[ the iron of blood, the bitter of mugwort, the mawkish taste of honey — and the besmirch of poison.
lokapala strives on self. they sing songs of humility, they pen poems on awakening, they celebrate what is. when the sun rises and paints the sky blue, they see it true, and find no fault. when it rests in the horizon, and splatter oranges and pinks, lokapala sings of fire, fire, fire. it has been said, during times of eld, that it had been in that spot, under a waterfall, on the cusp of winter and spring, that the world has seen its first embodiment of sincerity. a being so honest and pure, so delicate and true that none thought to defy its reason. they are what they are, and they accepted it as such.
kaveh, lokapalan-born, praised the tales, dreamed of them. vivid are his dreams of perfection and flawlessness; reality is painted a darker color. dreams are fragile. the heart, glass. the self, porcelain. kaveh cracks on touch.
he pushes, still, uselessly, at the mercy of his own inadequacy. his body, honest, gives in. it is, after all, the self; true to itself, to its carnal desires, and he takes poison as it is delivered. the taste is nauseating, and it anchors him. that is, he finds, the worst part.
the drowsiness hits first. ] If you don't want me, throw me away. I'm tired of being your trophy of war.
[ the words burn on his throat. his limbs, heavy. what good will sleep bring? it is a cycle that repeats itself. samsara is, after all, punishment. what goes unsaid, lost in the woes of a body that shuts itself down, is: you're making it harder to hate you. ]
[ kaveh sleeps. it will not be an easy one. alhaitham's vision swims as his lips part from his, just long enough to catch the last of his words as kaveh sways into the still-dreaming sea.
there are songs about how a first kiss ought to go. the songs exaggerate. to celebrate a first kiss is to celebrate the first of anything, and yet one does not celebrate the first eyelash plucked, or the first document signed. sentimentality is something that one creates; you exist in the world not to uncover meaning, but to assign meaning to the world. kaveh lays beneath alhaitham's shoulders, limbs pinned into knots, and alhaitham thinks - there is meaning to this save for the twine of a puppeteer's strings. it clenches between his teeth like the bit of a horse, furious, against the reins that hold it. kaveh is gold, and blood. alhaitham reaches down with imprecise motor control with the corner of a blanket to wipe at the blood that stains his cheeks. he stops when it proves to be a futile effort. ]
I cannot. [ is what alhaitham says in the face of darkness. ] How can I? Who in this world can throw away what they do not have?
[ time passes in an unrelenting blur. alhaitham has enough wherewithal to lock both doors and hobble into the bathroom before unnatural sleep takes him. he wakes up in intervals, adrenaline and blood and pain and the knowledge of what has been left undone tugging at limb and willpower. what kaveh will wake up to: a mountain of blankets, freshly washed. a light dinner of cold cuts and freshly prepared vegetables meant to last several days of relentless, impish snacking. and, in a gorgeously gold-gilded box, a set of heat-aids carved into creative, elongated shapes.
not pictured in the scene: alhaitham. also not pictured: the stoically shut door between bedroom and bathroom, and the man on the other side studiously bent over a stolen nightstand.
it is not walls of a palace painted red. it is not scalding hot, but it is, within that impossible dream, warm. it is summer, and there are two children. there are birds, and they sing. the foliage is an exuberating green. there is no true distinction between the blue of the sky above, and the clear blue of the river below.
kaveh remembers laughter, but does not remember who it belonged to. the second child, his body tells him, is a friend. his mind does not give them traits. in such colorful world, the child is blacked out. younger than him, his heart tells him. shorter, his mind whispers. an encounter that would not be remembered, a friendship that withered through time.
kaveh rouses, and is greeted by an unexpected vacancy in his chest, as though his heart is missing.
it takes a moment for him to realize this is not his bed, nor this is his room. he sits up in a panic, and notes first that he is, seemingly, alone. the crimson red of his eyes follow the length of his legs, covered by blankets that are not his. there is no pain to be felt. a hand is brought to the back of his neck.
clean. untouched. he hasn't been marked. it is, against his will, disorientating, because it does not make sense. he wills it not to.
the same crimson red scans the room. food, served. a small box that begs for attention. a stolen nightstand. a closed door. kaveh rises.
the chill air against bare skin is a reminder of actions he does not wish to perceive as his. he dresses himself first, and ignores everything else. soft, measured steps take him, instead, before a door that should only be closed when one stands behind it.
(not once has kaveh stopped to think, why? the heat is, for now, gone. reason should be the pilot of his brain, but reason, for the former prince of lokapala, would not bring him to a man he has chosen to be the target of all his blame, his hatred, his anguish. there is no biological, raw desire that controls his actions anymore. and yet, kaveh moves. as though he seeks for something that he himself is not aware of.)
and so, kaveh knocks. ]
I know you're in there. [ not with unchallenging certainty, no. but if he were to bet his life on it, kaveh finds that he would not waver in his decision. ] Open the door.
[ alhaitham hears kaveh before he scents him. something in the room stirs. it is prudence to still his pen to listen - the shifting and rasping of cloth. the uncoiling of limbs and the slow register of space and time. alhaitham can picture the fall of kaveh's hair, blond curls down the long line of his throat as he returns to lucidity, hands reaching for the inevitable. alhaitham has never lived the life of an omega. there are things that he understands, however, that goes beyond the mere presentation of a gender. one can be a captive without living the trappings of one. one can know violation without ever having been touched.
but he listens, and he gauges, and when the room no longer shudders with the sensation of something wild and unkempt, his pen continues. this does so right up until the footfalls stop outside the bathroom, and the rap of knuckles interrupts the flow of ink.
alhaitham finishes his letter. the bathroom is an enclosed space; the master stonemasons that worked on the structure constructed it to keep in both humidity and scent. kaveh's presence is a physical one, but should the heat continue, the effects on alhaitham will be minimal. the echo of kaveh's voice, however, is telling - there's something terribly lucid in the way of his command, imperious, like a creature hatched from its shell. when the last letter is finished and sealed, alhaitham uncoils from his makeshift workspace, careful not to upset the bandages still-wrapped over the bitewounds of his arms, and pads to the door.
from beyond the doorjamb: kaveh, unkempt, but his shiver is no longer that of a creature of his skin. the green of alhaitham's gaze skims the length of kaveh's body, and then, finally, rests on his face. ]
I see you are finally lucid again, Kaveh. [ is what alhaitham says, plain, and low. ]
with the eyes of a man with a pronounced attention for detail, it is essential that he remembers. in the shelves of his memory, there had been liquid red, but a person's memory has never truly claimed sides. it is an ally, as it is an enemy, as it chooses to remain neutral if it so wishes. kaveh looks, and wonders if it had been a lust-ridden mind that had willed that familiar red into existence.
he finds, instead, white bandages. the end of a narrative.
red meets green, and kaveh turns. he does not offer alhaitham a response, for there is little to be said at a statement built on evidence and clear proof. he is lucid. rational. with a multitude of unorganized thoughts that he must make sense of. it's headache inducing.
so he finds room, instead, to sit before a served dinner. red meets green, and kaveh jerks his head. ] Sit.
