Disclaimer: I don't own Arslan Senki or any of its characters.
Title: Enigma
Summary: Prince Arslan was a puzzle to them. An extraordinary puzzle that they are still trying to figure out.
Rating: K
Characters: Arslan, Daryun, Narsus, Elam, Arfrid, Grieve, Farangis and Jaswant
Warnings: Spoilers up to episode 20/chapter 26.
Author's Notes: Writing Arfrid was probably the hardest since she and Arslan didn't really interact one-to-one as much yet, so I decided to make her more of an observer with the others.

Daryun had been brushing Shablong in the stables when a child of eight years entered. His blue eyes glanced around and landed on him. The white hair and royal robes gave the boy's identity away. " H-hello," he smiled shyly. " You are Daryun, correct?"

So this was the prince of King Andragoras and Queen Tahamine. Daryun had only seen him from afar and heard rumors about the child being hidden away among the common mass, only to be revealed recently and introduced formally to the court. Daryun respectfully inclined his head, remembering the courtesy lessons his uncle had drilled into his head long ago. " I am, Your Highness."

Arslan blinked in confusion before nodding. It was evident he was still not accustomed to being referred to such a title. " Is this your horse?" he politely asked, eyes flickering towards Shablong.

" He will be. His sire has been with me for many years until he had fell in battle not a few months ago. I'm training him to be fit for a Parsian steed."

The prince's eyes were wide with interest. " He is certainly a beautiful one." Arslan's hand reached out to pat the foal's neck.

" Careful, Your Highness!" Daryun immediately darted forward to protect the boy. " Shablong is not known to be friendly to strangers and –"

But as if to mock him, the black horse nickered softly instead and pressed his lips gently into Arslan's hands. Daryun stared, agape as the boy giggled.

Arslan brushed a few stray strands from Shablong's eyes, his smile widening as the horse nudged the side of his head against his palm, demanding more pats. After Arslan cheerfully obliged him, Shablong blew a puff of air against the boy's cheek, nuzzling his shoulder and face in an affectionate manner that he would occasionally grace Daryun.

Daryun could only watch the scene unfold in pleasant surprise. Shablong had been a wild one, taking after his dam, only fond of her master while aloof and disobedient to any other who tried to come near. He remembered how fellow soldier Kishward had been fond of telling others the two young hawk hatchlings he was raising already had a soft spot for the prince, chirping excitedly and fluttering to be by the prince's side if he was nearby.

Now Daryun was able to see with his own two eyes that Arslan must have a kind soul for these animals to flock towards his presence.

What a fascinating prince he is, Daryun mused. I look forward to serving him.

~.~.~

It had by chance that Elam had seen it. Later when he reflected upon it, he would not have thought a tilt of the hand and sunlight hitting at the right angle would have revealed the scar on Arslan's hand.

The scar was pressed into the hollow between Arslan's thumb and index finger. It was small and pale, shaped almost like a crescent, carefully hidden from sight by the fold of skin. It appeared to be grossly misplaced in Elam's eyes; after all, a prince was supposed to live a pampered, luxurious life and not do any kind of hard work.

He initially thought it was received during training with Daryun's uncle. But as Daryun himself later revealed, Vahriz might have left bruises but was always careful to never any lasting injuries to Arslan. And if Daryun, who was Arslan's longest companion, did not know where the scar came from, there was only one person to ask about it.

" Where did you get that scar from?" he asked, one night while he was on guard and Arslan had decided to keep him company.

" Scar?" The prince frowned before recognition lit his eyes. " Ahh, you mean this one?" He brought out his left hand, opening his hand to expose the scar that shouldn't have been there in the first place. " I got it when I was a child, before I lived in the palace."

Elam nodded, intrigued. He had briefly heard Arslan telling Gieve about his childhood earlier and it was such a strange thing to hear of nobility living outside their cozy castles.

" Another boy and I had climbed one of the trees to see the Midsummer festival parades. In our excitement to see the performers, we leaned too far and we fell forward. I managed to grab the other boy but we both ended up hanging off of the branch. There was a stray offshoot that went into my hand." Arslan unconsciously flexed his hand as if remembering the pain. " My nursemaid's husband quickly got us down and took care of my injury."

He smiled ruefully. " It's a silly way to get a scar, isn't it? There are no grand tales or heroic deeds behind it. It's not something you would expect a prince to get."

Elam shook his head, snorting softly in the night air. " I should tell you the one time I nearly took off my thumb with a kitchen knife when Lord Narsus surprised me with a troublesome chicken ..."

As Arslan chuckled at his tale, Elam eyed the faded scar once more. Arslan was right; it had been a silly way to get a scar, especially for a prince. But then again, a lot of people got scars and not every single one had to be from battle. Most of the nobles he knew would have tried to keep him hidden or lie and make up some extravagant story about how they got their scar.

