Chapter Seven: A Broken Mess
After many failed attempts, a pair of eyes was able to finally stay open. Burly images of back, red and gold slowly came together to form the inside of a tent. The mumblings and distorted sounds coming from outside the fabric walls started to became clearer to hear, but the exhaustion made the brain unable to process the words. The faint smell of herbs taint with blood caught up with a slight gust of wind, but again the brain couldn't make the connection. That was until movement from the body sparked a great deal of pain throughout the nerves.
Prince Dastan let out a muffle cry from his foolish attempt of sitting up. His whole body was sore, but it was the excruciating pain from his ankle and right shoulder, that made him wish for the darkness. He looked down at this shoulder and saw spots of blood faintly soaking through the bandages that wrapped down to his elbow. Just how each of his senses slowly came back, so did the memories of the battle. Yet with each thought, the images moved faster, building in climax until one image stopped all other thoughts.
For the second time in his life, Dastan watched helplessly as his best friend was murdered in front of him. But this time, there was no way to rewind time. Dastan allowed himself to be hit with the wave of grief, too tired to fight against it.
"Bis," the name softly escaped from Dastan's lips as tears started to well up in his blue eyes.
Suddenly Dastan was briefly blinded by a bright light as the fabric of the tent was pushed aside. The wave ebbed as Dastan squinted at the two figures came towards him.
"Dastan, you've finally awoken," his bight brother said with such relief as Tus finally came into clear view.
"How long..."
"Almost two days," Garsiv replied with an unusual softness in his voice, bringing Dastan's gaze to his presence.
The wave of grief slammed down upon Dastan when he saw the white bandages wrapped tightly around his brother's left bicep. "Garsiv, your injured!" he said with sudden alarm.
Forgetting all pain, he made another attempt to sit up, this time he was successfully with help.
Tus had tried to keep Dastan from moving. However, Garsiv moved to the other side of the bed and aided Dastan.
"It was just a graze," Garsiv tried to reassure, but it fell on deaf ears.
Guilt was running ramped through Dastan's mind tearing down all emotional walls.. Not only did he fail in keeping his brother from getting injured, his actions cost his best friend his life. 'So is that how it's going to be?' Dastan thought to himself, 'I save one life and another one pays for it? Is it only a matter of time before I lose everything again, and become an orphan once more in every aspect of my life?'
"Brother, are you alright?" Tus asked with concern when he noticed tears streaming down the sides of Dastan's face, he couldn't remember the last time he saw his younger brother cry.
"I can't lose you again," Dastan unknowingly slipped. "I couldn't save Bis and I…I don't think I can take this anymore."
"Dastan," Tus spoke in surprised, "Bis did not die." However, the look that Tus received made the Crown Prince repeat himself. "Bis is not dead."
Those four words didn't penetrate his swirling thoughts. "But, I-I saw..."
"He is fine."
Dastan shook his head, his tired mind unable to process the information. "No, no, I saw him die. I saved Garsiv and in turn got Bis killed." He knew what he saw.
Dastan was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Garsiv steeping outside the then for a brief second; just long enough to shout out an order. As he moved back inside and took position at the foot of the bed, he shared a concerned look with Tus. Something was definitely wrong with their brother and it scared them, more than either one would admit out loud. The healers said that Dastan was fine, minus some blood loss and fatigue; his wounds were not infected so there was no fever that could be causing this delusion.
Light once again filled the tent as Bis walked in with the aid of Roham. His chest was wrapped tightly with bandages and it was evident from the sweat on his brow, that the walk from his tent wore him out. However, that all washed away when Bis laid eyes on his best friend wrapped in anguish. It took more effort to keep up with the social stature and look at the two royal princes then it was to walk a few yards.
"You sent for me, Sire?" Bis respectably asked, his eyes darting between the three brothers.
Tus walked over to Bis and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Our brother believes that you were killed and is unable to listen to reason that you are anything but dead. Speak to him."
Bis simply nodded as Roham helped him over to the bed and eased down on a stool. Bis placed his hand on Dastan's good arm and gently squeezed it. Red stained eyes glanced up at Bis, but it took a while until they actually saw the man.