[ it is an empty invitation, a throwaway word with little strength. whether alhaitham does so or not, kaveh doesn't truly care. he takes a bowl of rice first, and finds himself staring at the cut slices of carrots. perfectly round, all of the same shape. he does not bring them to his mouth just yet.
instead, with the unwavering precision of a man who knows there is ever only forward, and never a way back: ] What of Akram and Kurash?
[ kaveh's eyes skim over the tight wound of alhaitham's bandages. they beg no comment. alhaitham, in turn, offers none. the flaxen blond of his hair trails as he turns back to alhaitham's room. kaveh sits first, and then jerks his head to follow suit. for once, alhaitham feels the bone weariness of exhaustion like the tug of a tether. this is how whirlpools begin, with the quietest of eddies along the slim edge of a waterfall, and then the perspective in which you view the world begins to turn. alhaitham looks, and then, because alhaitham never does anything he does not want to do, he follows.
it's safer to sit apart. alhaitham does not have the energy to execute precautions. kaveh is lucid, and the scent of heat has dissipated. and so the mattress next to kaveh dips as alhaitham positions himself in front of the spread of cold cuts. without ceremony, he takes a thin slice of carefully smoked meat and consumes it. he doesn't respond until he's eaten three more cuts. alhaitham's hand finds the handkerchief, and then the jug of lemon water. ]
Their meeting with you has been postponed. I thought it prudent to wait until your condition stabilised. [ alhaitham drinks. he takes for himself a handful of little carrots, and cups them in one hand as he eats. ] They will receive word when it's safe to meet.
[ the changes happen with minimal announcement. the slight lift of his eyes. the way they gleam. alhaitham's words are flint, and they rekindle the flame of hope in the fire-red of his eyes.
postponed, kaveh repeats to himself. not cancelled. not punished. not tortured. not killed. postponed. he will see them, still. it is a small, meaningless blessing that he would treat as the most delicate little thing in the entire star. postponed.
kaveh finds, then, purchase to eat the carrot slices.
there are, still, a plethora of questions without answers. kaveh rose from induced slumber after an induced heat, and found his thoughts, coherent and rational at last, fussing over people who are not him. caring for them. he bleeds himself dry, still, for all but himself.
there are questions. kaveh would not have an answer to all of them. he judges their weight, the taste of the words on his tongue. what he chooses first, then, is: ] Why haven't you marked me?
[ the choice of wording is a conscious one. the carrots, at the very least, are sweet in his mouth. kaveh will need them. ]
[ the carrots crunch between kaveh's teeth. that's the thing with kaveh. even his idealism have teeth. sitting by him and the sanguine torch of his eyes, it is impossible to forget that kaveh is an architect by trade. the calculator of the tightest of margins, the visualisation of vectors and surface areas, the one who wrests art from a realm of dream kicking and screaming into a disappointing reality. the act of creation is a traumatic one. kaveh's use of language says more than what he has already said: that kaveh had been expecting to be taken since the day he arrived.
reality has always been disappointing.
in turn, alhaitham continues to eat. there is an unsettled hollow within him. he starves. his head hurts. his arms ache. he is annoyed. he is furious. of everything, he can only address one. before the day is done, he will have addressed three. but in this moment, alhaitham takes another slice of cured meats, and barely tastes it as it vanishes between the click of his teeth.
the answer comes, as it always has come, bloodless: ]
[ the changes happen with minimal announcement. this time, his eyes lower. they do not gleam. the answer provides only more questions.
the choice of light dinner is a wise one. though kaveh finds his body starving, the fatigue does not allow him the luxury of anticipating overly nutritious food. the idea, instead, sickens him. the rice is appreciated. the carrots are sweet. the fish, as kaveh reaches for it, is eaten in small bites, and the taste keeps his feelings at bay. he does not have the strength to burn himself into a splendid bonfire that is just a flame away from grasping at the stars.
kaveh eats. kaveh thinks. there is one more question to be asked, and in the logical order of conversation, he finds an adequate room. ]
Because it would please Azar too much?
[ only then does kaveh spare alhaitham the red of his eyes. ]
[ it has always been a potential outcome of the proceedings, that kaveh, high on heat would retain just enough of himself to know his measure. the matter of integrity, however, is knowing that regardless of kaveh remembers, alhaitham's answer would have remained the same. alhaitham does not consider himself a man who holds himself to a higher standard. he is merely a man who holds himself his own. he is alhaitham - there is no-one in this world who is qualified to judge him save for himself.
himself, and one other.
alhaitham gaze rests upon the platter of cold meats. he wipes his hands, slowly, and then reaches for a serving spoon. the shirazi loads onto a small plate, tomatoes and cucumbers tumbling into flakes of dried mint. ]
And because it would please me too little. [ alhaitham's fork dips into his salad. ] This will happen again in a fortnight. We do not use suppressants in Vissudha. Explain yours to me.
