peepo | the morning sun and the night sky.

[ kaveh looks at him. in the refracted reflections within his eyes, alhaitham can see the shards of war. anger, confusion, wariness, terror, an unsaid sorrow that permeates the very living fabric of what kaveh stands for. to use emotion, you must first recognise it. alhaitham's grandmother had walked him to the leather-bound journals of his parents, and said to him - alhaitham, my haitham, you must learn to weep.

the red of kaveh's neck stands for condemnation. alhaitham looks back at him, at the question being posed, and shakes his head. ]

I had thought the reasoning is obvious. [ is what he says into the stunned silence. ] How can you eat supper while chained?

[ as if on cue, the doors to his suite opens. servants with their heads bowed low enter. the headmaid looks between alhaitham and his slave, and merely gestures for the slaves to bring in their platters. one with silver manacles carefully lays out a dinner mat on the floor, dyed jute and woven cashmere depicting a repeating geometric pattern in blues and greens. dinner is spread: silver platters of khoresh-e ghormeh sabzi, laden with fragrant lamb and peppered with acrid morsels of yellowed ormani limes. an ash reshteh heralding the scent of spring, fresh greens imported from pardis dhyai coupled with beans and soaked in the salt of a fragrant yoghurt. platters of tomato salad coupled with diced green cucumbers interspersed with the purple of crips onions. chunks of chickens skewered laid out on a bed of flatbread, dotted with minute strands of saffron. one by one, the slaves bow their head, and one by one, the room clears, leaving behind alhaitham, and kaveh, and food enough to feed a small contingent of elephants.

alhaitham is the one who sits down first cross-legged at the end of the dinner mat. he wipes his hands with the moist towels provided in a little bowl of rosewater, and, without further ado, picks up the ends of a skewer. ]

[ none of this is right.

not the answer he's given, not the way the red of his eyes watch slaves, chained ones, set down the food he's supposed to eat. his stomach churns in rejection, but a part of it falls victim to the several different smells. it is, he recognizes, dinner fit for a royal. in lokapala, they dined all around a wide wooden table, humble, kings and queens and princes and princesses and servants alike. in lokapala, they are all equals, all children of the sun.

here, kaveh is a slave, alhaitham is a prince, and their food is served by people stripped of their names, history, titles, honor and pride, chained and bound. his pressure drops.

and because this is kaveh, prince of stubbornness: ] ... I'm not eating that.

[ kaveh stands there. it's the expected reaction. dinner would weigh uncomfortably in the stomach of someone who still remembers, to no fault of his own, the dying screams of his kinsmen. but that, too, is sentiment. sentiment doesn't build strength. it won't nourish the body. it won't ensure that an empty shell will see tomorrow. alhaitham picks apart his skewer. he does so without looking up. he lets kaveh stand there, the scent of the food wafting, the sound of eating pushing at the thin line he's drawn of his boundaries. sometimes, time works with you.

then, after his first skewer is picked clean, alhaitham takes a plate. he ladles stew, chunks of tender lamb and supple peas, and picks onto it a bed of greens, tomatoes so fresh that they still gleam. ]

If there is a significant amount of food left over, the staff in the kitchen will assume that my household was not pleased with tonight's meal, and the slaves will suffer the consequences of it. What will they feel, I wonder, when they learn that you are the source of their distress? Starting from tonight, some of them may even be Lokapalans. [ alhaitham holds out the plate to kaveh. ] Sit, and eat. They will be rewarded by their slavemasters if you do the bare minimum.

