The great king of Persia, King Sharaman, had lived a long peaceful life with his two sons, Tus and Garsiv, as well as his newly adopted son, Dastan; however there had been growing tensions along the northern border of Persia with the Scythians. Over a period of escalated attacks against the Scythians, who lived along the border, the armies had been called, and relations began to strain between kings as armies stood only feet away from each other. Then just as the tension had reached its breaking point the kings arranged to meet in between the armies and possibly discuss a way to end the conflicts without spilling either Scythian or Persian blood.
It was a cool summer's night as Sharaman, his brother, Nizam, and his sons waited under a lavished tent that had been set-up for the meeting between the two kings. Red decorated carpets hung over rope pulled taught, and gathered upward to create a point atop the tent. A grand circular table sat low to the ground, bare minus the bowl of fruit placed at the center, which a small hungry hand plucked grapes from a vine, while sitting on one of the many plushed pillows encircling the table with golden tassels brushing the golden swirls of the carpets. Two boys rolled along the floor, practicing their wrestling techniques on each other as they awaited the arrival of the Scythian king. Sharaman paced the tent silently, his brown eyes glancing at the entrance to the tent periodically.
"They are late." He muttered to himself running his hands over his maroon robes. The boys stopped their wrestling and glanced upward at their father.
"We must give them time, Your Highness." A bald man said walking forth from the shadows, black liner around his eyes, rimming the brown coldness that no one else could see.
"Yes, I believe Uncle Nizam is right, Father. They might have run into some urgent problems." One of the boys who had been wrestling stood up and said. His hair was golden brown and reached just below his ear lobes. Sharaman stopped pacing and glanced down at his son with soft loving eyes. Walking over to the boy he leaned down and cupped the boy's face in his callused hands and kissed his forehead.
"My dear Tus, always the optimistic thinker." Tus smiled at his father. The boy sitting at the table scoffed.
"I bet they don't really want a peace." His skin was a shade darker than Tus', and his hair was darker as well. Sharaman glanced over in his other son's direction, but remained silent, the boy continued. "But that is fine with me! For there is no greater army than the Persian army! No one could stand a chance against us. I relish the day I finally get to fight along my men." Sharaman laughed softly at the boy's eagerness for blood.
"Garsiv, Garsiv, are you really so eager to spill blood?" Garsiv grew quiet and returned his attention to the grapes, finding them suddenly more interesting than the conversation being held. Nizam stared at Garsiv for a moment, his eyes searching for something that couldn't be found. Only a small boy, just a few years younger than Garsiv and Tus had yet to voice an opinion on the current situation, and Sharaman found that to be peculiar.
"And what of you, Dustan? How do you perceive this situation?" Sharaman asked the boy. His soft blue eyes gazed up at the king, while his sandy brown hair dusted just above his eyes which shined differently than the other boys.
"I can only assume what is going on to keep the king, but I'd rather not assume the worse." Dustan said taking a seat across from Garsiv, who gave Dastan a small glare that he didn't notice. Sharaman open his mouth to respond, the sounds of approaching, baying horses silenced the tent. All eyes turned and gazed toward the entrance, as muffled voices barely made it past the thick drapes. Then suddenly the elegant drapes were pulled aside to reveal a man and a young boy.
The man was well aged by the standards of time, with his long black hair showing signs of grey mingled within the dark, but all the color had left his thinly shaved facial hair that which framed his mouth, and a morsel of sweat clung to the forehead of the man. His vibrant green eyes stood out against his robes, and within those eyes was wisdom and fatigue. He wore the royal color of red, with gold ringlets attached, which gave off small metallic clinks with every step. He was a tall man, and on a normal day stood with much prestige, but was now bent with weary and exhaustion. This was the king of southern Scythia- King Ateas.
The young boy stood with prestige only a young, prideful, prince would now. Unlike his father, this young prince was draped in a fine royal purple fleece with golden thread forming intercut patterns across his chest. The fleece was open to reveal a midnight black tunic with thin white threads forming a simple pattern across his collar bones, in which the shirt hung loosely too. The fine shirt was also loosely tucked into a pair of black beeches that hung on the boys small hips, and those beeches were tucked into a delicate, but hardy, pair of leather boots that stopped just below the boy's knees. Gold paint traced a simple pattern along the top and tip of the boots. His hair was darker than the night sky without a moon, and had a slight curl to it as it rested just below the boy's earlobe. This was Ateas' son- Cyrus.