[ the two questions are answered. the third, not up to kaveh's satisfaction, but he lays it to rest. there is much he remembers of times past that he recalls in the same matter one would a dream: a creation of one's mind that is not, ultimately, real. kaveh fails to recognize it as such, fails to own up to the way his body had moved, the words that had come out of his mouth, with his voice, with his intonation.
the regent's name had been an exception. it had been a surprise then, and it remains an unanswered, unraveled enigma. but kaveh, who knows how to think, who has no peer to match his wits, delves in assumptions. the current one goes as such: that the regent and the crown prince do not hold an amicable relationship, that azar may seek to probe at the first sign of weakness alhaitham may show.
this, kaveh understands. that it is easier to protect oneself, to measure every word, to watch every gesture. it is far harder to expect someone else to hold themselves in the same regard.
the unwavering, trishiraite of his eyes stare. they dress in the manner of a prey whose instincts call for analysis: whether another is to be trusted, whether it will lead into a crash for territory. it wields protectiveness.
kaveh allows them to fall, as blood is wont to do. ]
I'm not entirely familiar with the way it's made. I've heard Rukkhashava mushrooms are cultivated in Mawtiyima Forest for the sole purpose of making suppressants. [ the slices of fish are thin, and they break easily on his tongue. kaveh ponders on the weight of his words, how they measure. he recalls his dream — the one that has happened —, his dream — the one that does justice to the word itself —, and elham's words.
he breathes in, then out, and sets his plate down. ] Tighnari of Avidya Forest is the herbalist who came up with the one we use in Lokapala. It not only blocked out hormones and pheromones, but it prevented pregnancy as well. It was unique for that alone.
[ anyone who knew everything knew tighnari of the avidya. in a country where guided the pursuit of knowledge forth as if it were a blinkered sumpterbeast, where other academics from other regions of the world failed to slip their ideas in beneath the tight hold of azar's reins, even azar could not stop the proliferation of tighnari's work lest it set back the vissudhan healthcare system by decades. alhaitham has never met the man himself; tighnari's distaste for vissudha and the allies in the sumeran slave belt was as well-known as the sky was blue and the water is wet, but alhaitham respected a scientific mind that could not be bought, swayed, or, indeed, stifled. avidya has sued for peace. alhaitham can use that.
this, he does not say. the beginnings of a plan does not prove the effectiveness of its execution, nor does it provide a roadmap towards its rewards. alhaitham will need to think. the ingredient named, however, is intriguing. alhaitham looks to kaveh. he studies the set of his back, the red of his eyes, and the cadence of his words. ]
The Rukkhashava mushroom is a mere legend in Vissudha. No herbalist has claimed to see it. It follows that imports of the mushroom would be an impossibility. [ slow, musing: ] Tighnari of the Avidya must have wide-reaching contacts, ones that linked intrinsically with that of Lokapala's.
[ 'he's heard', kaveh said. ] You have never seen the mushrooms.
[ kaveh observes, in the same fashion that alhaitham does.
his mind sets to work. that vissudha doubts the veracity of the existence of lokapala's rukkhashava mushrooms is not surprising. they are grown in lokapala only, deep under their glowing, sky-tearing mushrooms. vissudha, that is ever so fond of conflict, that finds purchase in slavery, has never been allowed on lokapalan grounds. it is easier to assume their existence has been a fabrication or a well-told lie rather than admit it is something they do not have their greedy hands on.
kaveh observes, as he is wont to do. as he has given himself room to think before he assumes. before he allows his heart to be the be-all end-all of... this. whatever this is. ]
I have never quite had the time. [ not between growing up in a dysfunctional family. not between homeschooling. not between losing himself in the world of architecture in order to pretend the home they had then wasn't just a house. and certainly not between building the palace of alcazarzaray itself as a foundation for what family should be, as a place for healing, and a place for death.
no. kaveh has had, in fact, very little time for most things.
he looks away, at last. ] But they exist. I've spoken with Tighnari about them, myself. [ kaveh pauses. a predator who judges the integrity of another predator. ] Anyways, Avidya is under Vissudha's control now. Surely you must have someone you trust enough to send to Avidya. I could write Tighnari a letter explaining the situation and, I don't know. Giving him permission to show you the Rukkhashava mushrooms. I'm sure he would listen to me.
[ it's an admission. there is no worthwhile or acceptable measure of an admission. the mere act of it has meaning. kaveh has never had the time; the kaveh of three days ago would never have admitted this. alhaitham allows his head to cant in acquiescence. the salad disappears in fork-fulls as alhaitham fills the brimming void within him, replete with exhaustion and a terrible, low-burning fury. but that's the thing - fury would not help him. not as he is not. not as the situation needs to unfold. for a moment, alhaitham looks; then, in another, alhaitham decides that it is not worthwhile to feel it, and simply doesn't.
alhaitham's fork abates. his shoulders relax as he considers the premise. ]
He would question the veracity of your letter. [ there are those who claim that alhaitham is made of the long-forgotten pieces of dahrian machinery, all spark plugs and wiring and coded logic bases in neat, binary form. but to understand yourself, you must first understand others. alhaitham thinks to the rumours of tighnari's temper, and walks through the well-worn logic corridors of his own mind. ] News of your capture is already well-known. The Avidyans have put in quiet inquiries regarding the status of your health; I allowed enough of the information to slip through the net's gaps so that they are aware you are alive, but no more. To receive a letter from you alone would regardless push at the boundaries of believability. No conventional prisoner would be allowed to do so; Tighnari of the Avidya is intelligent enough to assume that you may be writing it under duress.
[ but alhaitham looks kaveh. the green of his gaze rests, thoughtful. ] I will make him a deal. So long as he prepares the suppressants, I will allow him to tend to you personally so that he may ascertain your wellness.
[ information is always best consumed in tids and bits. news of your capture is already well-known, alhaitham says. kaveh, then, wonders: have they reached fontaine? does his mother, who had then been safe and sound in fontaine, know of her kingdom's fall, and of her son's capture? does kaveh want her to know, or is it best to live in ignorance? would she be happier for it? would she be happier if she didn't think of him?
this is not a spiral of thought meant to be engaged while there is light. this, he will ruminate on once the torches are rid of their fire, and he is alone with venomous thoughts.
alhaitham continues, and kaveh, against his will, finds something almost akin to mercy in his words. it would be easier to allow despair to swallow a person. it would be advantageous, even, to watch their enemy wallow in misery and assumptions of a prince's life. whether it remains on this star or it has gone on to a better world. people are likely to have more openings when their feelings are exposed for the world to see. this, kaveh knows well.
but no. alhaitham has allowed this crucial piece of information to be known. that kaveh's soul is still on this star, that he lives and breathes. that in spite of all, there is hope to be had. that its flame has not been extinguished.
above all, then, comes: i will allow him to tend to you personally, and kaveh's own flame of hope could burn down the entirety of sumeru's rainforest. it is not the same as reuniting with his people, those who have escaped death's grasp, those whose fate lie on the hands of another. those, kaveh shares a roof with. inevitably, they would come to see each other across the many hallways of the ali qapu.
not tighnari. tighnari, across the forest. tighnari has not been enslaved. tighnari still has his own free will, to an extent or another. ]
... He wouldn't come to the heart of an enemy territory without asserting his own safety. Even if you were to swear not to hurt him, words are just words. There would be too much at stake. I doubt I would be worth the risk.
