3

CHAPTER 3

Spirit Lost

Arslan nervously chewed his lip, sitting by Etoile's bedside and watching her sleep restlessly. Farangis massaged his shoulder soothingly, wringing a damp cloth out to dab Etoile's sweaty skin. Despite what he said to her, Arslan could never leave the side of a friend in trouble. He'd stayed, hidden just past the wall of the turn-off, silently guarding Etoile. The sun dipped down into darkness and Arslan had worriedly peeked behind the corner, seeing her on the ground, motionless, and rushed over to her side. She was pale and clammy, and he had quickly scooped her up into his arms, holding her close, feeling a feverish warmth. She was light, far too light for what he expected from an athletic girl, and this time he couldn't put it down to his own growth in strength. He'd raced back to the palace as fast as he could without jostling her, yelling at the first guard he saw to find Farangis while he took Etoile to her room.

"She'll be alright Arslan. It doesn't seem to be serious, possibly just exhaustion or a flu." Said Farangis.

Arslan shook his head. "But we didn't do anything but walk around today. Can you really imagine Etoile becoming exhausted from just that?"

"Perhaps not, but maybe she was already sick and just hiding it. You'll have to ask her in the morning." Farangis petted his hair down gently before ushering him from the room. "Go rest now. She's safe with me."

The king reluctantly retreated to his chambers, biting his lip. His desk was piled high with scrolls and messages and books he never seemed to have time to read. Elam was knelt by the hearth feeding the flame used parchment, looking up to meet Arslan's despondent gaze. The dabir rose and walked over to ruffle Arslan's hair, guiding him over to sit at the low table where his dinner was served, awaiting him. Arslan sighed and slumped over his meal, picking at the pomegranate seeds.

"Did you enjoy yourself today?" Elam questioned.

Arslan hummed quietly in affirmation, pushing the rice around the bowl with his spoon. Elam poured him some hot tea and dumped a pile of scrolls in front of him, staring at him pointedly, ignoring the king's pleading eyes.

"You've been avoiding it all day!" Elam chided.

Arslan pouted. 'I know that. It wasn't on purpose, I just wanted to spend some time with an old friend...and now she's taken ill somehow…"

Elam's gaze softened, he knew how much Arslan's gentle heart must be fretting. Elam didn't care very much for the woman, she was rude and unruly, and wholey disrespectful to his shah (though still more tolerable than Alfreed, despite the stabbing), but he could tell Arslan had a soft spot for her, and so he worried on his behalf as well. He moved around the table to sit by Arslan's side, leaning against him.

"She'll be fine, she's in Farangis' hands now right? That woman survived almost being executed did she not? And walking into our camp and trying to kill you. And the assault on the keep. And an entire war her side lost." Elam counted on his fingers. "She's been in more danger while with her own people than she ever has under your care. I doubt a fever will fell her."

Arslan smiled at Elam's attempt to reassure him. "I suppose you are correct." He looked over the papers with a sigh, trying to memorise the information for the upcoming meeting.

Arslan was up early the next morning, breath frosting in the air as he walked around his garden. He would not call himself a morning person by any means, merely the nature of his life required him to be awake and hard at work with the daylight, and at the worst of times, his only free moments came with the break of dawn. He knelt down among the shrubs, breathing in the scent of flowers that the crisp morning air brought out. Arslan grabbed a pair of shears from his pocket, carefully cutting a handful of lush sage blossoms. Along with a pitcher of water, he brought them to Etoile's room in the palace. He quietly appreciated the girls for giving her a room close to theirs, the friends clustered together for company, the pseudo-guestwing only a dog-leg away from the royal quarters. Arslan entered as quietly as he could; he felt a little apprehensive entering a woman's room without permission, but he doubted she would be awake any time soon. The room was still dim, the window facing south, only traces of pink filtering in through the shutters. He trod quietly across the floor, footsteps muffled by the customary thick rugs. The entrance of the modest room had a small sitting area; a collection of cushions and mats covered the seating under the window across from the door. Next to that rested the hearth that warmed the whole room, currently cold and dark. Stepping left, Arslan brushed aside the heavy curtains covering the archway to the bed itself, carefully walking over to place the pitcher on the bedside table, pouring a little water into the empty vase there and stuffing the sage inside. Turning his attention to Etoile, Arslan slowly sat on the edge of bed, rubbing a hand on his thigh to warm his cold skin so he could rest a palm on her forehead. 'She doesn't seem to have a fever at least' he thought with relief. The young woman was sound asleep, blonde hair splayed out messily over the cushions, looking reasonably at peace. Arslan sighed with a smile, pulling the blankets up further to keep her warm, tucking her arms in. Concern assuaged for the time being, he tiptoed out, closing the door behind him gently and beginning the walk back to his own room. The bird song of early morning was punctuated by a loud double clang; a rhythmic clack clack of steel striking wood. Arslan could help but peek out the window in curiousity, smiling as his feet changed course.