[ his father had once told him that the window to a person's heart should ever only open for someone who will treat it with care. his mother, in turn, chuckled, and said that the reason their kaveh was so beloved throughout lokapala and its neighboring villages was because he allowed all to peek inside his chest, hiding nothing from no one. she thought of it a strength, while his father wished only for him to exert caution.

humans come with strengths and flaws, and what once kaveh brandished as a weapon, today its blade is turned to him, a cut made across his chest where he bleeds and bleeds and stains the endless waterfalls of the ali qapu red. what is, after all, one more bloodfall in the hands of vissudhans? lokapala's prince has the reddest blood of them all.

his pressure drops even further, because alhaitham has that advantageous point into his heart. he knows what will hurt him, knows the exact words to say to counter kaveh's stubbornness. he rises, then, without a word, mindful of the lack of strength in his legs. he takes the plate that is offered to him, sits right across alhaitham, and just— stares.

at the plate, at the food, at the floor. if he had been pale before, now he much resembles a corpse, so overcome and lost in his own despair that he's barely recognizable as a child of the sun. this is, after all, what happens when you bleed so endlessly towards another. when he wishes for nothing more than his people's happiness, for their wellbeing. the very idea of causing them distress and hurt is one that does not agree with kaveh's essence, and all of his leftover strength is spent simply trying not to show any more weakness. he couldn't bear to shed tears for his people today, because there is still a tomorrow, and neither of them knows what tomorrow will bring.

without a single word spoken, then, kaveh slowly finds will to start eating. ]

[ kaveh begins to eat. it begins slowly. he takes a seat, he takes the plate, he takes a bite. alhaitham observes him for a moment, watching as a living corpse would going through its motions. blood has drained from him. it has drained, and it has gone somewhere else - to the hearts of others, perhaps. if he were to akin the lokapalans right now as an organism, kaveh would be its still-beating heart, draining into endless reservoirs. he doubts kaveh knows what he is eating. he would not see it. its taste would be as ash upon his tongue. but he is eating, and alhaitham could look away, satisfied that he is going through vital motions to keep his energy up and his health in check.

tomorrow, it will likely need to be said again. kaveh will have to relearn the hurt before he numbs to it. he will once again no longer wish to eat; alhaitham will say words to have him do so. but that is tomorrow. just like motions and poems pressed between paper-thin manuscripts, emotions can be relearned. kaveh will relearn no matter how many times it takes, and alhaitham will teach him no matter how many times it takes.

but that is for him to handle tomorrow. today, alhaitham finishes his portion of stew. he mops up the remaining broth with a piece of flatbread, and then, putting aside his platter, considers the situation. ]

What are the names of the Lokapalans that were brought in with you?

[ the statement has truth to it. kaveh does not know what he's eating, doesn't bother to really tell apart spices, tastes, smells. he eats because his body needs the food, he eats because his people need him. he eats to survive another day.

but alhaitham, oh alhaitham. alhaitham knows what to say, each time. when night falls, and he's on the verge of sleep, kaveh will think about this. is he truly so transparent? is the window to his heart so wide open that even the enemy can read him? why does alhaitham know him so well?

the flame rekindles within crimson eyes. and then, with the same protectiveness a mother shows a child, a prince shows his people: ] What does it matter to you?

[ for a moment, kaveh looks nearly himself again. there's you, alhaitham thinks. there's the you who wouldn't dim your flame for anyone. it's a valid question. it's also a question that alhaitham has considered, and discarded. there are some questions that don't need answers to stand alone. there are some questions that are better not asked. this one may belong to both.

alhaitham looks at kaveh, considering. ]

Did you already forget their names?

[ kaveh is a child of the son, as are all those who hail from lokapala, but many have considered him a lion, too. fierce, intense, who will brandish his claws when need be. this here is one of those times, and the raw anger on his face is not one that suits it. a smile better suits a prince.

he all but growls at alhaitham. ]

If you are so concerned, ask them yourself. I do not owe you anything. Their names are not mine to give.

[ in more ways than one. ]

[ nobody can look at the flames of rage and think them the warmth of a hearth fire. but alhaitham thinks of the motions of a walking corpse, and knows that this is the preferable outcome. life is a strange concept. it is made of components so entirely disparate to each other that one needs to wonder how they come together at all - but it's equally true that you cannot have the presence of life without it. shelter, food, emotion, drive. sometimes, the flames of rage.

alhaitham is unflinching. ]

Their names have been discarded. They would be under the threat of death if they speak their names; you are, as of right now, the only individual in this nation still able to speak on their behalf. You still will not speak?