[ it has always been in the word, alhaitham knows. there is a trick. set fire to a storehouse, and the mother will run to its child, the banker to his money, and the thief to his spoils. alhaitham does not believe that instinct will always show one's true character, only what one values at the time of the instinct taking hold. a banker would run to his money, but perhaps for the sake of his child in need. you cannot judge the totality of a life based on the singularity of its actions lest you discount crucial evidence that speaks to a more holistic picture. however, the choice of words when one is unaware that another is listening for it can offer clues that fit into a wider context.
'i doubt i would be worth the risk', kaveh says. alhaitham, who has weathered the contentious debate of prince, man and slave, merely looks. ]
You doubt, or Tighnari is not the type of man to do so? [ is what he asks. the question follows: ] Are you basing your assertion off of your own judgment of your self-worth, or are you judging it from the perspective of a doctor of the Avidya?
[ and then, because it is alhaitham, the words can only ever find its way to their logical conclusion: ]
Do you perhaps imply that the Vissudha will wish to capture Tighnari of the Avidya for herself?
[ in days, kaveh finds that this is the first time he has allowed himself to be seen, and finds, too, that he does not enjoy it. alhaitham had been good at reading through his mask before. alhaitham does not need kaveh to show him pages of his book. yet kaveh, who is always a bleeding heart, who wears it in his sleeves and wields it with pride, cannot will himself not to trust when trust is due.
it is not comfortable to be seen. it is not a topic of conversation he has ever engaged, before. his self-worth is his to deal with. it is not meant to be the focus of a conversation, and it burns on touch.
kaveh measures his words, still. he does not retrieve that ounce of trust. ]
Vissudha? Yes. You? No. [ this, then, is how he begins.
he allows his eyes to fall for a moment, and scan the food. none of it seems appetizing anymore. he feels gross in his own skin. he could really use a bath. ]
But you're Alhaitham, Crown Prince of Vissudha. Whether you want it or not, you wear your nation on your shoulders. It takes work to separate both. [ kaveh would know, after all. ] My self-worth has nothing to do with this, it's just logic. I am one man. Avidya has a population of its own. Tighnari cannot put his life amidst cross-fire without the reassurance he will not be hit. Between asserting to my well-being, and keeping his people safe, there are very few people who would choose the smaller number. Tighnari is not one of them, is all.
[ the nod of alhaitham's head is acquiescence. the premise is correct. vissudha would seek tighnari's expertise for himself; alhaitham has no such ambitions. is it the first time, alhaitham thinks, that kaveh has named a division between the will of the kingdom and alhaitham's will. alhaitham is under no illusion that the division is named out of misplaced faith or affection. it is merely the truth established through the well-worn corridors of logic laid bare: alhaitham has no incentive to detain tighnari. alhaitham does not act on behalf of azar. therein lies the initial schism of vissudha; kaveh would not be the man he is today if he did not utilise it as the foundation of his answer.
still, kaveh continues. alhaitham listens. the logic is sound; however, it is not comprehensive. one cannot weigh one life against the responsibility of another. but it is also in the characters of individuals to hold onto a conviction that transcends life and death itself. this, alhaitham knows - it is all too easy to be swayed by the vicissitudes of life. to remain yourself, you must hold onto something to the very end; sometimes, that is all you have. alhaitham thinks of the doctor of the avidya; he thinks of the company he keeps. ]
I am not asking of numbers. I am asking if Tighnari of the Avidya will choose you.
[ is what alhaitham says, in the simple tones of a man who has seen the great archer loose his arrows in defense of the smallest of life in his forest. in the simple tones of a man who has seen kaveh make himself small along that divan. in the simple tones of a man who knows that there is no answer to the question posed that cannot survive the crucible of kaveh's own self-determination to be small.
so instead, alhaitham shakes his head. ]
Leave the argument. There is a compromise: I will bring you to Avidya's borders. Tighnari of the Avidya is not coward enough to rest behind the mere line of his boundaries. He will treat you there.
im going to kill you one of these days it is a Promise
he feels seen, because alhaitham inquires, yet does not await for an answer. he feels seen, inadequate in his own skin, knowing well the self-worth he keeps so well-hidden behind layers and layers of carefully crafted lies is slowly spilling out from the crevices of his mask. he feels bare, above all.
he feels, too, young. what makes children so special is that their view of the world is untampered, until it is tainted, until it is lost in the weight of reality. they see what no one else does: a world of pure light, of bright greens, of an endless sky. kaveh, who has not been a child for a long time, sees the words not as he would once have, but as it hurts to see:
he sees a world he cannot grasp any longer.
to bring him to avidya means to bring him outside. to bring him to avidya, of all places, is cruelty beyond words. it is what taints a child of their unique sight. it is what creates the crevices in his mask. it teases freedom, and his heart suffers for it. for how is kaveh to long for it, a fingertip away, when there are others who cannot grasp at it? how is he to want, when others only dream?
there is, indeed, a divide between vissudha and alhaitham. he has since learned such. however, kaveh has learned, too, how much nations live in their children. he finds, here, alhaitham just as cruel.
kaveh will continue to be seen, with a lowered gaze, with trembling hands, with his heart exposed. the gaps in his mask are wider. ]
... Then so be it.
