peepo | the morning sun and the night sky.

Don't forget you are the one who brought me here out of your own volition. I don't want to hear your complaints about it.

[ it's a conflicting statement in his mind, to be grateful for the food or not. he's always loathe to give the slaves more work, loathe to sit down and force himself to eat, lest people suffer because of him. at times, he thinks, this is a punishment tailored for him. would it be too unreasonable to think so?

kaveh finally catches himself, uncomfortable between the four walls he thought he was getting to know, and moves towards his divan that is still not his. he will lie there later, and wonder, what is he to focus his mind on, now? ]

... What are you doing tomorrow? Sleeping all day again?

If I choose to, how will that affect your decision-making for the day? You have complained that you have nothing to do; nothing that I choose to do or not do will change that.

[ the servants return at a clip. a small, midnight meal is brought in: a pile of tahchin rises, arranged in the middle of chunks of curried white fish. a slave brings in a dinner mat and unfurls it across the floor. alhaitham allows the platters to be arranged and the meal to be set before he gestures for kaveh to join him on the mat. the slaves retreat through the open door; he takes a plate, and then, pausing, looks to kaveh. ]

You had dinner already, I trust. Do not make yourself ill.

[ the comment is salt on a wound, and it burns in the weight of his guilt. kaveh, back turned to anyone who could bother to see his face, grimaces at the reminder. for a moment, the divan looks tentatively comfortable, as though made of ninety percent cotton, and as soon as he were to lay on it, his body would shut.

stubborn, however, kaveh turns, and sits across alhaitham. the food this time, at the very least, doesn't seem like it would upset his pride. he fetches himself a plate, and serves himself with a sigh. ]

Must I spell it out to you? In what world would I be comfortable to be around in the same room as you? If you sleep, at the very least, I will have some peace of mind. If you're gone, even better. You can't possibly think I've grown to enjoy your company.

Could I? [ the thought seems to amuse him; the corners of alhaitham's eyes soften as he weighs his own plate with fragrant rice and the mild, riverside curry that the household has prepared. he sifts through his meal, and starts with a slice of fish.

there is an argument to be crafted here. it formulates with precision. alhaitham eats, and considers it. ] The premise of your question assumes that I spend my time wondering if you enjoy my company or not. Have you considered that your premise may be false, and I do not spend any significant amount of time thinking about you?

[ that mornings were not utilised to consider the state of kaveh's nightmares. that noon is not spent procuring appropriate sketchpads for a seasoned architect. that afternoons are not spent playing to elham's strengths. that nights are not spent measuring food consumed during the day. ]

[ insufferable, he thinks. how is a kingdom built on the foundation of a prince who does not seem likeable at all? do his own servants do? his own guards? does the regent, in spite of his gift?

the food, at the very least, is enjoyable this time around. his body welcomes it, and rids his mouth of the bitterness of gastric acid. how is a kingdom built on the foundation of an incorrigible prince, but supported by such good cooks? kaveh thinks, here, if nothing else, the ali qapu at least eats well. it's a small solace. ]

By all means, do not mistake my words. I would much rather stay clear of your thoughts and mind, lest I'm brought to unwanted attention. [ this, whatever this lack of purpose is, at least doesn't add to his trauma. ] I will be sure to note that Vissudha is a lacking kingdom, however, if their prince has such room for leisure. Do tell, how are you ruining Avidya like you did Lokapala? Biding your time, I assume?

[ alhaitham does not need to ruin the avidya, just like how alhaitham does not need to ruin the vissudha. they are under siege and towards ruin, one from the outside and one from within. azar has ensured it. destruction does not need alhaitham's input - thankfully. if nothing else, alhaitham can trust azar to be an incorrigible stain no matter the circumstances. it is the only thing of his that alhaitham trusts.

instead, he allows a quirk of his eyebrows in kaveh's direction. ]

I alone cannot ruin Avidya, just as you alone could not have saved Lokapala. [ alhaitham says, bloodless. he continues, in that self-same tone: ] In any case, Avidya has bid for treaty and not war. They are aware of the exposure of their borders now that Lokapala no longer sits on their other side. I signed with their Lord Ameer last night. Or did you not hear the celebration from the halls?

