Light angst & shounen-ai.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein belong to Yoshiki Tanaka and other respective parties. No revenue is being made from their use in this fanwork.
Long years
had stretched on throughout the
The petty intrigues of the nobles continued to simmer but nothing of great import arose to disturb the peace. With the watchful eyes of Misra’s Priestess overseeing the spiritual growth of all, there was little that could cause clammily.
King Arslan was grateful for the steady progress that was being made by his nation, glad that the long fought for peace seemed to be a lasting one. Not that life was ever dull, just a little less dangerous. And he was content for it to be that way.
Soon enough he would no longer be able to turn away the promise of fresh alliances by marriage. Besides, a King would always need an heir and Arslan was not one to fool himself into thinking that there would always be other chances, in the future. He had learnt enough during the war to know that sometimes the promise of tomorrow was not a certainty.
“A King without an heir is vulnerable, your Majesty.” So Narsus had said.
“I know.” He’d replied.
And Narsus had bowed low at the King’s wisdom.
Arslan wondered at the manner of it all, these political alliances, marriages that meant nothing but artificial gain on both sides. There was a Maruyam Princess, a cousin of Ilina that appeared quite promising, as well as several daughters of Pulsian nobles. He suspected that it might be better to wed the Maruyam Princess, for the sake of tying the neighbouring kingdom to an alliance that would cause problems to any old Lords who still felt that Hermes might have made a better king. Still, some of those high-ranking Pulsian nobles were quite insistent, as were many of their daughters. Every one of them so desperate to reach for the throne that Arslan wondered if it was really worth it’s appearance. The power to rule a nation did not come without its own share of responsibility.
Caught in his musings the King failed to note the arrival of his Champion. Coming to a halt before the throne, Daryoon bowed and waited silently to be acknowledged. It took Arslan a few moments to notice his presence.
“Daryoon.” Arslan smiled pleasantly, glad for the distraction from the odd turn his thoughts had taken.
“Your Majesty…” Daryoon paused as if gathering his thoughts. “In accordance with tradition, I would like to request your permission to wed the Lady Cymoril.”
Arslan was silent for a moment, trying to mask his surprise. “The daughter of Lord Arioch?”
“Yes, Sire.”
Arslan frowned a little.
Daryoon waited for an answer, for though it was only a point of tradition to ask the King’s permission, it would be seen as a particularly crass move to take such action without it.
“Yes, of course.” Came the reply, at length. “She is of pure lineage and most pleasant, I hear.”
“That she is, Majesty.”
And Arslan found that he had nothing to say in reply.
As the doors of the throne room swung open at Daryoon’s departure, Arslan could see Narsus standing close by, seemingly waiting. Daryoon paused and leaned close to say something to Narsus, receiving an answering smile. And then, in a moment of indiscretion the strategist placed a quick kiss on the warrior’s cheek before he made to enter the throne room.
“Your Majesty.” Narsus presented himself to the King.
“Yes…” The King’s gaze was still focused in the direction of the now closed doors.
“Forgive my intrusion on your thoughts.”
Arslan turned to look at Narsus, beginning to wonder when it was that all forms of address directed towards him had become so formal.
“But there is the matter of your formal courting arrangements regarding Princess Imrryr.”
An absent nod was the only response.
Narsus regarded the royal visage thoughtfully. “Perhaps, if your Majesty is unwell…” he began.
“No, not unwell.” Arslan turned a suddenly melancholic gaze on Narsus, all the time trying to place the exact moment when friends had become subjects, when gentle conversation had become formal obeisance.
There was no reply and finally the King broke the silence with a piercing inanity. “So, Daryoon is to be wed.”
“Yes.” Narsus tilted his head a little to the side, curiously watching his monarch.
“To the Lady Cymoril.”
“That is so.”
Now Arslan found himself wondering if they were so locked into their roles that there might be nothing else to be said on the matter.
As if sensing the King’s thoughts, Narsus spoke up. “I wish them well.” He ventured.
“Of course.” Arslan found himself adding, all the while looking for it to be some lie. He couldn’t imagine it being all so simple, that Daryoon might wed, leaving Narsus behind. Not like this, not after all this time. How could Narsus possibly forgive this betrayal?
“There is no ill-feeling between us, Majesty, I assure you.” Narsus answered the unspoken question. “When all things have passed we are still friends, after all.”
And the King could only nod slowly in reply, considering that perhaps it was actually that simple after all.
I think it was Ludovico Einaudi’s “Le Onde” that inspired this.
A note on names:
Cymoril is the cousin of Elric of Melnibonè, of the Michael Moorcock novels.
Duke Arioch is Elric’s patron, one of the Lords of Chaos and the Duke of Hell.
Imrryr is the ‘dreaming city’ from which Elric rules.