[ kaveh rises, at last, so his body doesn't become entirely foreign to him. so it does not behave in ways he wishes not. his steps take him to the bed, and on top of it, that forgotten, luxurious box that has gone ignored for too long. he holds it up, and it does not serve its initial purpose. instead, it is means to a distraction. it is a request for a rewind. ]
[ kaveh's gaze lowers. alhaitham puts the fork aside. the discussion has reached its logical conclusion. the answer is the stark daylight shearing through the vissudhan canopy at daybreak: how can someone choose you, when you yourself do not choose yourself? but that premise is flawed. the choices of others cannot be contingent merely on the choices one makes for themselves. alhaitham looks to the flagstones of choice he has laid down in the past. the cost of each flagstone was exactly what alhaitham could allow. he looks to the choices he will make in the coming days, and tabulates cost. alhaitham has only ever chosen himself for himself. it is the only responsibility he can allow himself ot bear. this, he does not expand upon, for alhaitham can see the very moment kaveh realises the paradox.
a cage is still a cage, even if a gilded one.
the lowering of his gaze, the trembling of his hands. alhaitham, who does not hold the key, thinks - he has never promised to be fair, nor has he ever promised not to be cruel. he has not made any promises at all. this, alhaitham knows. but alhaitham's gaze lingers. the cost, this time, will not only be borne by himself. there was a saying like this from the depths of fontaine's seas: hope makes hollow the heart. ]
A solution. [ he says, bloodless as stone. alhaitham takes a hand-towel to clean himself off. ] However, it doesn't seem needed.
[ alhaitham shrugs. ] Leave it by the door if you find it offensive.
[ a thought runs across his mind, and kaveh, fatigued and defeated as he is, finds humiliation in it. a thought runs across his mind: that there is gratitude to be had at the fact the conversation dies there, and alhaitham does not continue it. whether kaveh is truly seen, transparent, easy to read; none of it matters. between four walls and a relationship he has had no say in, masks are bound to fall, and feelings will slip out from each and every crack so well-maintained. alhaitham is, after all, wise. that much kaveh is aware. alhaitham knows, kaveh knows that he does, and no words need to be said.
it reaches for his heart, but the fact it is not voiced is what keeps the feeling from crushing him. he should not be grateful for it. and so, he lets go. ]
... Heat aids? [ is what kaveh eventually says, instead, as the box is opened. vissudha does not rely on suppressants, after all. it makes sense. the surprise is there not for their methods, but for its presence in the room.
he should not be grateful for it. he should not ever recall elham's words. he should not think of the sketchpad, the earrings, his parents' rings. kaveh would be foolish to mask whatever this is with kindness and sympathy.
yet the more it happens, he just finds himself to be so very weak.
he closes the box, and does not think about it. ] I will keep it. [ a pause, and kaveh looks away. ] Induced heats can be unpredictable. Besides, it could happen again.
[ it won't. alhaitham would make sure. yet, still, it's easier on him to assume otherwise. ] And if Tighnari can't make the suppressants, these will be needed.
[ alhaitham says. in a world where words cannot bend reality to its will, the very act of asserting it is more threat than promise. alhaitham says these two words with the lofty air of a prophet who has seen the ending to the long line of the universe. he says this as if asserting that the sky is blue or water is wet. he says this, because he is alhaitham, with the certainty of stone. it will not happen again. not an induced heat, not like this, and not to kaveh. words have little to do with the actions taken. but to alhaitham's world, which is shaped by words alone, alhaitham knows its weight.
alhaitham offers no explanation nor platitudes in its wake. kaveh is perched over the heat aids. alhaitham looks. the potential of tighnari of the avidya being unable to create the suppressants or being able to source what is needed to do so is a bigger hurdle that alhaitham is not inclined to make promises for. there are things outside of his control. these matters must be, though it does not please him to have them be so.
still: ]
In the interim, I will send word to your people. Think on when you would like new meeting times to be set.
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no subject
lokapala strives on self. they sing songs of humility, they pen poems on awakening, they celebrate what is. when the sun rises and paints the sky blue, they see it true, and find no fault. when it rests in the horizon, and splatter oranges and pinks, lokapala sings of fire, fire, fire. it has been said, during times of eld, that it had been in that spot, under a waterfall, on the cusp of winter and spring, that the world has seen its first embodiment of sincerity. a being so honest and pure, so delicate and true that none thought to defy its reason. they are what they are, and they accepted it as such.
kaveh, lokapalan-born, praised the tales, dreamed of them. vivid are his dreams of perfection and flawlessness; reality is painted a darker color. dreams are fragile. the heart, glass. the self, porcelain. kaveh cracks on touch.
he pushes, still, uselessly, at the mercy of his own inadequacy. his body, honest, gives in. it is, after all, the self; true to itself, to its carnal desires, and he takes poison as it is delivered. the taste is nauseating, and it anchors him. that is, he finds, the worst part.
the drowsiness hits first. ] If you don't want me, throw me away. I'm tired of being your trophy of war.
[ the words burn on his throat. his limbs, heavy. what good will sleep bring? it is a cycle that repeats itself. samsara is, after all, punishment. what goes unsaid, lost in the woes of a body that shuts itself down, is: you're making it harder to hate you. ]
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there are songs about how a first kiss ought to go. the songs exaggerate. to celebrate a first kiss is to celebrate the first of anything, and yet one does not celebrate the first eyelash plucked, or the first document signed. sentimentality is something that one creates; you exist in the world not to uncover meaning, but to assign meaning to the world. kaveh lays beneath alhaitham's shoulders, limbs pinned into knots, and alhaitham thinks - there is meaning to this save for the twine of a puppeteer's strings. it clenches between his teeth like the bit of a horse, furious, against the reins that hold it. kaveh is gold, and blood. alhaitham reaches down with imprecise motor control with the corner of a blanket to wipe at the blood that stains his cheeks. he stops when it proves to be a futile effort. ]
I cannot. [ is what alhaitham says in the face of darkness. ] How can I? Who in this world can throw away what they do not have?
[ time passes in an unrelenting blur. alhaitham has enough wherewithal to lock both doors and hobble into the bathroom before unnatural sleep takes him. he wakes up in intervals, adrenaline and blood and pain and the knowledge of what has been left undone tugging at limb and willpower. what kaveh will wake up to: a mountain of blankets, freshly washed. a light dinner of cold cuts and freshly prepared vegetables meant to last several days of relentless, impish snacking. and, in a gorgeously gold-gilded box, a set of heat-aids carved into creative, elongated shapes.
not pictured in the scene: alhaitham. also not pictured: the stoically shut door between bedroom and bathroom, and the man on the other side studiously bent over a stolen nightstand.
he is, in fact, writing. ]
no subject
it is not walls of a palace painted red. it is not scalding hot, but it is, within that impossible dream, warm. it is summer, and there are two children. there are birds, and they sing. the foliage is an exuberating green. there is no true distinction between the blue of the sky above, and the clear blue of the river below.
kaveh remembers laughter, but does not remember who it belonged to. the second child, his body tells him, is a friend. his mind does not give them traits. in such colorful world, the child is blacked out. younger than him, his heart tells him. shorter, his mind whispers. an encounter that would not be remembered, a friendship that withered through time.
kaveh rouses, and is greeted by an unexpected vacancy in his chest, as though his heart is missing.
it takes a moment for him to realize this is not his bed, nor this is his room. he sits up in a panic, and notes first that he is, seemingly, alone. the crimson red of his eyes follow the length of his legs, covered by blankets that are not his. there is no pain to be felt. a hand is brought to the back of his neck.
clean. untouched. he hasn't been marked. it is, against his will, disorientating, because it does not make sense. he wills it not to.
the same crimson red scans the room. food, served. a small box that begs for attention. a stolen nightstand. a closed door. kaveh rises.
the chill air against bare skin is a reminder of actions he does not wish to perceive as his. he dresses himself first, and ignores everything else. soft, measured steps take him, instead, before a door that should only be closed when one stands behind it.