[ so that's what it was, kaveh thinks, and feels the way his blood goes cold. it makes much sense that avidya would not raise their weapons, not after what has befallen lokapala. he tries to find comfort in the idea that no more blood has been spilled, but finds room for worry nonetheless. the bleeding of his heart, the weight of his guilt. it is, ultimately, overthinking, an overexaggeration on his part. if he hadn't told the guards to leave their post, they could've put up a fight. had they resisted the invasion, many of them would still be home. avidya would still live its peaceful life.

his stomach churns. eating is not a good idea. ]

... What is next for Vissudha, then? What shall you conquer next?

[ that kaveh is insistent that alhaitham is in charge of every whim and fate beneath the roof of the ali qapu is both amusing and useful. it keeps his attention directed towards alhaitham, rather than the slow spiral towards a grimmer understanding. alhaitham has never been interested in power. it was enough that he had power over himself; it was enough that he himself knew such a thing. however, it is not enough for azar - and azar, who is still counting on the unchanging bedrock of alhaitham's passivity, cannot be allowed to continue. this is simple enough for even children to understand.

kaveh is no child. the information he sources here has very little use. but an architect gathers materials so that they can build. alhaitham has never been able to predict what the alacrity of kaveh's mind is able to construct. he continues to eat. ]

Nowhere. [ he says, and it is the truth. alhaitham is not the one doing the conquering. and with the same tone and cadence: ] Akram and Kurash have been assigned to the Stablemaster. You will meet with them next.

[ ultimately, kaveh does not know azar. what's more, he doesn't even know how to put a face to a name, and in all of the fire of his rage and the burning of his hurt, alhaitham is the one who takes the high of both. it's easier like this, to have someone to blame, whether he's right or not. he's already without a purpose, and at least with hate to chain him down, kaveh is far less likely to lose himself each passing second.

but he does not know alhaitham. he is, time and time again, a constant he does not understand. first, elham. now, akram and kurash. and then, the same question, as though a broken record: ]

Why?

[ once again, the question comes back to intentions. it is, in fact, the single-minded focus of a man who once saw a singular crack amongst the pavestones of his garden and had chased its reason back to the source of the stone.

alhaitham continues to eat. ]

For you to do the same for them as you have done for Elham. This should be simple enough to understand.

[ it is not. it's not simple enough, because he sees no reason and sense in this. he will meet with elham, then he will meet with akram and kurash, then he will meet with nasser, bita, and panah. then goli, sanad. varsha, izad. and then once they have all assured their prince's safety, once kaveh has crafted sweet, poisoning lies to keep them alive to see sunrise another day... then, what?

kaveh sets his plate down. he can't eat tonight. ]

I will give them hope to keep going. That's what you want me to do. I don't understand the reason. What does it matter to you?

[ kaveh sets his plate down. alhaitham continues to eat. the answer to the question ought to be simple. it does not, in fact, matter to alhaitham. little enough does. it does not matter the mix of the poison or the quality of lies. it matters who the lies are coming from, and for what purpose they are used. without hope, humans cannot function. and alhaitham needs the lokapalans to function. they are the only individuals inside the palace that are beneath azar's notice; they valuable pieces to be moved on a gameboard that spans past what the ali qapu can hold in her crimson gaze.

alhaitham, who has only ever played to win, looks at kaveh. his persistence suits him. it is also a complication. alhaitham considers this. ]

I see. You would rather ask me over and over again, in case I provide you with a different manner of silence. Did Pir Kavekavus not say that persisting with the same action over and over again hoping for a different outcome is a definition of insanity?

[ kaveh shakes his head. there's something unnerving in hearing that name come out of alhaitham's mouth. ]

You're making it sound as though he was being derogatory. Humans are not found of what is not part of the status quo, and a persistent man will be labeled as insane. There's no flaw or fault in chasing after one's ideals. Stubbornness is a strength.