"Kishward!" The general turned to see Arslan standing confidently with a beam, leaning his weight on a long, elegant glaive.

"Your MAJESTY!" Boomed Kishward happily into the morning air, twirling his two swords into a battle stance. "Do you think it wise to face me with that?" He taunted.

Arslan answered with a twirl of his own, grinning as he braced himself. "I'll never improve unless I try right?" They met in an enthusiastic clash of steel, beginning a predatory dance around each other. Arslan had only recently begun training with the new weapon, suggesting to Daryun that he would benefit from understanding the different styles of combat, even if only when faced with the receiving end. His agile feet carried him around the veteran warrior, parrying the swift blows. Arslan was adept at using both ends of the spear; years of watching Daryun had given him the strategic eye for utilising the blunt end for defense and feints, but his attacks were still clumsy, unaccustomed to the length and reach of the polearm. Slowly but surely, Kishward's carefully disciplined ferocity pushed Arslan back, each loud clang of a blow blocked by his shaft shuddering down his arms, numbing his grip. Arslan fought back furiously, panting for breath, till his back was pressed to the wall. He gave one last thrust with the pole end. Kishward unexpectedly dropped a sword, grabbed the shaft and tugged Arslan off his feet. Arslan yelped, stumbling into Kishward's chest. He caught the startled king, breaking into a good-natured laugh, letting their weapons clatter to the floor. Arslan leaned over his knees, trying to catch his breath, as Kishward clapped him on the back with two heavy thumps. "Hah! We'll make a warrior out of you yet Your Majesty!"

Arslan choked out a small laugh. "If you say so…"

As Arslan entered the dining hall for lunch, he sighed in relief to see Etoile seated there, slowly munching her way through a bowl of fesenjan. He strode over to sit beside her, greeting her with a gentle touch on the shoulder. She looked up at him with a weary expression.

"How are you feeling?" He asked quietly.

"I'm fine…" She mumbled, chewing on a piece of bread.

Arslan bit into a fresh plum, watching her closely. Apart from the sleepiness, he couldn't see anything too much wrong with her. He wished she wasn't quite so stubborn though so she'd just be open with him, as endearing as it was. He poured himself some nabeed and yawned, peering at her over the rim of his glass. "Have you taken ill recently? I was really worried when you collapsed like that."

Etoile faltered, choking on her spoon a little. "I-I'm fine. I guess I was still tired from the journey from Lusitania. I-It's a long way to travel by one's self." She didn't meet his eyes, sipping a glass of water, though she did briefly lift her gaze to glare at him, silently judging him for not obeying her order to leave. Arslan stared unapologetically back. It seemed plausible enough, but it still didn't feel right. She felt...fragile last night.

As soon as Etoile finished her meal and leaned back with a sigh, Arslan reached out to clasp her hand firmly, ignoring her hesitant expression. "There's something I'd like to show you Etoile."

He slowly lead her to an eyrie on the other side of the gardens; a tall tower that had been converted into an aviary for the royal hunting birds. The spiral staircase lead to the highest room, the circular room lined with large, mostly empty cages on one side, the other littered with tables filled with equipment and bird-related supplies. Both the window and the cages were open wide to the sky, allowing the hawks free roam in and out. Inside the only occupied cage lay a massive nest of twigs and fleece, guarded over by a large, nervous looking red-eyed hawk. The other orange-eyed bird, which Etoile recogniosed as Azrael, she hoped, happily waddled out to greet Arslan. Arslan happily stroked his crest, fussing over the bird like his own child. Setting him aside, Arslan carefully approached the other bird, whispering to it soothingly and offering it a cut of meat. "Ssh, that's a good girl Soraya."