[ silence is telling. kaveh watches, studies, tries to find fault in alhaitham's features, in every motion he makes, in the way his lips mouths the words he speaks, as though there he would find a tell that this is all an elaborate lie, that he's being played with. kaveh, trusting, loving, naive kaveh. he would be easy to manipulate. his father worried much about him, but never saw the opportunity to warn his son. lokapala was perfect. sumeru, then, hadn't been so tumultuous. so full of conflict.

he puts his plate down for a moment. there is no need for a prince to recall the name of every single one of his people, but kaveh does. they're family, after all. in the intricacies of his mind, their names are all written on a large wall, never to be forgotten. ]

Akram. Kurash. Nasser. Bita. Panah. Goli. Sanad. Varsha. Elham. Izad.

[ slowly, he recites each of their names, their faces fresh in his memories. they had all smiled, once, dined around the same table, celebrated the same festivals. now, with luck, they're all under the same palace, enslaved. with luck, they're still alive — or would it be luckier to be met with death? ]

Not that you will remember, or assign a face to a name. Again, what does it matter to you?

[ names recited from memory. a prince, no matter what manner of heart he possesses, is forced to confront the limitations of the human body and mind when recalling the names of every subject in his domain. it then confirms alhaitham's suspicions that each lokapalan had been selected based on their connection to the royal palace itself. he considers the perspective of the eremites - they would have been ordered to choose and select the best and most viable slaves for serving the vissudha palace. what better quality of slaves to choose than individuals who once served a palace themselves? he considers, and rejects, the possibility that azar would have given orders to the eremites directly as to where the slaves must be sourced. communicating little details like that to eremites, the scourges of the desert and mere dust beneath his heels, would be beyond him.

alhaitham knew that he could use this. there were a few elements to be confirmed, but the facts slot into his pre-existing plans with the neat click of a chess piece in place. alhaitham looks at kaveh, still defiant, chin jutted out in a contemptuous lilt, and rests his chin on the heel of his hand as he thinks. ]

The young woman who was brought in with you, with long light hair braided along her left shoulder. Purple painted lips, gold foil on her eyelids obscuring the reddening of her eyes, extensive bruising beneath the make-up on her right arm, and the tri-coloured bangles on both wrists - which of the ones you named was she?

[ he watches, again. studies, again. analyzes, again. the description is an immediate match to the name in his mind, and he finds it unnecessary the continuation. they are truths that kaveh knows, truths kaveh watched happen, but truths he does not want to be reminded of. it is wood thrown into his fire, igniting it, making it stronger. it rekindles the flame in his eyes, again. ]

... Elham. [ he complies, then, and there's a small ball of fear deep in his stomach. what if, by giving a name to a face, he's going to indirectly be the cause of her distress? what if, indirectly, her prince brings her hurt?

alhaitham hadn't choked him when he had the chance. hadn't killed him yet. he could, if he wishes, kill those around him, again. the knot in his throat is not an easy one to swallow. ] Why do you ask?

[ once again, kaveh asks. once again, alhaitham is disinclined to respond. the intention does not - and never has - mattered. he is the prince of a state that soaked lokapala in blood. nothing he says will assuage the evident suspicions that swim in kaveh's blood-like gaze. and so he doesn't. elham's name is inscribed in the neat annals of his mind, carefully filed away for actionable outcome. beneath her name, there is a blank to be filled. the only person left alive in this world who would know the answer is kaveh.

what use are you, he had asked kaveh, not having expected a response in turn. but alhaitham knows kaveh's use. ]

Is she good with dance, or numbers? Or perhaps is she a gifted equestrian?

[ number would be idea. he had never had a spy within the hall of the master of numbers. and have someone within the stables with the master of horses and sumpterbeasts would further facilitate travel opportunities.

knowing, however, his questions come without explanation, alhaitham inclines his head. ] Answer the question, and I will arrange for you to meet with her.