(not once has kaveh stopped to think, why? the heat is, for now, gone. reason should be the pilot of his brain, but reason, for the former prince of lokapala, would not bring him to a man he has chosen to be the target of all his blame, his hatred, his anguish. there is no biological, raw desire that controls his actions anymore. and yet, kaveh moves. as though he seeks for something that he himself is not aware of.)
and so, kaveh knocks. ]
I know you're in there. [ not with unchallenging certainty, no. but if he were to bet his life on it, kaveh finds that he would not waver in his decision. ] Open the door.
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but he listens, and he gauges, and when the room no longer shudders with the sensation of something wild and unkempt, his pen continues. this does so right up until the footfalls stop outside the bathroom, and the rap of knuckles interrupts the flow of ink.
alhaitham finishes his letter. the bathroom is an enclosed space; the master stonemasons that worked on the structure constructed it to keep in both humidity and scent. kaveh's presence is a physical one, but should the heat continue, the effects on alhaitham will be minimal. the echo of kaveh's voice, however, is telling - there's something terribly lucid in the way of his command, imperious, like a creature hatched from its shell. when the last letter is finished and sealed, alhaitham uncoils from his makeshift workspace, careful not to upset the bandages still-wrapped over the bitewounds of his arms, and pads to the door.
from beyond the doorjamb: kaveh, unkempt, but his shiver is no longer that of a creature of his skin. the green of alhaitham's gaze skims the length of kaveh's body, and then, finally, rests on his face. ]
I see you are finally lucid again, Kaveh. [ is what alhaitham says, plain, and low. ]
no subject
with the eyes of a man with a pronounced attention for detail, it is essential that he remembers. in the shelves of his memory, there had been liquid red, but a person's memory has never truly claimed sides. it is an ally, as it is an enemy, as it chooses to remain neutral if it so wishes. kaveh looks, and wonders if it had been a lust-ridden mind that had willed that familiar red into existence.
he finds, instead, white bandages. the end of a narrative.
red meets green, and kaveh turns. he does not offer alhaitham a response, for there is little to be said at a statement built on evidence and clear proof. he is lucid. rational. with a multitude of unorganized thoughts that he must make sense of. it's headache inducing.
so he finds room, instead, to sit before a served dinner. red meets green, and kaveh jerks his head. ] Sit.
[ it is an empty invitation, a throwaway word with little strength. whether alhaitham does so or not, kaveh doesn't truly care. he takes a bowl of rice first, and finds himself staring at the cut slices of carrots. perfectly round, all of the same shape. he does not bring them to his mouth just yet.
instead, with the unwavering precision of a man who knows there is ever only forward, and never a way back: ] What of Akram and Kurash?
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it's safer to sit apart. alhaitham does not have the energy to execute precautions. kaveh is lucid, and the scent of heat has dissipated. and so the mattress next to kaveh dips as alhaitham positions himself in front of the spread of cold cuts. without ceremony, he takes a thin slice of carefully smoked meat and consumes it. he doesn't respond until he's eaten three more cuts. alhaitham's hand finds the handkerchief, and then the jug of lemon water. ]
Their meeting with you has been postponed. I thought it prudent to wait until your condition stabilised. [ alhaitham drinks. he takes for himself a handful of little carrots, and cups them in one hand as he eats. ] They will receive word when it's safe to meet.
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postponed, kaveh repeats to himself. not cancelled. not punished. not tortured. not killed. postponed. he will see them, still. it is a small, meaningless blessing that he would treat as the most delicate little thing in the entire star. postponed.
kaveh finds, then, purchase to eat the carrot slices.
there are, still, a plethora of questions without answers. kaveh rose from induced slumber after an induced heat, and found his thoughts, coherent and rational at last, fussing over people who are not him. caring for them. he bleeds himself dry, still, for all but himself.
there are questions. kaveh would not have an answer to all of them. he judges their weight, the taste of the words on his tongue. what he chooses first, then, is: ] Why haven't you marked me?
[ the choice of wording is a conscious one. the carrots, at the very least, are sweet in his mouth. kaveh will need them. ]
no subject
[ the carrots crunch between kaveh's teeth. that's the thing with kaveh. even his idealism have teeth. sitting by him and the sanguine torch of his eyes, it is impossible to forget that kaveh is an architect by trade. the calculator of the tightest of margins, the visualisation of vectors and surface areas, the one who wrests art from a realm of dream kicking and screaming into a disappointing reality. the act of creation is a traumatic one. kaveh's use of language says more than what he has already said: that kaveh had been expecting to be taken since the day he arrived.
reality has always been disappointing.
in turn, alhaitham continues to eat. there is an unsettled hollow within him. he starves. his head hurts. his arms ache. he is annoyed. he is furious. of everything, he can only address one. before the day is done, he will have addressed three. but in this moment, alhaitham takes another slice of cured meats, and barely tastes it as it vanishes between the click of his teeth.
the answer comes, as it always has come, bloodless: ]
Because I do not wish to mark you.
no subject
the choice of light dinner is a wise one. though kaveh finds his body starving, the fatigue does not allow him the luxury of anticipating overly nutritious food. the idea, instead, sickens him. the rice is appreciated. the carrots are sweet. the fish, as kaveh reaches for it, is eaten in small bites, and the taste keeps his feelings at bay. he does not have the strength to burn himself into a splendid bonfire that is just a flame away from grasping at the stars.
kaveh eats. kaveh thinks. there is one more question to be asked, and in the logical order of conversation, he finds an adequate room. ]
Because it would please Azar too much?
