin and guilt, which isn’t good…
Narsus (17/12/01)