"Bis?" Dastan's voice was soft and unsteady.
"I'm here, Dastan," he replied softly as if he was speaking to a small scared child.
Eyes darted back and forth as his mind tried to figure out if this was real. "No, you died?" Dastan looked away, unable to look at the imposter. The gods were just playing around with him. There was no way Bis could have survived that blow.
"I was not even close," Bis forced a smile on his face, but it did not last.
Watching tears flow endless down Dastan's face, and seeing the confusion and shear guilt in his blue eyes, cut Bis deeper than the Hassansin's sword. A memory from the Alamut battle came to Bis' mind. He remembered how when he told Dastan that they had won, the confusion and shock that was etched on the Prince's face almost mirrored the look he had now. Bis reached for Dastan's hand, and placed it on his chest. He watched as the confusion faded from his features with feeling the rise and fall of breath, and the steady beat of his heart.
"You're here," Dastan finally whispered softly.
"Yes, Dastan," his own voice betrayed him, "I'm here."
"How?"
"I was able to back away in time and just got cut a few millimeters deep. It does not even come close to the slash you had gotten on your back years ago," he reassured.
Dastan's eyes darted back and forth between his best friend, his brothers, and their wounds. Slowly he let his eyes sink closed with relief as he released his friends hand to rub his eyes, as if to dam the flow of tears.
Garsiv stood at the foot of the bed, frozen like a statue, unable to handle the scene that was happening before him. He couldn't even look Dastan in the face anymore. They were the great Princes of Persia! Strong, powerful men! So to see his brother fall victim to some dark shroud and broken like a shattered clay pot was something Garsiv could not handle.
"Roham, help Bis back to his tent, Dastan needs to rest some more." Tus ordered, knowing the two friends would stay at his brother's side if allowed. And Tus needed to speak to Dastan without an audience.
The two men complied without complaint. Tus leaned closer to Garsiv and spoke softly, "Go and fetch our brother something to eat." However, Garsiv made no signs of moving or that he even heard the command.
"Garsiv, go get food for Dastan," Tus said a bit more loudly accompanied by a gentle shove. That seemed to jolt Garsiv from his frozen state, and he exited the tent without a word.
"I'm not hungry," Dastan commented bring the attention back to him.
Tus moved to occupy the seat Bis was just in and gave his younger brother a knowing smile. "Dastan, it has been, to my knowledge, two days since you last ate. You must eat something before I can allow you to rest some more."
"I don't need any more rest, I'm fine," he said stubbornly yet he seemed so helpless in his post weeping state.
"For the love of Persia, Dastan, you are not fine!" Tus exclaimed loudly with frustration, which caused Dastan to flinch slightly. Tus took a deep breath, rubbing his brow as he slowly exhaled. When he spoke again, he tried to sound calmer. "Your behavior the last few weeks is not normal. Something is truly bothering you and it is driving me mad that you feel like you cannot talk to me about it. We are brothers, are we not?"
Dastan could feel the tears start to well up once more at those last words, exact words that he had said to Tus in that erased past. "I...yes, we are brothers, but I...I can't..."
"Can't what, Dastan? Talk to me?" Dastan opened his mouth to speak, but Tus couldn't wait for him to form words. "You have been hiding something since the siege on Alamut, and I am not talking about how you came to know of Nizam's plans. Something happened to you, and you're losing the battle with the repercussions. Tell us what happened, so that we may aid you in this internal fight."
Blue eyes clamped shut, spilling unshed tears. He was tired, the ever-present pain was sapping him of his strength, and it was not just from the physical wounds. A soft curse came from Tus as Dastan heard him stand from the stool. Light filled his closed eyes as someone else entered the tent, but Dastan dared not open his eyes in fear of the disappointed look that might be on his brother's face.
"Eat, gain your strength back. We ride back to Nasaf in a few days." With that, Dastan was alone again.
He opened his eyes after a few moments, making sure he was truly alone. He glanced over at the tray of food briefly before turning his head to the other side. He was not hungry. A nauseating knot was the only thing he felt in his stomach. He let his eyes close, and in the privacy of his tent, he let the tears flow freely until exhaustion took him back in the numbness of darkness.