[ only then does kaveh spare alhaitham the red of his eyes. ]
no subject
himself, and one other.
alhaitham gaze rests upon the platter of cold meats. he wipes his hands, slowly, and then reaches for a serving spoon. the shirazi loads onto a small plate, tomatoes and cucumbers tumbling into flakes of dried mint. ]
And because it would please me too little. [ alhaitham's fork dips into his salad. ] This will happen again in a fortnight. We do not use suppressants in Vissudha. Explain yours to me.
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the regent's name had been an exception. it had been a surprise then, and it remains an unanswered, unraveled enigma. but kaveh, who knows how to think, who has no peer to match his wits, delves in assumptions. the current one goes as such: that the regent and the crown prince do not hold an amicable relationship, that azar may seek to probe at the first sign of weakness alhaitham may show.
this, kaveh understands. that it is easier to protect oneself, to measure every word, to watch every gesture. it is far harder to expect someone else to hold themselves in the same regard.
the unwavering, trishiraite of his eyes stare. they dress in the manner of a prey whose instincts call for analysis: whether another is to be trusted, whether it will lead into a crash for territory. it wields protectiveness.
kaveh allows them to fall, as blood is wont to do. ]
I'm not entirely familiar with the way it's made. I've heard Rukkhashava mushrooms are cultivated in Mawtiyima Forest for the sole purpose of making suppressants. [ the slices of fish are thin, and they break easily on his tongue. kaveh ponders on the weight of his words, how they measure. he recalls his dream — the one that has happened —, his dream — the one that does justice to the word itself —, and elham's words.
he breathes in, then out, and sets his plate down. ] Tighnari of Avidya Forest is the herbalist who came up with the one we use in Lokapala. It not only blocked out hormones and pheromones, but it prevented pregnancy as well. It was unique for that alone.
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this, he does not say. the beginnings of a plan does not prove the effectiveness of its execution, nor does it provide a roadmap towards its rewards. alhaitham will need to think. the ingredient named, however, is intriguing. alhaitham looks to kaveh. he studies the set of his back, the red of his eyes, and the cadence of his words. ]
The Rukkhashava mushroom is a mere legend in Vissudha. No herbalist has claimed to see it. It follows that imports of the mushroom would be an impossibility. [ slow, musing: ] Tighnari of the Avidya must have wide-reaching contacts, ones that linked intrinsically with that of Lokapala's.
[ 'he's heard', kaveh said. ] You have never seen the mushrooms.
no subject
his mind sets to work. that vissudha doubts the veracity of the existence of lokapala's rukkhashava mushrooms is not surprising. they are grown in lokapala only, deep under their glowing, sky-tearing mushrooms. vissudha, that is ever so fond of conflict, that finds purchase in slavery, has never been allowed on lokapalan grounds. it is easier to assume their existence has been a fabrication or a well-told lie rather than admit it is something they do not have their greedy hands on.
kaveh observes, as he is wont to do. as he has given himself room to think before he assumes. before he allows his heart to be the be-all end-all of... this. whatever this is. ]
I have never quite had the time. [ not between growing up in a dysfunctional family. not between homeschooling. not between losing himself in the world of architecture in order to pretend the home they had then wasn't just a house. and certainly not between building the palace of alcazarzaray itself as a foundation for what family should be, as a place for healing, and a place for death.
no. kaveh has had, in fact, very little time for most things.
he looks away, at last. ] But they exist. I've spoken with Tighnari about them, myself. [ kaveh pauses. a predator who judges the integrity of another predator. ] Anyways, Avidya is under Vissudha's control now. Surely you must have someone you trust enough to send to Avidya. I could write Tighnari a letter explaining the situation and, I don't know. Giving him permission to show you the Rukkhashava mushrooms. I'm sure he would listen to me.
no subject
alhaitham's fork abates. his shoulders relax as he considers the premise. ]
He would question the veracity of your letter. [ there are those who claim that alhaitham is made of the long-forgotten pieces of dahrian machinery, all spark plugs and wiring and coded logic bases in neat, binary form. but to understand yourself, you must first understand others. alhaitham thinks to the rumours of tighnari's temper, and walks through the well-worn logic corridors of his own mind. ] News of your capture is already well-known. The Avidyans have put in quiet inquiries regarding the status of your health; I allowed enough of the information to slip through the net's gaps so that they are aware you are alive, but no more. To receive a letter from you alone would regardless push at the boundaries of believability. No conventional prisoner would be allowed to do so; Tighnari of the Avidya is intelligent enough to assume that you may be writing it under duress.
[ but alhaitham looks kaveh. the green of his gaze rests, thoughtful. ] I will make him a deal. So long as he prepares the suppressants, I will allow him to tend to you personally so that he may ascertain your wellness.
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this is not a spiral of thought meant to be engaged while there is light. this, he will ruminate on once the torches are rid of their fire, and he is alone with venomous thoughts.
alhaitham continues, and kaveh, against his will, finds something almost akin to mercy in his words. it would be easier to allow despair to swallow a person. it would be advantageous, even, to watch their enemy wallow in misery and assumptions of a prince's life. whether it remains on this star or it has gone on to a better world. people are likely to have more openings when their feelings are exposed for the world to see. this, kaveh knows well.
but no. alhaitham has allowed this crucial piece of information to be known. that kaveh's soul is still on this star, that he lives and breathes. that in spite of all, there is hope to be had. that its flame has not been extinguished.
above all, then, comes: i will allow him to tend to you personally, and kaveh's own flame of hope could burn down the entirety of sumeru's rainforest. it is not the same as reuniting with his people, those who have escaped death's grasp, those whose fate lie on the hands of another. those, kaveh shares a roof with. inevitably, they would come to see each other across the many hallways of the ali qapu.
not tighnari. tighnari, across the forest. tighnari has not been enslaved. tighnari still has his own free will, to an extent or another. ]
... He wouldn't come to the heart of an enemy territory without asserting his own safety. Even if you were to swear not to hurt him, words are just words. There would be too much at stake. I doubt I would be worth the risk.
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'i doubt i would be worth the risk', kaveh says. alhaitham, who has weathered the contentious debate of prince, man and slave, merely looks. ]
You doubt, or Tighnari is not the type of man to do so? [ is what he asks. the question follows: ] Are you basing your assertion off of your own judgment of your self-worth, or are you judging it from the perspective of a doctor of the Avidya?