"You must forgive my tardiness, dear Sharaman." Ateas spoke bowing deeply to the Sharaman, who likewise returned the gesture. "But as of tonight I became a father of a lovely, healthy, daughter." As he spoke his smile seemed to brighten the tent the way only a new father's smile could.
"Oh, but that is wonderful news! Congratulations! I assume you didn't want to leave your queen's side, and that is most understandable." Sharaman smiled as he glanced around at his young sons, recalling the joy he felt at their birth. Sharaman glanced at the young prince, Cyrus. "How does it feel knowing that you're going to be an older brother young man?" Cyrus smiled, and glanced up at his father, who smiled back at him.
"I'm very excited Your Highness." His voice was light, but by no means, small. Sharaman could tell that this boy was going to do great things with his life.
"My king, I believe now would be the best time to begin the talks of peace." Nizam said, having appeared unmoved by the sudden exchange of emotions. Sharaman glanced back at Nizam and nodded.
"Tus, would you please bring the scribe in?" Sharaman asked Tus, who nodded and went and fetched the scribe, as the kings and their sons sat down at the table, hoping to gather their first glance of political exchange.
They quickly found the exchange mind numbingly boring as the kings discussed borders, trade, etc, etc, for it seemed that the kings could agree, but still something need to be traded in exchange for a promise of no more agitation between the two powerful countries. As a stale-mate was met, Sharaman glanced down at his sons, and saw the sleep glazing over their eyes, and Cyrus's eyes as well. Sharaman ran his hands over his beard, stroking it slowly thinking carefully of a compromise. Then like the slow creep of spring an idea occurred to him, but he knew it might be a sensitive topic for the new father.
"King Ateas…might I be so bold as to suggest a way to not only strengthen our countries, but also guaranty the future of our generations." Sharaman began cautiously, searching the green seas of the Ateas for a reaction. Finally after a long silence and contemplation Ateas spoke.
"King Sharaman, are you suggesting that I sell off my new born daughter to one of your sons?" Ateas attempted to keep a steady tone, but allowed some anger and frustration to shine through. "Might I remind you that she was born only a few hours ago?" The agitation in his voice suddenly sparked re-interest on the rest of the people inside the tent. Sharaman's sons glanced gingerly between Ateas and their father, waiting to see what might happen. Cyrus just simple gazed up at his father also searching his eyes, while his own tried to hide his worry for his dear little sister.
"I have not forgotten, but I feel it would be in the best interest of our people if a marriage was to be conceived between our royal families." Sharaman glanced once again at his sons, trying to figure a way to make this happen. Ateas shared Sharaman's glance, and inspected the boys at a closer range, as if picking apart every detail about the young boys.
"I have no intention of selling off my daughter, while she is still a girl; I love my child dearly, and wish for her to make her own choice of husband when she would be ready." Ateas said holding his hands across the table, never once breaking eye contact with Sharaman. Sharaman sighed heavily; relieving the stress of the moment was bearing on him. Just as he opened his mouth to once again attempt to convince the king, it was Dastan who spoke called himself to attention, much to the disdain of his brothers.
"Um, if I might suggest something?" Dastan spoke quietly and timidly. Sharaman glanced at his son, the slight annoyance showing in his eyes, while Ateas just looked at the boy insignificantly. But as Sharaman looked into Dustan's eyes he saw something that promptly gave Sharaman a change of heart.
"If it is alright with you, Ateas, I would like to hear what my son, Dastan has to say." Sharaman glanced at Ateas, who nodded slowly. "Dastan?"
"I can only imagine what it would feel like, being asked to give away your only daughter at such a young age, not only to a king, but also a stranger, King Ateas." Dastan began, looking directly at Ateas. "And that is why I've come up with a suggestion to solve possibly both of our nation's predicaments. What if, instead of outright just saying no to the idea, we give your daughter the right to choose her husband between the three of us?"
"She cannot do that, for she is just a baby now." Ateas retorted. Dastan nodded and continued.
"Yes she is now, but what I'm suggesting is that we return once a year from now and visit with her, watch her grow, and possibly fall in love with one of us, and at an age that is most desirable for you, your Highness, after she has gotten to know us she can pick based on her experiences with us." Dastan concluded. The tent was silent as both kings contemplated the idea. Pride, shined through in Sharaman's eyes as he gazed at Dastan.
"The idea is not a bad one…"Ateas finally spoke after working through the details. "Could you possibly make it here a week out of your year to come and visit with my daughter?" Ateas asked Sharaman, who smiled proudly.