She gradually allowed Arslan to push her to the side and scoop up the chittering balls of fluff hidden beneath her. He quickly beckoned Etoile over to his side, cooing at the baby hawks. "Look at my babies~"

Etoile did have to admit they were cute, though a bit awkward looking. The three chicks were covered in white down, with a small black beak and large grey eyes on a big head, all chirping up at Arslan, probably not more than a week old. It did manage to bring a small smile to her lips.

"You bred Azrael?"

Arslan nodded. "I thought he might be lonely, and he was getting old, so I had Kishward find me a female of his species. Azrael was originally his bird, but I love him so much, I thought I'd take up a bit of falconry." He started pointing to each chick, "That one is Ezekiel, he'll replace Azrael when I retire him. That one is Siavash, I'm going to gift him to Daryun." He then gently picked up the last one and turned to Etoile. "And this little girl is Pahaliah. This one is yours."

Etoile froze. "Mine?"

Arslan smiled. 'I've been struggling to find a good present for you, and then I realised that a companion is a far greater gift than a material possession. I hope she can become a source of comfort and protection to you as Azrael has been to me."

Etoile stepped backwards, shaking her head. Her fists and eyes were clenched shut as she trembled, turning her face away. "I can't…I don't deserve something as precious as this Arslan."

"What are you saying? It's not about worthiness." He said with a confused frown.

She shook her head vehemently, turning to flee down the stairs. Arslan hurriedly returned all the babies to their nest as quickly and as gently as he could before chasing after her. The light blinded him momentarily as he stepped out of the aviary, squinting through the trees to look for her. She hadn't gotten far, slowly limping through the forest garden to his immediate concern. Arslan jogged up to her, clutching at her hand. "Etoile, what's wrong?"

She spun around, flinging his hand off. "Stop it! I didn't travel all this way, after all this time, to become a burden to you!"

Arslan was shocked to see tears forming in her eyes, cheeks flushed with red. She hung her head low in shame, fists shaking. "I don't...you've already done so much for me...and I...I've never even thanked you, there's nothing I can do to thank you, to repay you...And now I can't ever...I can't do anything for anyone!"

Arslan drew close, trying to shush her, rubbing his thumbs into her shoulders. "Ssh, what are you talking about? I don't need thanks, I just want you to be happy."

She shook her head, starting to cry in her hands. "Stop being so kind to me...stop adding to my debt...I can't repay it…I'm useless..."

Arslan was distraught, watching the strong girl he knew crumble in front of him. He desperately tried to pull her closer, to pull away her hands so he could stem her tears.

"Nothing you say could ever convince me to stop caring about you Etoile."

His words only seemed to make her cry harder. It was all Arslan could do; to hold her tight and be the gutter for her tears, terrified of this sudden collapse of her character.. He swayed her side to side, desperate to comfort her. Her fingers clutched at the back of his tunic, pleading for strength.

Once her sobbing died down a little, he leaned back to cup her face, rubbing the dampness from her cheeks, guiding her backwards to a garden seat.

"Please Etoile, tell me what's happened to you…" he whispered to her.

Etoile looked into his deep blue eyes and felt more than saw the immense affection and concern he had for her, and she gave in. Both her body and her heart ached with pain and fatigue, and there was no one she trusted more than Arslan now. So she let him sit her down, tucked under his arm, drew a shuddering breath and started to tell him her story; how she had returned home to a mostly dead family, of working to get her knighthood, of her grandfather passing away, of Lusitania ripping itself apart in civil war and political discord and selfish noble bickering, of fighting for her people but it all ultimately amounting to nothing because she was just a single person, a single girl with no name, no influence and no power to save anyone. She told him of being injured by the person she was trying to help; an iron bar striking her knee and leaving her crippled and on the verge of death, sick and dying all alone. Of spending months regaining the feeling in her leg, learning to walk again, but it's never quite been the same again, never quite there, never quite strong enough to hold her weight in battle. Of all of her life's work and dreams lost in one injury. She told him everything, of being alone and lost and hopeless, because she had nothing left.