[ and despite all, his own had once been inspired by pir kavekavus, too. alhaitham will argue otherwise, he knows. he will derail the conversation, make kaveh forget of what has even led to it to begin with. the red of his eyes stare alhaitham down, as though his looks could burn. ]

I know you are plotting something. [ he may not know details, but alhaitham couldn't just be so kind, like elham had said. all of this, surely, is just a piece moved in his game of chess. ] But I can't imagine you'd need me and my people. Not after what you've done. Or is this all just a game to you?

Do I seem the type to enjoy playing games?

[ a question, as bloodless as any other. kaveh looks at him, and of course, alhaitham looks back. in the same tone, with the same, typewriter cadence: ]

You are also only half-correct. Stubbornness is a strength - if wielded appropriately, if channeled in a productive direction, if used as groundwork for technique. Every individual should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end, lest you be led astray. To do so, you need a certain degree of stubbornness.

However, blindly applying that stubbornness to the first roadblock that you reach is inconducive. You are an example of such. Have you achieved anything by using this one method? Does evidence show that you will achieve something? You are an architect; think. If a foundation can't be built one way, what other ways would you consider?

[ he did, in fact, achieve something. without his stubbornness, wouldn't kaveh have long given up? stubbornness gives him room to argue, to inquire, to stand his ground and put his foot down. what is a kaveh who is not stubborn, a kaveh who goes with the flow of the river that surrounds the alcazarzaray, but not a kaveh who shines so bright he could challenge the sun itself?

he doesn't have to be certain of the future. if he has the hope to keep going, and if he's stubborn enough to defy reason and logic, stubborn enough to keep himself alive, isn't that enough? hasn't it been his stubbornness, as an architect, that allowed the palace of alcazarzaray come to life? he will sit. he will think. he will lose sleep in order to find a new road to stubbornly walk through.

what does alhaitham know about him, his ideals, his goals and dreams?

kaveh stands. this conversation has run its course. ]

What other way is there to know that a foundation cannot be built one way, if not to persist until you exhaust all options? I will, then, think, as you want me to, and continue to push my way through no matter whether it rewards my attempts or not. Some people, who are not handed everything on a silver plate like you are, would rather not live with the regret of not trying their best, or not trying hard enough. Can you still say stubbornness is so inconducive as you think?

[ kaveh speaks of regret. he speaks of trying. he speaks of stubbornness as a conduit. alhaitham thinks - that he is finally moving. the quirk of alhaitham's brow is that of a conversation unto itself - assessment, observation, the recording of facts and the collating of phenomena. but it is not, in fact, judgement. there is no need for it. there has never been, not from alhaitham.

kaveh stands. the righteousness of his fury is like a burning brand. alhaitham, who has never been burned, finally puts down his plate. ]

Then, you agree, Kaveh, that stubbornness combined with persisting through a variety of options is a better use of your time and energy. [ is what he says. his hand towel cleanses his fingers; he wipes his mouth. ] As you have just demonstrated, your vocabulary has enough variety that the word 'why' is not the only question you are capable of asking, nor is it the only thought you are capable of forming. I suggest that you continue to use your vocabulary and your stubbornness to its fullest extent. After all, did you not want to try your best?

[ and then, in the selfsame tone: ] Shall I leave food here for the night for consumption later, or shall I send the platter back to the kitchen?

[ there is still, in fact, a significant amount of tahchin. ]

[ alhaitham speaks, each and every time, and kaveh finds himself despising conversation with him. it is a natural back-and-forth between enemy kingdoms, between two crown princes that should never be in the same room as they are. kaveh has lied down on his bed before, in the warmth of the alcazarzaray, and wondered how different sumeru would be if the future kings of opposing nations had met when young, formed a friendship between them.

it is a hopeful dream kaveh discarded not long after he met alhaitham, clad in golden manacles that, despite all, hardly matched him.

the blood-red of his eyes, a jewel lost outside its home, stares alhaitham up and down. if looks could kill. ]

Leave it. I will eat before sunrise.