As the papers were signed and hands were shaken, and good-byes said, Cyrus pulled Dustan aside to talk with him privately.
"You seem like a good man, Prince Dastan, and it would please me if my sister would choose you." Cyrus stood almost an inch taller than Dustan, so Dastan was forced to look up to him. "I can do whatever is within my power to convince her to pick you, if that would make you happy?" Dastan laughed softly, not in an insulting way but rather and friendly way.
"Your offer is very kind, Prince Cyrus, but I wish for the young Princess to make a decision that is not anyone else's but her own." Cyrus smiled again.
"You'll be a great leader some day. I know it." With that Cyrus slightly bowed and followed his father out of the tent. A few moments passed, as the group listen to the sound of the king and son mounted their horses and rode of, back toward their home. Once silence had fallen again, Sharaman burst out in loud, full-hearted laughs, filling the whole tent with his ringing voice.
"Oh Dastan!" Sharaman exclaimed happily lifting Dastan under the armpits and hosting him into the air. "What a grand idea you had! You have done a great service for your country." Sharaman slowly lowered Dastan back to the ground. Nizam stepped forward and dismissed the scribe, his eyes gazing at Dastan.
"Indeed, you shall make a good leader someday Dastan." Nizam said ruffling the young prince's hair, the only sign of affection that he would dare show. Tus and Garsiv stood off to the side looking at Dastan with mixed emotions. Both wanted their father's attention and affection, and jealousy was setting in.
The terms of the treaty between the kingdom's of Scythia and Persia were as follows; Once a year, on the anniversary of the signing of the treaty, Sharaman and his three son's would journey to Ateas' palace and spend a week there, allowing the three sons time to bond with the young daughter of Ateas, Selene, and on her 17th birthday she would be allowed to choose between the three, either Tus, Garsiv, or Dastan, and by her 18th birthday would marry a prince of Persia. But as the fates would have it something would change everything that appears serene.
The sun beat down against the golden sand, reflecting the heat back into the faces of the traveling royal guard. It was the day of the signing of the treaty between Scythia and Persia, and the young son's of Sharaman now a year older traveled to the palace of King Ateas to finally meet the young Princess Selene. The group rode in silence, each one think of ways to possibly impress the young princess. The royal guard heading the group was greeted at the border, by King Ateas, Prince Cyrus and the royal guards.
"King Sharaman! What a pleasure it is to see you again." Ateas greeted Sharaman and his young sons, bending in his saddle in slight bow.
"And you too, Ateas." Sharaman returned the bow, as Ateas rode up next to Sharaman and began conversing about the state of affairs.
A few hours into the ride, the rolling sand hills began to change as large rocks jutted from below the surface, which too slowly changed into green pastors, where farmers were busy laboring under the hot sun, growing and tending to their crops. Most stopped to look up and shout a "Long live the King" or "Hail Scythia", but most were caught up in their work, which was fine with the guards, for a shouting bustling crowd made it harder on them to protect their kings and princes. The farms began to dissipate and slowly more small homes, made of simple stone and mud, began to come together. These people, who stayed home, stood outside their doorways and waved, smiling, and laughing in excitement at the royal families. As the group traveled farther into the settlements, in the distance a wall enclosing a massive settlement ascended from the ground as if from born from the earth.
This was the city of Tuva the grand city of southern Scythia, home to the royal family of the region. The city was protected behind a looming wall of stone, reaching toward the heights of the highest, most beautiful spire. Interact patterns of glittering stone outlined the Scythian history on the walls, while the massive doors, open to the public, was guarded by two massive stone lions, with their mouths open in a permanent roar, flashing their fearsome teeth, it was a sight that would strike fear into the heart of any brave soldier. The young Persian prince's stared at the lions and admired the craftsmanship, while their father simply laughed at their gawked faces.
The town within the walls was different than those that the caravan had encountered outside. People bustled to and fro, but not without stopping and paying their respects to the kings and their company. The sounds and scents of new exotic worlds greeted the young prince's inexperienced mind, exciting their curiosity as they gazed out at the market place, looking for everything that they didn't recognize from their lands.
The main street was wide enough to allow foot traffic running in both directions to part and let the Kings pass, and looming high above and in front of them was the great temple of the Scythian royal family. To add even more grandeur to the whole fact was that the temple was not built atop a hill, meaning that, on ground level the temple stood farther above them than any temple built in Persia, possibly besides the holy city of Alamut, giving the city of Tuva a bird's eye view of the surrounding area. If an attack came from any direction, the Scythians' would know.