Arslan slowly knelt in front of her, gently lifting her skirt to brush his fingers across the scar disfiguring her right knee. Droplets splashed across his hands, and he lifted his eyes to Etoile's tear stained face. She bit her lip, one trembling hand touching his hair. "I'm sorry Arslan, I can't do anything for you. I-I didn't come here to beg you to take care of me, I didn't. I just wanted to thank you, in some way, for everything, and then leave. Because I realised that I had never said it…"

Arslan felt a stab of guilt at his behaviour over the past couple of days. Here he had been flustered and distracted like a child, when Etoile had been secretly suffering, holding in so much despair and remorse. His silly infatuation isn't what she needed from him right now. She needed someone to help shoulder this grief, to support her shattered spirit and collect all the broken shards. The girl he remembered was radiant; she was fierce and stubborn and wonderfully, frighteningly passionate about her beliefs; even when they conflicted with his, he admired her for that. She lit up his soul like the sun, without even realising her words always managed to resonate with him, carving them deep for him to remember. His fourteen year old self had revered that ferocity she had, something he had never managed to muster within his own spirit and once desperately saw its absence in his own character as a flaw, surely as did Andragoras and all of the midday sun shone brightly down through the trees, shifting dappled light catching on her golden crown. It felt obscene to witness such sorrow in the warm sunlight, when tears and pain were normally relegated to darkness and rain. Etoile needed him. He needed to be the best friend he could be for her.

Arslan shook his head, squeezing her hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, burying himself in her. "You're not leaving Etoile...not like this...You're my dear friend, and for as long as I live, you'll always have a home here."

Etoile bit her trembling lip, trying to push him away. "I don't want to be some burdensome waif...There's nothing I can do for you Arslan. I've shamed my family enough with my failures."

"I don't believe that." Arslan said firmly. "Remember that time we met at Peshawar? I was struggling with a lot of self doubt then, but you said exactly what I needed to hear in that moment, and I've always kept those words with me. Thanks to you, I was able to find the resolve to continue...Maybe now, I can do the same for you..."

Arslan took a deep breath, clasping her hands and looking resolutely up at her. "You were born into knighthood, but maybe you don't have to be bound to it. Maybe you can become something more. Regardless of whether you take the path of a knight or not, perhaps simply bringing good into the world is enough to make your family proud, however you achieve that. Is that not the core spirit of being a knight? Protecting the weak and serving justice. A sword is not your only weapon in that endeavour. You can still help."

Etoile's lip quivered, her voice cracking. "But the sword is all I know..."

He smiled sadly. "That's all right. When I first started my journey to retake Pars, I didn't know much of anything. I didn't know how to lead an army, how to strategise a battle, how to inspire my people. I wasn't even really all that good at the sword. All I did was lean on the people around me. But, being a brilliant swordsman is all well and good, but it's not what changes the world Etoile. No matter how many obstacles you cut down before your face, it won't solve poverty and inequality and injustice. Those are things that we face together, as a people. And your future; we'll face that together as well."

"I don't belong here..." She sobbed quietly, body curling inward.

Arslan tenderly stroked her hands. "Maybe one day you will."

They sat for a while longer in silence, Etoile limp in his arms, Arslan stroking his thumb against her shoulder. Her eyes and cheeks were flushed red, and she looked drained to the bone, the weight of fifty worlds in her heart. 'She must have been bottling this all up for months'. Arslan thought. A quiet caw alerted him to Azrael's company on the bench with them, staring at the pair. Arslan gently took Etoile's hand and brought it to Azrael's breast, guiding her fingers to stroke his soft feathers.

"I'm going to need to teach you how to command a hawk…" Arslan mused quietly.

Etoile wearily opened her eyes, sniffling a little. "I can't...I'm not good with animals…"

Arslan squeezed her gently. "Yes you can. Imagine it, you'll be majestic with a bird on your arm."

Etoile smiled a tiny bit. "Azrael scares me. The way you can control that bird is witchcraft."

"Witchcraft I'm going to teach you." He reminded. "You'll be a warrior with a guardian angel."

She snorted quietly, hiding a sad smile. She was no warrior anymore, but his confidence in her was touching, at least. He was a silly king like no other.

Arslan leaned down to pluck a purple milkvetch flower from the bed beside the bench and tucked it into Etoile's braid. She squirmed in embarrassment while he hopped to his feet, reaching for her hands to pull her up with him, keeping a firm grip to lend her support.

"Come over here."