[ whether he's awake. whether he wakes himself up. would kaveh be able to sleep at all? has he, in the past days?

he sits on the divan, the same way as he does. legs close to his chest, head on his knees, and the view outside has long been memorized in his eyes. kaveh is slowly getting used to life in the ali qapu, and the thought itself is sickening. ]

[ if looks could kill. alhaitham considers the line of kaveh's back as he walks away. azar would enjoy him, he thinks. he has always enjoyed the veneer of rebelliousness. the thought leaves him cold. leave it, kaveh says, and so alhaitham makes the arrangements. slaves return to take the food; he bids for them to set it aside beneath iron cloches. the room smells like tahchin; the scent lingers. alhaitham considers the hour of the night, and, because he still has work to do, returns to his desk to write.

in a few hours, the servant with the swaying skirt enters to the sound of a silver bell. alhaitham does not bother looking up; a gesture of his hand sends her towards kaveh. she approaches with deference, holding out the bud of a small, pink flower. from elham, she says, as a token of thank you. there were flowers in the hall of numbers. this is the only one she could take. ]

[ for the hours that follows, kaveh abandons his stubbornness in favor of being more comfortable. he does not sleep before alhaitham does, and finds solace in the sketchpad he has been given to keep his mind busy. he sketches, draws, writes. most, he has noticed, are drawings of the palace of alcazazaray, so he does not forget its glory. the idea itself is terrifying.

kaveh looks when slaves and servants come and go, each and every time. that one of them (familiar, too, he recognizes her) approaches him is a difference in routine, the flower a surprise. from elham. a budding flower, yet to bloom. kaveh, being kaveh, finds meaning in it. associates hope to a flower that matures. he stands from his divan.

though he had once searched through alhaitham's room, kaveh does it again. shelves, no matter how high or low. most he finds, of course, are books, with few decorations. a vase. just a damn vase, how hard is it to find a vase of all things? he huffs, and sighs, and paces around, and looks over and over again through the same shelves, as though magically, a vase would appear where once it was not.

he's not going to ask alhaitham for one. he refuses. ]

[ kaveh draws. kaveh writes. kaveh searches. after the first foray around the room, it becomes more and more obvious as to just what he is searching. the bookshelves hold no clues; alhaitham knows. the books, sorted first by language and then by font - though it gets a little messy in the liyuen ones - collect knowledge and dust, not flowers. but kaveh's gaze skims them all the same, that same, red, hunting look of a riboshland tiger when keyed to prey. no riboshland tiger has a temper that kaveh does. it is not his temper, however, that kaveh is known for. for a moment, alhaitham wonders if his energy and mind will keep up. strain builds when one's fury does not match one's constitution. kaveh is not so weak - however, kaveh is just a man. a man that bleeds when cut. a man that bruises when hurt. a man that burns when put to the torch.

what kaveh is known for: the dancing of petals on the eve of the lesser lord's birthday. the proclamation of laughter as he venerates his countrymen. the carving of a rose that still sits in alhaitham's lockbox, the one on his shelf that contains the letters that were written between their parents, before the murder of his own.

it's a pity, alhaitham thinks, that alhaitham himself cannot be the anchor to flame.

kaveh makes a third round of the room. alhaitham, finally, says: ]

In the bathroom, to the right of the waterfall. Take out the stick of incense, and use it as you wish.

[ he speaks of a small, high-lipped vase. ]

[ kaveh's assessment had been wrong. he would have readily believed that alhaitham would find joy in watching him struggle, unsuccessful in his search, until he put pride down to inquire for what he wants. instead, it is the tone of his voice that catches him off guard, and the words are not processed in his mind as they come. it takes a while — in the bathroom, to the right of the waterfall —, but once kaveh understands their purpose, he clicks his tongue. ]

I didn't need your help.