It proves that Prince Arslan is human like the rest of us after all, he quietly thought.

~.~.~

It had started innocuously. Travelling for long periods of time without some sort of conversation could make a journey maddeningly dull. Farangis had simply believed Arslan was trying to make light talk and to get to know his companions better.

" Farangis, I have heard from Narsus that you are familiar with the art of herbology and healing," he began. " I was wondering if you could tell me which herb to use to relieve pain and stop bleeding if someone were to sustain a sword wound?"

She blinked, surprised but would not deny such a request. " Of course."

This continued for some time. Arslan would ask her scenarios and situations where someone would be injured and what would one do to help the wounded. And she would reply, recalling the knowledge that the other priestesses had taught her from the temple. Occasionally, Gieve, Daryun or Arfrid would add their own perspectives and experiences. It certainly brought forth engaging and rousing discussions that often lasted well throughout the day and late into the night.

Finally after a few days, Farangis asked Arslan the question that had been nagging on her mind. " If you don't mind me asking, why is your Highness interested in learning about this?" she inquired during one of their breaks. " Perhaps you wish to become a healer?"

Arslan smiled sheepishly. " I do not think I have the temperance to be a healer. But I want to know the basics of the healing acts. Should anything happen to someone in this group, I hope to be of some use."

She made no effort to hide her confusion. " Of use?"

" I am not as strong a fighter like you, Daryun or Gieve. I am not as knowledgeable as Narsus. I cannot cook like Elam or hunt like Arfrid. Compared to the rest, I contribute very little."

His blunt words astonished Farangis. She had not known that the prince carried such an incorrect assessment of himself and the feeling of indignation on his behalf flared in her chest. " That is not true, Your Highness." Her hand touched his shoulder as if it could convey her sincerity. " You give us purpose to see a freed and revived Pars. Were it not for you, we would not be aiming towards the same goal."

These past days had opened Farangis's eyes about the natural ability of Arslan to attract different kinds of people together and unite them. If a month ago she had witnessed a thieving minstrel, a discarded general, a bandit girl, an unwanted priestess and an exile prince gathering together to discuss about herbs and bandages, she would not have believed it.

Arslan blushed. " Thank you, Farangis. I don't know what to say."

She smiled. I cannot wait to see what magnificent, extensive kingdom this prince would build.

~.~.~

" Jaswant, you don't need to sleep out here!"

" It is my duty to stand guard and protect you as your bodyguard."

" But there are several soldiers stationed nearby and would alert us if anything was amiss."

" Any enemy can slip past them. When I pledge my allegiance to you, I intend to make sure that any possible threat to your safety will be taken of."

" I appreciate your concern but what about your own sleep? It has already been a long day for all of us."

" There is no need for concern. I have already made arrangements with Sher Shenani after my watch has ended."

Arslan sighed, rubbing the back of his head in mild exasperation. Jaswant remained where he was, his features sculptured like stone. As the prince opened his mouth again, Jaswant had naturally assumed more argument and dispute was to come. He steeled himself for the inevitable, that Arslan could be as stubborn as a bull when he set his mind on something.

" Wait a moment then."

He frowned in puzzlement as Arslan disappeared through the door, back into his room. Having not foreseen this reaction, he had half a mind to follow the prince and was about to rise from his spot when Arslan returned, arms full of pillows and blankets. Jaswant raised an eyebrow as Arslan carefully arranged them around him in a cocoon of warmth and softness.

" I cannot convince you to change your mind," Arslan smiled. " But I can at least make you more comfortable for the night than sitting on the floor like this. Please let me know if you need more."

Marvelled at this kindness that was a rarity among nobility and royalty, Jaswant could only bow his head and murmur his gratitude, freshly renewing his desire to follow Arslan as long as he could.

This prince would treat even his servants like kings.

~.~.~

Lessons regarding Lusitanian and other languages had now been a daily occurrence between Arslan and Gieve, much to Gieve's discomfort. Not that he was an annoyance to teach. In fact, Arslan was an excellent student and quick learner. His earnest sincerity to learn was one of the reasons why Gieve didn't have a problem teaching the prince.

It was the fact that he was the one to teach the prince. He would have thought Narsus, the educated man that he was, would be the one Arslan would ask, but instead it was him.

And that wasn't the only thing that made Gieve's skin pucker uncomfortably. Ever since he joined their little group, Arslan was always the first to greet him in the morning with a cheerful smile, never asking any questions or throwing suspicious glares at him for wandering off during the night. If the group broke camp, the prince would sit by him and idly chat about nothing in particular. It was like the boy trusted and liked him.