Etoile obediently followed him as he pulled her several yards away to the grassy area in front of them, guiding her to sit down in the warm sun. She looked at him questionly while he smiled down at her.

"You look tired. Rest awhile. I'm going to go fetch something."

Etoile resigned herself to laying down in the grass, watching the clouds pass behind the swaying tree canopy above her as his footsteps faded away. She rubbed at her face, tight with stained tears, and sighed. Fatigue permeated her body; the emotional kind; the kind that builds and builds over months and only gets released all at once in one ugly tidal wave of grief. Embarrassment knotted her stomach thinking of how she let herself go to pieces in front of Arslan, but really, who else did she have left in the world now? She trusted him to not pity her. Her fingers dug into the grass, taking a deep breath and just...taking a moment to ground herself in the world. Feeling the pull of the earth, the turning of the heavens, the sky, the sun, the smell of flowers. This was Pars. Right now, she existed here. She was alive. It hurt. Being alive hurt. But it was a sin to discard your own life. Yaldabaoth was making her live on. Perhaps it was sinful that being near Arslan made her feel a little better. But she had long since reached the point of desperation. She just wanted someone to tell her that she was going to be ok.

That her life hadn't been meaningless.

That she wasn't alone.

Arslan returned to find her peacefully asleep in the grass. His eyes crinkled warmly, quietly sitting himself down beside her, along with a laden tray and a book. He leaned over her, watching the light catch in her hair. Something inside of him ached, noticing just how beautiful she had become, despite her hardships. Hesitantly he reached out and tenderly brushed his fingers over her brow, stealing a moment of selfish indulgence. Arslan closed his eyes and forced down the feeling that had been growing in his heart to a deep place with a shuddering breath. He dragged his hand to her shoulder, gently rocking her awake. Etoile groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

"I'm sorry to wake you when you were finally getting some rest, but I brought you something that might help." Arslan murmured, helping her to sit up. He set out a beautifully ornate glass for her, the bottom half encased in carved gold with a curled handle, and grabbed the matching teapot, filling her cup with the amber liquid. Etoile watched a couple of rose petals float to the surface, sniffing the herbal drink. "It's a rose and ginger tea. Elam often brings it to me when I have a headache, so I thought perhaps it might help a little with your pains." Arslan explained softly. He offered her up a bowl of sugarcubes, Etoile taking one gratefully and popping it in her mouth before taking a sip of tea.

"You Parsians really like your tea don't you." Etoile mused sleepily.

Arslan poured himself a glass before answering curiously. "Well I suppose we do have it at every meal. Do Lusitanians not drink tea?" He grabbed a small honey biscuit from the tray.

Etoile shrugged. "Not really. We mainly drink wines." She leaned over and dropped several more sugar cubes into her tea, ignoring Arslan's look of disgust.

"Well, I suppose you'll have to get accustomed to it."

Etoile wrinkled her nose. Arslan responded by crumbling the biscuit in his hand and throwing a chunk at it. She snapped at the air, trying to eat the pieces he was throwing at her, the pair devolving into childish giggles as she joined him in throwing biscuit at each other. A cough sounded behind them and they started, twisting around to look up. A chunk of biscuit bounced off Arslan's cheek as he sheepishly greeted Elam. The unimpressed, yet unsurprised, scribe knelt down and handed Arslan a small rotulus. He curiously unfurled it, expression slowly sombering as he read. He nodded to Elam, informing him he'd be right there and sending him on ahead, before turned to Etoile, gently laying a hand on hers.

"I have to go, a council is gathering."

Etoile frowned in concern. "Has something bad happened?"

Arslan smiled reassuringly. "It's nothing to be worried about. Just economic business. Promise me something, before I go?" Etoile nodded hesitantly. "Will you talk you everyone about what happened to you, like you told me?" She stiffened. Arslan squeezed her hands. "We're all here for you. If they know, they can support you. Tell Farangis and Alfreed at least. I can talk to everyone else if it makes you uncomfortable, if you like?"

Etoile chewed her lip, before giving out a quiet ok. Arslan smiled, leaning over to give her a brief hug. "Get some rest ok? Just call for anything you need, the servants will listen to you. I'll send one along to you if I see them."

He pushed the rest of the honey biscuits that they hadn't decimated into her hands and briskly followed Elam into the palace.