[ and then, because it is alhaitham, the words can only ever find its way to their logical conclusion: ]
Do you perhaps imply that the Vissudha will wish to capture Tighnari of the Avidya for herself?
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it is not comfortable to be seen. it is not a topic of conversation he has ever engaged, before. his self-worth is his to deal with. it is not meant to be the focus of a conversation, and it burns on touch.
kaveh measures his words, still. he does not retrieve that ounce of trust. ]
Vissudha? Yes. You? No. [ this, then, is how he begins.
he allows his eyes to fall for a moment, and scan the food. none of it seems appetizing anymore. he feels gross in his own skin. he could really use a bath. ]
But you're Alhaitham, Crown Prince of Vissudha. Whether you want it or not, you wear your nation on your shoulders. It takes work to separate both. [ kaveh would know, after all. ] My self-worth has nothing to do with this, it's just logic. I am one man. Avidya has a population of its own. Tighnari cannot put his life amidst cross-fire without the reassurance he will not be hit. Between asserting to my well-being, and keeping his people safe, there are very few people who would choose the smaller number. Tighnari is not one of them, is all.
no subject
still, kaveh continues. alhaitham listens. the logic is sound; however, it is not comprehensive. one cannot weigh one life against the responsibility of another. but it is also in the characters of individuals to hold onto a conviction that transcends life and death itself. this, alhaitham knows - it is all too easy to be swayed by the vicissitudes of life. to remain yourself, you must hold onto something to the very end; sometimes, that is all you have. alhaitham thinks of the doctor of the avidya; he thinks of the company he keeps. ]
I am not asking of numbers. I am asking if Tighnari of the Avidya will choose you.
[ is what alhaitham says, in the simple tones of a man who has seen the great archer loose his arrows in defense of the smallest of life in his forest. in the simple tones of a man who has seen kaveh make himself small along that divan. in the simple tones of a man who knows that there is no answer to the question posed that cannot survive the crucible of kaveh's own self-determination to be small.
so instead, alhaitham shakes his head. ]
Leave the argument. There is a compromise: I will bring you to Avidya's borders. Tighnari of the Avidya is not coward enough to rest behind the mere line of his boundaries. He will treat you there.
im going to kill you one of these days it is a Promise
he feels seen, because alhaitham inquires, yet does not await for an answer. he feels seen, inadequate in his own skin, knowing well the self-worth he keeps so well-hidden behind layers and layers of carefully crafted lies is slowly spilling out from the crevices of his mask. he feels bare, above all.
he feels, too, young. what makes children so special is that their view of the world is untampered, until it is tainted, until it is lost in the weight of reality. they see what no one else does: a world of pure light, of bright greens, of an endless sky. kaveh, who has not been a child for a long time, sees the words not as he would once have, but as it hurts to see:
he sees a world he cannot grasp any longer.
to bring him to avidya means to bring him outside. to bring him to avidya, of all places, is cruelty beyond words. it is what taints a child of their unique sight. it is what creates the crevices in his mask. it teases freedom, and his heart suffers for it. for how is kaveh to long for it, a fingertip away, when there are others who cannot grasp at it? how is he to want, when others only dream?
there is, indeed, a divide between vissudha and alhaitham. he has since learned such. however, kaveh has learned, too, how much nations live in their children. he finds, here, alhaitham just as cruel.
kaveh will continue to be seen, with a lowered gaze, with trembling hands, with his heart exposed. the gaps in his mask are wider. ]
... Then so be it.
[ kaveh rises, at last, so his body doesn't become entirely foreign to him. so it does not behave in ways he wishes not. his steps take him to the bed, and on top of it, that forgotten, luxurious box that has gone ignored for too long. he holds it up, and it does not serve its initial purpose. instead, it is means to a distraction. it is a request for a rewind. ]
And this?
sparkles!!!
a cage is still a cage, even if a gilded one.
the lowering of his gaze, the trembling of his hands. alhaitham, who does not hold the key, thinks - he has never promised to be fair, nor has he ever promised not to be cruel. he has not made any promises at all. this, alhaitham knows. but alhaitham's gaze lingers. the cost, this time, will not only be borne by himself. there was a saying like this from the depths of fontaine's seas: hope makes hollow the heart. ]
A solution. [ he says, bloodless as stone. alhaitham takes a hand-towel to clean himself off. ] However, it doesn't seem needed.
[ alhaitham shrugs. ] Leave it by the door if you find it offensive.
no subject
it reaches for his heart, but the fact it is not voiced is what keeps the feeling from crushing him. he should not be grateful for it. and so, he lets go. ]
... Heat aids? [ is what kaveh eventually says, instead, as the box is opened. vissudha does not rely on suppressants, after all. it makes sense. the surprise is there not for their methods, but for its presence in the room.
he should not be grateful for it. he should not ever recall elham's words. he should not think of the sketchpad, the earrings, his parents' rings. kaveh would be foolish to mask whatever this is with kindness and sympathy.
yet the more it happens, he just finds himself to be so very weak.
he closes the box, and does not think about it. ] I will keep it. [ a pause, and kaveh looks away. ] Induced heats can be unpredictable. Besides, it could happen again.
[ it won't. alhaitham would make sure. yet, still, it's easier on him to assume otherwise. ] And if Tighnari can't make the suppressants, these will be needed.
no subject
[ alhaitham says. in a world where words cannot bend reality to its will, the very act of asserting it is more threat than promise. alhaitham says these two words with the lofty air of a prophet who has seen the ending to the long line of the universe. he says this as if asserting that the sky is blue or water is wet. he says this, because he is alhaitham, with the certainty of stone. it will not happen again. not an induced heat, not like this, and not to kaveh. words have little to do with the actions taken. but to alhaitham's world, which is shaped by words alone, alhaitham knows its weight.
alhaitham offers no explanation nor platitudes in its wake. kaveh is perched over the heat aids. alhaitham looks. the potential of tighnari of the avidya being unable to create the suppressants or being able to source what is needed to do so is a bigger hurdle that alhaitham is not inclined to make promises for. there are things outside of his control. these matters must be, though it does not please him to have them be so.
still: ]
In the interim, I will send word to your people. Think on when you would like new meeting times to be set.