[ alhaitham always knows what to say. he is the perfect example of what a prince should be; cunning, intelligent, authoritarian. kaveh would agree to disagree.

he stares, again, because it's all he can do. his heart sinks into his chest, again, because alhaitham reads him like a children's book. there is no reason to believe those words, but kaveh is optimistic. bright, he gleams and shines, always finds the glass to be half-full. even here, that side of him hasn't been extinguished yet.

yet. ]

... She was our treasurer. [ was. it burns in his tongue.

these memories, too, are vivid in his mind. elham had never agreed with the way kaveh was so lax with money, so often offering his to those in need, so often being close to being in debt. a dear friend, above all. a sister. the memory, too, burns in his heart. ]

Is it your way of speaking of the living as if they were dead?

[ but alhaitham's thoughts are already moving on. treasurer - impressive, for a woman of her age. she would be underestimated by the hall of numbers, but her beauty would allow her closer access than others in her position. the blank page within his mind fills. he will be able to use that. there are arrangements to be made and underhanded meetings to involve himself, but success viable.

he gets up. ]

Eat. [ alhaitham says to kaveh as he moves back to his desk, taking a towel with him to clean off his hands. ] I will arrange for the meeting with her within the week. She will be inconsolable if her prince visibly lost weight. Do you want to be further impetus for her worries? At the very least, if there is nothing else you can do, you can put on a brave smile.

Your people have stripped us of our essence and being. Do not place the blame on me. Or do you intend to bring her name and status back?

[ who would have thought alhaitham would be vissudha's royal jester alongside crown prince. a man of so many talents.

his blood-red, fire-lit eyes watch each and all of his movements, as he stands and returns to his desk. there is a natural curiosity here that has him wondering he had been doing there moments ago, what missive he had written. kaveh is optimistic, but that does not apply to matters what come from alhaitham. he'd have been optimistic vissudha and lokapala's personal enmity would come to an end, once.

it did, but in all the wrong ways.

kaveh turns back to the food. it's his turn to pick apart one of the skewers left. alhaitham is always good with his words. ]

Why are you doing all of this? [ he inquires a third time. ] I don't understand you.

[ kaveh continues to eat. alhaitham settles down once more to write. another missive, this time stamped with gold foil. he considers the phrasing, and adds in an additional line - pursuant to treasury laws, he writes, section 17 subsection b. one of his predecessors did not slack on embedding regulations involving gifts, reports and slave ownership. alhaitham, today, reaps the benefits. ]

Must you understand me? [ he says this as his left hand continues to write unabated. three more lines in neat, slanting cursive, each character bleeding into the next. ] What would understanding me achieve? You speak of returning names and statuses - would understanding me achieve either of such things?

It would make it a little less infuriating to be here, for one.

[ it would, too, ensure he sleeps just a little better. it would prevent thoughts from festering, from poisoning the ins and outs of his mind. thoughts, he knows, can kill. thoughts can suffocate someone.

the food doesn't taste well on his tongue at all. ]

What am I here for? Why did you remove my bindings? Anyone else would not have. They wouldn't even let me speak, I'm sure. Why did you promise you'd let me meet with Elham? Do you even mean it at all? Do you even know how to answer questions, or did they teach you not to indulge anyone, ever?

No.

[ alhaitham says, in succinct response to one of the questions posed. maybe two of them. it's unclear. his pen continues unabated for another line. and then, once more, the same routine: sand, wind, and seal. the letter goes into a formal envelope. alhaitham rings a silver bell, and a servant steps in from the door - he hands the missive to him, and closes the door once more.

task completed, he turns back to survey the room, and kaveh. ]

Slaves will be here to remove any extra food in thirty minutes, so I suggest alacrity. You are free to keep some of the food in here for your consumption later, but I reserve the right to veto foods that have strong scents.

[ alhaitham's eyes skim the line of kaveh's body. ]

You seem smaller than I am. Clothing will be brought approximate to your size; tailored clothing will be provided later in the month, if I have time to arrange it.