Arslan jogged to catch up to Elam's fleet steps, quietly falling into step, gaze set on the floor.

"You look down, Your Majesty. Has something happened with Etoile?" Elam questioned.

Arslan's eyes flicked up to him, and he took a deep breath. "Elam she...Etoile has suffered greatly. She was injured back in her homeland...and left crippled. Her family have all perished and she has no one left in the world to turn to."

Elam turned to look at him, shock written across his face. "She did not seem so incapable on arrival."

Arslan smiled sadly. "I imagine she was doing her best to conceal it. She is a prideful, obstinate woman. It hurts, to have your identity stripped away, let alone to admit to yourself. I cannot bear to see her so broken…" He linked his arm with Elam's to slow his pace, gradually coming to a halt outside the council chambers. "Elam, promise me you'll be kind to her? Please take care of her when I'm not around. She needs us." The shah's eyes swam with empathetic anguish, seeming to make them a deeper blue than usual.

Elam squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, brushing the grass and crumbs from his tunic in an attempt to make his king presentable. "If that is what you desire, I shall endeavour to do so. It is not as though I dislike her."

Arslan smiled gratefully, leaning in to wrap his arms around Elam's neck and press his cheek to his own. "Thank you aziz-am." He murmured.

Elam huffed, straightening Arslan's tunic. "Shall we then?" he said, opening the door to the council chamber.

All the men rose to their feet as they entered the room, greeting him with a chorus of 'Your Majesty' and a bow. Arslan nodded in reply, gesturing for everyone to take their seats. The high vaulted ceiling painted floor to peaks mirrored the embroidered rugs beneath their feet as Arslan stepped up to take his place at the fore of the low table, folding his legs underneath him. Elam knelt behind him, quietly laying out the business of the day on the table. To Arslan's right sat his oldest friend and Eran; Kishward, smiling at him warmly. Beside him sat the greying Framadar; Rushan. Along Arslan's left sat two less personal companions. Darandarzbad Darayavahush sat with a solemn expression. Dark thinning hair matched dark eyes in wrinkled sockets. What might have once been a handsome, angular face was marred with the pudginess of over-indulgence that middle-aged nobles seemed to acquire. His robes sat similarly taut on his stomach and gaudy rings tight around thick fingers. He had the unfortunate lot of reminding Arslan all together a little too much of Hodir, only with more hair, or perhaps a fatter Andragoras, which did not endear him to much affection from the king. And finally, towards the end of the table sat the Hirbad; Kartir. The diminutive Rahenma priest was dressed in all white robes, with a little white cap tipped with a red tassle. Only his wide eyes peered out from a mass of wiry grey beard, loosely tied halfway down with a beaded cord. These were the four most powerful men in the empire; the pillars of military, state, law and church.

Arslan looked down at the map spread before him. The whole of the Parsian empire was drawn out, reaching from water borders north to south, bleeding into the western continent and Misr at the right. Sindhura, Turk and Turan squabbling at the eastern borders and a now dormant Maryam and Lusitania to the north-west. His eyes lingered on the western tip of Lusitania roughly drawn at the top of the map, troubled by the story told by Etoile.

"To the first order of business then." Arslan tapped on the Darband at the northern edge. "I have received reports of earth tremors and crop failures in Hyrcania, correct Elam?"

"Yes." The secretary stepped forward. "Farmers reported to the satrap that a rot had taken about sixty-percent of the wheat and barley crops. The cause is unknown. They haven't seen symptoms like this before. They described a blackening of the husks, and a desiccation until they could be crumbled to ash in the hand."

"That's worrying. And the tremors?"

"Some moderate quakes during the night on two occasions. No severe damage was suffered, but one of the major roads has caved in to a fissure."

"I see. The local shahrdaran should be able to handle repairs on that. Meanwhile, we'll request that the neighbouring province share some grain supplies to keep the people going through autumn."

Rushan raised a hand. "Might I suggest Your Majesty, that we quarantine the Hyrcanian farmlands? If this is a new pestilence, allowing caravans out of the territory may carry the blight to new lands."

Arslan gave a troubled sigh. "You may be right. We certainly must protect the rest of the country's farmlands. Aid caravans must then be restricted to the cities, and then the populace will have to deal with the distribution among themselves. Whatever the farmers salvage must be sold within the province, and they may want to burn the afflicted fields." Rushan nodded, hastily writing down his words.