Another long wall ran around the Scythian temple, to separate the lower classes from the upper classes and royal family. This wall was more decorated than the outer wall surrounding the whole city. For it not only had patterns carved into the stone, but stained tiles of the royal colors of Scythia, purple, red, and gold, embedded into the upper reaches of the walls. Passing guards hurried across the top of the walls, shouting orders to open the gates, and keep their eyes open. The gates pulled away from each other to reveal the lush green gardens of the upper city. Green life sprang forward from the multiple exotic palm trees, and bushes growing around the water source, blooming with all kinds of flowers that released their delicate fragrance into the air. The upper city children ran through the thin puddles of water, giggling and laughing while their attendants attempted to pull them out. The Persian Princes smiled and continued to gaze around the lavished upper city. The homes were two storied with courtyards and terraces overlooking the street. The wealthy families looked over the edge of the terrace at the passing convoy and smiled and waved.
Then before them stood the massive gates guarding the Scythian family temple which loomed high above the gates. Dustan and his brothers glanced upward the tallest spire, but with the sun behind it, the glace forced the boys to look back down. Glancing back to the road as gates opened up before the group they entered the realm of the royal family of Scythia. As they gazed upward at the majesty of the towers, little did they know the dark secrets that lay beneath their feet.
After Sharaman and the boys had been given a tour of the royal palace they were placed inside a very large and comfortably decorated room. Sharaman glanced out the room's large balcony overlooking the open fields beyond the city with the blazing sun low in the sky, and wondered the situation that lay before him. Which of my son's is best for the young princess? And who will she choose? He turned and walked back into the room and saw Tus and Dustan sitting next to each other around the table looking over a map of the city, pointing and whispering amongst each other. Garsiv however sat on a large purple pillow and moved his small blade along a wet stone, sharpening the edge and admiring its gleam and beauty. Sharaman often worried about Garsiv, more involved with warfare than that of the people.
"Garsiv." Sharaman called to him. Garsiv stopped sharpening the blade and glanced up, and his father motioned for him to come to him on the balcony. Sheathing his blade and placing the stone on the pillow Garsiv readily came to his father's side. Sharaman smiled and placed a hand around the young boy's shoulders and turned him toward the city.
"What is it father?" Garsiv asked looking over the horizon with keen eyes.
"What do you think of the might of Tuva, my son?" Sharaman asked Garsiv. He snorted and glanced up at his father.
"It pales in comparison to Avrat father." Sharaman sighed heavily and patted Garsiv on the head, silently hoping that someday Garsiv would be able to see further than his own home, the grander picture in his life. A mixed look of confusion and anger came over Garsiv's face as he glanced back out at the city, looking for something he felt he might have missed. Sharaman dismissed Garsiv to return back to his pillow seat, his eyes following the young child the entire way. As Garsiv took his place on the pillow and began to sharpen his blade, a knock came from the door.
"Enter." Sharaman said walking back into the room. The door opened and there stood a very regal looking man with wrinkles and gray hair, as well as a group of servants behind him.
"My lord." He bowed "We have come to dress the royal family for this evening's dinner." Sharaman nodded his head and the group moved into the room and began to help the boys and the king prepare.
The family was dressed in the brilliant colors of red with golden trimmings, their crowns decorated with frosted jewels of their ancestors. The king wore the biggest crown, naturally, and Tus, Garsiv and Dustan all wore small gold bands with a large gem placed in the center. Each of the boys stood behind their father with bright shining faces, waiting to meet the young princess for the first of many times to come.
The regal head servant returned after the group had finished being prepared and with a quick word with Sharaman led the party down the long hallways.
"Your introduction to the princess will be halfway through the evening my lords. You will each be individually introduced to the young princess, so when your name is called you will slowly make your way up to beside the queen and glance in at the young child." He told them, without turning to look them in eye, but rather keeping up a brisk walking pace. The princes followed as quickly as they could while attempting to remember what the servant was telling them.
Just before their entrance into the main hall, the servant bid them farewell, and they waited for their introduction into the hall of crowded Scythian royal family.
"Introducing His Royal Highness of Persia, Sharaman, as well as the young princes of Persia, Prince Tus, Prince Garsiv, and Prince Dustan!" The herald shouted as the trumpets began to sound and the drums began their rhythmical beat. Then the large doors opened into the bright room and the Persian family was cast into the world of Scythian royalty.