[ unhelpful, as always. kaveh shouldn't have expected anything else.

the servant, that is only in the room for a brief moment, still gives kaveh pause — his chewing, his breathing, his body altogether —, and he catches himself once he leaves. trauma response, sheer fear. he hasn't realized it quite yet.

he starts, then, with slaves, and every word that follows is processed ten times over in his mind. he recalls, too, a former assessment — if too much is leftover, it will fall on the slaves, some possibly lokapalans. they do not have to have blood of his blood for kaveh to worry. thirty minutes is more than enough for him to stuff his face; for them, yes, but for himself as well. there's no telling when would be the next time he would eat. he doesn't give alhaitham the opportunity, here.

between mouthfuls, then: ] If I keep asking why you're doing any of this, will you answer, or is this your way of teaching me not to question you at all?

[ alhaitham's earlier words seem to have had their intended effect. kaveh continues to eat, and alhaitham observes the amount of food left. it would be like him, he thinks, to go over what his body's limits may be for the sake of others. but it's equally likely that kaveh has not eaten all day. he would benefit from having the additional the additional food; it may ease sleep, if nothing else, though it will not ease his nerves, nor his visceral reaction to a person at the door.

alhaitham retrieves a book. he takes a seat on one of the many low divans scattered around the room and, waiting, begins to read. ]

I am demonstrating that you may choose to ask questions, just as I may choose to not respond. You should not commend yourself on identify a portion of what is being shown. Even a child could understand after repeated attempts.

[ he figures, of course, that the method of annoyance is not one that would bring about results and answers. he would have to lay down at night and ruminate on all these questions, overthink and overexhaust them until the words themselves lose their meaning. he will ask whys, he will ask hows. kaveh will not find an answer, will not come to a conclusion. the next day, it would be the same.

what is the point in all of this? why did his people have to die? is there meaning in war?

he puts down his third skewer in a row. his jaw hurts from chewing. ]

Then I'm here for decoration at best, and a pet at worst. How exciting it is to know you choose to take lives away for your own selfish reasons. Whatever dreams and plans for my own future don't matter if they do not favor you, is it?

[ decorations and pets serve to make their owners happy, alhaitham thinks. kaveh, as he is right now, can make nobody happy. it is also not kaveh's place to do so. kaveh puts away a third skewer. his tongue is the sharp whip of a lashing snake. alhaitham flips a page in his book. ]

Are you used to others putting your dreams and plans ahead of your own? [ is what alhaitham asks. ] Do you expect it from those around you?

[ and how many of those people, he doesn't say, putting kaveh's dreams and plans ahead of themselves, died for it? ]

[ there's a look, here, that he shoots towards alhaitham that is far sharper than any words he could say. looks that could kill, fire that could not be tamed. he all but growls, again. ]

Are you used to putting your own dreams and plans ahead of other people's own? [ a question for a question. venom for venom. two can play this game. ] Do you think yourself superior, or perhaps you are simply egoist, and you don't want other people to succeed in life. What, you think Lokapala was going to ruin your life, so you saw fit to ruin ours first? Do you fancy ruining a person's life for your own benefits?

[ he stands, then, at last. there's very little food left, and if he's any lucky, no one will be punished for it. the weight of their pain will be too heavy to carry, but kaveh would still do it, damned be the consequences. damned be his own health.

without any direction, he leans against a wall furthest across alhaitham. any closer, he might have jumped him. ]

Yes.

[ another answer, cut to the quick. whether it's the answer for a singular question or for several remains unclear - but alhaitham has said what he needs to say. ]

A prince is of an inherently different rank and purpose than those who are not. It follows that I understand that my actions will hold more weight, regardless of how I would like to be regarded. Luckily, I do not care how I am regarded. Decisions cannot be democratised, yet consequences will be. Any prince who does not heed the very real power dynamics at play fundamentally are unable to fulfill their role, which leads to the downfall of those relying on said role to maintain peace, security and comfort.

[ kaveh stands, and alhaitham continues to read. but the flicker of the connection between them is like an electric charge in the air. two binary stars opposing, spiraling into futility. ]

The personal attacks and baseless guesses regarding my intentions, however, are not worth addressing. You may believe what you will, as you will. But I am guessing you are not verbalising these accusations to understand me; rather, you are venting your own impotence and rage, are you not?

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