"What else?" questioned Arslan.

Darayavahush stood. "There's been sightings of a congregation of Lusitanians gathering near the border. At a glance, perhaps two thousand heads."

"Don't tell me those savages are planning another invasion?" Muttered Kartir.

"I highly doubt it." Arslan cut in sharply, a low warning in the back of his throat. "I have been told that Lusitania is currently embroiled in a civil war. I think it very unlikely that any faction in Lusitania has the spare manpower or motivation to attempt any aggression. Besides, two thousand men hardly constitutes an army." Darayavahush scoffed under his breath. "I will send someone to investigate discreetly." Arslan asserted. "Spare me the brash assumptions until we actually have some idea of the situation."

Darayavahush slammed a hand on the table. "If they are truly busy turning on each other, then we should take this chance to invade and annex the whole territory! Make it so they can never again threaten the Parsian people!"

Arslan's expression turned cold. "You want another war, nought but three years after we just concluded one? What benefit would that bring, to waste so many lives and resources of a country still in the process of rebuilding?"

Darayavahush turned on a simpering tone. "Under Parsian rule, the Lusitania region would stabilise. We could teach them some civility and humility. They would know the peace and prosperity that reigns in our empire. During a civil war, the greatest casualties are collateral; the woman and children caught in the middle. Would you not agree? We'd be doing them a great charity taking them under our wing."

Arslan ground his fingers into the table until they turned white. "Do you think they would see it that way? I have witnessed first-hand Lusitanians choosing death over slavery. Death over defeat. Even greater casualties would arise from their resistance to us."

Darayavahush stood up taller. "All the more reason to finally train them in rationality and reason. It looks to me that their fanaticism is destroying them from the inside. Lusitania should be liberated!"

"This is not up for discussion! The last I checked, you are not my war advisor!" Arslan's voice rang through the chamber.

Darayavahush sunk back down into his seat along with the other silent advisors. "Merely a consideration, Your Majesty." He muttered. It was an exceptionally rare occurrence for Arslan to raise his voice, and they all knew why Lusitania had suddenly become a sensitive subject.

Arslan closed his eyes, taking a moment to calm himself. "I will take your words under deliberation, but today has neither the time nor persons for such discussion." He ran a hand through his hair. "Let us adjourn this meeting for now. This level of hierarchy wasn't really necessary for such matters in the first place."

Darayavahush and Kartir quickly picked up their papers and walked out without a word. Rushan remembered to bow before leaving, while Kishward came up to clap a hand on Arslan's shoulder. "I understand your feelings Your Majesty, but these things take time to change. You must keep your composure ironclad, and then none will be able to undermine your word." Arslan nodded and thanked him quietly.

Elam waited patiently by Arslan's side as the advisors filed out, gathering up the reports. "You take too much responsibility upon your own shoulders, Your Majesty. If councillors such as Darayavahush are not to be trusted, why haven't you replaced them?"

Arslan gave a wry smile. "It is not so simple Elam. If only it were. But Darayavahush comes from one of the most influential noble families, and Kartir leads our whole faith. Pillars of society cannot be so easily replaced. We have no choice but to compromise and work around our differing opinions. Such is the way of politics." Elam grumbled under his breath about the inconvenience of it all. Arslan wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "And it is not as though I do not trust Darayavahush's council. He has far more experience than me in the world of governance after all. I just want to be sure these matters are handled with care."

Elam sighed skeptically and poked out Arslan's benign smile. "Where are you off to now? Returning to Etoile? You left her quite abruptly."

Arslan shook his head. "I have some things I need to do. Could you please send Aisha along to her if you see her though? I think they might get along, and she could use some assistance."

"As you wish. Anything else?"

Arslan sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "...Do you know where our forge is?"

There was a loud rap at the door. Etoile sat up further in bed, wincing a little with the effort, and called out. "Who's there?"

There was some shuffling, clinking, and an awkward cough. "It's Arslan." Etoile hastily threw a robe around her shoulders and called for him to enter, trying not to look as though she had just woken up, posing stiffly. The monarch bumped open the door with his hip, balancing a tray in one hand. "Good morning. I brought you some tea."