[ surely, his search would take him to the bathroom, eventually. he would be a fool who looks for something so easy to find in the wrong place, for the longest time, but it is that selfsame stubbornness that allows his flame to burn ever bright.

the vase will suffice. the flower is pruned already, he finds, and will bloom with time. kaveh adds some water to it, then the flower, and brings it back to his divan. it will sit next to his sketchpad, by the window, so it makes use of the sunlight at high noon. it will bloom. he would make sure.

it is only then that kaveh turns to alhaitham. ]

I would like to send Elham a note.

[ the click of kaveh's tongue reverberates. the room that pir kavekavus built with his own two hands would allow no less. it allows alhaitham to track kaveh's movements as he searches in the bathroom, the careful padding of bare feet along moist tiles until he has identified the vase in question. kaveh tends to the flower as if it were a child. he waters it, and places it by the window so that it will be able to soak up the light of the sun. the lifespan of a cut flower is short. it does not seem like a good use of energy to keep such things alive, knowing that they will soon die. this, alhaitham does not say.

instead, kaveh turns to alhaitham. alhaitham's pen skims across his manuscript. ]

Are you seeking from me help, permission or an opinion?

[ alhaitham looks up. kaveh's hands, still-wet from watering his flower - his fingers gleam in the torchlight. he observes him for a moment. it would be a return of gratitude for the flower sent. it is harmless, so long as it isn't intercepted. ]

Prepare the message. You have paper, and you are capable of writing. [ his gaze dips back down to his manuscript. his hand continues to write. ] Azadeh will take your message to her, provided that she deems the process safe.

[ neither, kaveh would have answered. it is neither help, nor permission, let alone an opinion. it is a demand from a prince, but prince of vissudha kaveh is not. he cannot call for servants or slaves, cannot order them to deliver messages. that has to be something alhaitham does, and it is something kaveh has to ask of him.

it is not help, permission, or an opinion. therefore, this he can rely on him for. kaveh comes closer, by his desk, and does not bother to read what alhaitham writes. despite all, he has decency, and bigger things to worry about.

he holds his hand out. ]

Give me a letter paper. The ones from my sketchpad are unsuited for this.

[ they are far thicker, suited for rough strokes of graphite and charcoal. those, kaveh thinks, will not do for what he has in mind. letter papers are thinner, easier to handle. loathe as he is to ask anything of alhaitham, even he himself knows when to set pride aside for a moment in order to achieve his own goals. ]

[ kaveh holds his hand out. alhaitham's pen stills. he looks. this is, he thinks, the first time that kaveh has insisted on an outcome, rather than seeking answers frrom alhaitham's pre-planned paths. kaveh needed food and sleep. he needed arguments to take his mind away from the grief, and his countrymen to give him hope. but there are things that alhaitham cannot provide until kaveh is ready for it. kaveh, now, for the first time, wants.

and in no universe would alhaitham ever stand in its way. ]

How so? Is paper not paper? Or do you assert that the paper manufactured from Vissudha is of lesser quality than the ones from Lokapala?

[ is what he says, however. best to reassert a reminder: alhaitham is not inherently kind. he can never be. ]

[ alhaitham speaks words that only he would dare, and for once, kaveh finds himself not falling for them. it does not, after all, have anything to do with the quality of paper, and it almost, just almost, makes kaveh feel superior. as though this is a piece of knowledge he has that alhaitham does not. it wouldn't be entirely surprising — it is, after all, something he has learned from being an architect, designer, artist. has the prince of vissudha ever bothered to touch a sketchpad, and feel its papers?

kaveh sighs, hand still out. ]

Uncoated paper and embossed paper are entirely different. Parchment, for your letters, is far thinner, more malleable. Linen paper is thicker, textured. I can't use those. [ he gestures with his fingers. ] If you fancy reading so much, I'm sure there are books on different types of papers. I don't have to give you a lecture. Now, give me. I won't stand here all evening.

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