For that matter, it frightened Gieve how easy it was to like Arslan back. The prince was alarmingly kind and considerate to anyone he happened to look at, including extending funeral rites to those who hunted him down and would have his head in a matter of seconds. He treated those in his group like they were comrades and friends, not servants or slaves, laughing and talking like they were celebrating their victory in the palace instead of squatting by a measly fire in the middle of the forests where their enemies lurked and hid.

He was nothing like his cold-hearted mother or if stories of the war-mongering king were true, he was neither like his ruthless father.

" Gieve!" He snapped out of his thoughts to glance down the tree he had settled in to see Arslan smiling and waving up at him. " Are you busy? I was hoping we could continue our lessons!" he called.

That kind of person was bad news for a person like Gieve. Sooner or later, this prince would be the death of him.

Then again, he mulled over in resignation, leaping down to the tree to where Arslan was waiting. That kind of death might not be so bad after all.

~.~.~

Arslan stretched, fighting back a yawn after another long discussion with the other generals at Peshawar had ended.

" You should get some rest, Your Highness," Narsus suggested, having not missed the way the prince's shoulders were slowly drooping throughout the meeting and how his eyes occasionally lost their focus.

" I could say the same for you," Arslan teased, also not missing the way the tactician's eye twitched when someone had made a foolish proposal or how he subtly sighed when he repeatedly had to explain his intentions.

Amused that Arslan had been observing him, Narsus smiled. " Oho? Your Highness is quite perceptive. But you do not need to worry for me. A session of painting helps to set my mind at ease after a day like today."

" My apologies to you, Narsus, that you aren't able to dedicate more your time to your art."

If he chose to listen carefully, Narsus could faintly hear Daryun down the hallway violently exclaim that it was actually a good thing. " It pleases me to know your Highness is considerate and appreciative of others' talents," he smugly said, making sure he was loud enough for his friend to hear.

" It's just that I had seen you so dedicated and absorbed in your artwork. That kind of passion truly inspires me."

" Everyone has something they enjoy to do to pass their time." A sudden thought struck Narsus. " What about you, Your Highness? Is there a certain past time that you like to do?"

Arslan looked taken back, as if no one had bothered to ask him that question before. " Well ... I always enjoyed walking in the main markets," he demurely admitted. " To see all the different kinds of people and all the vendors and what they were selling in the streets. I got to meet people from different countries and experience their culture, try their foods and see their latest fashions."

The boy's eyes were brightened in a way that Narsus had not seen before. " Most of the time an attendant or an imperial guard would be with me, ushering me along and telling me I shouldn't see this or I shouldn't touch that. So I would sometimes sneak away and run off on my own. What a scolding I would receive once they found me."

Narsus chuckled." I had not known Your Highness to be the mischievous sort. I too had been like that in my youth."

" You have?" Arslan's eyes twinkled in amusement. " You must tell me more!"

Who could have imagined that the prince and I are more alike than expected? Narsus noted in pleasant surprise.

~.~.~

No one had been as insistent as Daryun when it came to Arslan's safety as Arfrid had noticed since day one. It was unmistakable that the man had taken his role of the prince's bodyguard and retainer very seriously, something that Narsus and Gieve was fond of teasing the soldier often.

But meeting a governing lord on his own without any one of them present in the room was something even Arfrid was starting to feel uneasy.

Narsus had already voiced his disapproval in several different ways. Gieve was quiet for once. Elam was frowning and fidgeting restlessly. Daryun looked like he was mere seconds away from tearing out his hair. Even the normally stoic Farangis appeared worried.

Arslan's face was set and determined. " He made it clear that he only wanted to see me. It would be an insult if someone came with me."

" Your Highness, we still don't know his intentions," Narsus vehemently argued, with Arfrid absently nodding along. " He could betray you to the Lusitanian soldiers or perhaps his own men are lying in wait to ambush you."

" I am certain I can handle a few soldiers. And after all, you are all outside to help me if there is something that I couldn't handle."

She could see that Daryun intended to fight to the bitter end, as a soldier like him was trained to do. " Your Highness ..."

" Trust me."

With those two little words, Arslan successfully convinced Narsus, Daryun, and everyone else to quietly retreat and contend with the fact that the prince had made up his mind and would go alone. It seemed strange to Arfrid that this boy would hold such power over this powerful group of people.

But she could detect a slight uncertainty and misgiving in the prince's eyes, as if he wanted to swallow his own words and beg for one of them to come with him (it was hard to remember the boy was only fourteen and already the weight of the world was on his shoulders). Yet there was no wavering in his voice and his head was held high as he calmly walked into the room where the lord was waiting for him without looking back.

He's a brave one, Arfrid sighed, settling her hand near her sword to be taken out as needed. Foolish but brave.