Etoile flushed, scrunching her brows. "You don't need to do such a thing…"

He smiled brightly back. "It's nothing. I was coming to deliver something to you anyway." Managing to set down the tea carefully on her bedside table, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, unwrapping the linen covering the pole carried in his other hand. An ebony hilt slowly unveiled itself, set at a gentle right-angle, laden with silver damascene. The tip of it seemed to be carved in the shape of a dog or wolf. Arslan quietly presented the cane to her, smiling encouragingly. "Sorry about the decoration, I know you are probably not one for needless embellishment, but my artisans can't help themselves."

Etoile's fists gripped her blankets tightly, turning her head away. "I don't need it." she growled.

He sighed. "You'll heal faster if you put less strain on your body." Etoile stubbornly curled up in a ball. His patient gaze lingered on her softly, leaning in to murmur, "...Would it help if I put a sword inside of it?" Arslan suddenly looked down at the cane, eyes wide, struck by the realisation that this in fact, might indeed be a brilliant idea.

Etoile meanwhile ignored the offer, sniffling quietly into her knees. "...I don't want the whole world to see how pathetic I've become…"

Arslan set the cane aside and leaned in to wrap his arms around her, briefly pressing his cheek to her hair. "Needing support doesn't make you weak." he whispered to her. "Think of this; if anyone dares mock you for it, just beat them over the head with it, they certainly won't think you weak then." Arslan suggested enthusiastically.

Etoile giggled softly. "You're giving me permission to menace your staff?

"Gently. To those who deserve it. Though you are quite welcome to bend my chief councillor over and smack him to oblivion." He added with a grin.

Etoile playfully shoved him off her bed, watching him tumble down on to the rug. Arslan clutched at his chest dramatically, reaching for her, "Help, you've broken my ribs!"

Etoile threw a cushion down after him, smacking him in the face. "Since when did you become such a jester? It doesn't suit a king."

"But I'm your friend, not your king." He mumbled through the pillow. Etoile paused, unsure of how to retort to that, long enough for the bedroom door to swing open once more. Farangis quietly walked in carrying a bowl, and stopped. An exasperated Etoile stared at her from the bed, with the king laying sprawled on the floor, pretending to be dead by ornamental cushion. Etoile crossed her arms, silently telling Farangis to remove his presence. Farangis hesitantly poked him with her foot. "Time to go dear, your lady needs to get dressed." Etoile directed an embarrassed glare at the priestess' choice of words.

Arslan rolled over with a sigh, reluctantly clambering to his feet, brushing himself off. "I will see you ladies at breakfast then." He levelled Etoile with a meaningful stare, silently commanding use your cane before bowing and exiting with a flourish. Etoile held her face in her hands while Farangis softly chuckled at their antics. The priestess placed the oil-filled bowl on her table, replacing Arslan sitting by her side.

She gave Etoile's hair an affectionate stroke, smiling at her. "Let's get you ready for the day. Alfreed wants to get you training it seems."

And so we finally reach the core concept of this fanfiction - the what-if-Etoile-suffered-the-same-injury-she-does-in-the-novel-but-survives-it-this-time AU

I'm gonna have fun exploring her personality deeper and the way she thinks and feels, especially when pushed to her limits. She's my favourite character :)

[Aisha - Aisha is a canon character from the novels. She is a palace maid who eventually becomes Elam's wife.]

[Darayavahush & Kartir - these two however are OCs]

[Eran - in case you were wondering, it is canon that Arslan appoints Kishward his Eran after becoming king, not Daryun]

GLOSSARY

Dabir - scribe/secretary
Fesenjan - pomegranate chicken stew with rice
Aziz-am - roughly means 'my dear' but in Persian culture this can be used for friends as well
Eran - army commander-in-chief
Framadar - grand vizier, handles affairs of state
Darandarzbad - chief advisor to the king
Hirbad - chief of priests
Rahenma - It is not made clear in ArSen whether their native religion is mono or polytheistic. This time, I have decided to not go the way of historical accuracy, and made it a fantasy polytheistic faith. Rahenma means 'guide', which I will use to refer to the collective pantheon Mithra and Ashi etc belong to. It won't be terribly important.
Darband & Hyrcania - the Caspian sea and the province bordering it
Shahrdaran - local lord/vassal king