TWO: Garsiv
GARSIV STILL REELED EVERY TIME HE REMEMBERED the day when he and his father had learned of the assassination attempt. Assassination against a royal was by no means an unordinary occurrence, but such attempts were rare in the palace. Their walls were heavily fortified and security was tight. Many citizens felt pride that they were the center of the Persian Empire.
The middle child of the royal family also assumed it was because while an attempt had been made on one of his brother's lives, the one he complained about to his father had taken the arrow that surely would have killed Tus. Guilt clenched his heart and furiously poured every emotion into the sword and training area.
They had caught the assassin before he managed to flee the city. Word of Dastan's injury ebbed through the palace walls by word of servants and many of the commonfolk were unsettled by this news; Dastan after all was symbolic. He was a prince with no royal blood in him. Bars and markets were thoroughly searched and the hired killer was put on trial. It was discovered that an upperclass merchant family was very unhappy with Persian rule after the King's armies conquered their home.
Their unhappiness was quickly dealt with before more fire could be used to fan any flames of rebellion.
Dastan had been bedridden for nearly a month as his back healed. Fever had ravenged his body for the first two weeks, leaving him delirious and weak as a kitten. After the fever broke, Dastan attempted to recover too quickly. On the fourth week, he accidentally tore his healing wound and ripped some of the stitches. The healer had been less than pleased by such events and quickly restitched the wound.
It hadn't seemed that long ago since the attack while in actuality it had been almost three months since Dastan had fully recovered. He bore a scar of course, but merely shrugged it off with a grin.
Once he was able to rid himself of the healer, his demeanor had greatly improved as he roamed about the palace once more, unrestricted and unhindered by pain or warnings. The two older brother's were most relieved.
Two months after his recovery, Dastan and Garsiv were ordered out on a campaign by their father in order to go and add another territory into their growing empire. Tus was to remain at the royal palace; their father had important business and lessons for him to attend to. Their uncle was to accompany the two of them and provide counsel to any decisions they need make.
With their orders received, they quickly gathered their men—Garsiv with his well-trained cavalry and Dastan with his group of "cut-throat ruffians"—the royals took to their steeds and left at dawn.
The seasons were beginning to change and the day was not quite as hot as the summer months. Camels were trailing behind the horses in the caravan, carrying essentials and plenty of cloth. The nights would be even cooler than in summer.
"I hear that this area that we are going to has some very delightful tasting food. Perhaps we can bring back some recipes." Dastan commented, turning to look at Garsiv with a grin.
While the two didn't have as amiable relationship on the surface as the bond between Dastan and Tus, the two were still close. Dastan just found himself irked by his older brother's headstrong ways and need to charge into battle. Such feuds spawned from this trait often left Dastan frustrated and feeling helpless.
One of these days, his brother's impatient actions would lead him to his death. The thought sent a shiver down Dastan's spine.
Garsiv had always been there for the youngest. While his presence was often a harder, jaded shadow for the former orphan, he always seemed to silently radiate any emotions he refused to express. Dastan knew deep down that he brother loved him—or at least he hoped that he did.
"We shall arrive by sundown boys." Their uncle said, trotting up to the silent royals. He eyed them each, as if trying to determine the reason for their silence. Often times he had to play advocate and peacemaker between the two to sooth any ruffled feathers.
"We shall make camp on the outskirts of the city at sundown. Make sure that each tent is far enough away from the reach of an arrow." The bloodied silver tip of the broken arrow shaft was presented to the King by Tus. "We attack at dawn."
"Brother, don't you think we should scout the area and look for any advantages and disadvantages of the fortress and terrain?" Dastan inquired. Nizam remained silent, as if trying to predict if an argument would spike from Dastan's thoughts.
Garsiv shot a look at his brother, "You dare to question my decisions?" Dastan looked taken aback by such fury behind his brother's words. "As the eldest on this mission, I am in charge. Why father determined you needed to accompany me is beyond me." The middle child grumbled the last sentence under his breath, yet still loud enough that Dastan was able to hear it. "You and your men are nothing compared to my soldiers."
He stiffened upon hearing the words, masking any hurt from his brother's grumblings. He knew that Garsiv was tense—he always was on the eve of a battle and oftentimes he was distracted with all the decisions that must be made as a leader. He knew—or hoped he knew—that Garsiv didn't mean his words and was simply venting his emotions. He still took the words to heart and found himself questioning his worth to his brother.
Garsiv was strong and able after all. Why did his father feel the need to send him and his band of men along with the finest of the Persian army? Uncle Nizam's counsel was also one of the wisest and best in the land. Dastan felt truly worthless on this particular mission.
"My men will lead the charge with me." Garsiv announced after camp had been set up and the soldiers were preparing themselves for the long day and battle ahead of them. A map was unfurled in front of Dastan and Nizam. Garsiv was pointing out spots with the tip of a jeweled dagger. "We shall attack at dawn from the northern gate. Dastan, you and your men will follow after my troops and restrain any remaining rebellion after we have conquered the city."
Dastan opened his mouth, about to protest at such orders, but closed his mouth and turned his head down towards the carpeted ground. "Very well brother." If he was forced to be the clean up crew, he had no say in this matter. His brother was wound much too tight and any criticism of his actions… well, Dastan feared what the retribution would be for any protests.
'Brother, I sincerely hope you know what you are doing.' Dastan exhaled and took his leave, heading over to his own tent to try and find some rest before the sun rose over the rocky hills in the distance…
Dastan's men weren't meant as a clean up crew. They were smart men, who knew their way around a fight. They weren't bulky or intimidating men who silences any remaining protests. They were stealthy men like Dastan.
When they entered the city, most of the men had already been subdued and there was no noticeable resistance in the ruined streets. Dead bodies littered the scorched grounds. Most of the citizens who weren't remaining in hiding had been rounded up by Garsiv's men in the center of the town.
Already his elder brother had marched into the main part of the city and Dastan rushed to meet him. Too many variables could happen if Garsiv went into the castle with only his men to guard him. They would no doubt be pumped by their victory.
He feared that the spoils of victory would blind his brother and any guards he had from potential threats. After all, Dastan knew better than many that desperate people were the most dangerous and unpredictable because they had nothing left to loose…
Dastan charged his horse forward, shouting orders to Bis to take over rounding up any remaining opposing forces. His dark haired friend nodded and turned to order some of the other soldiers (and friends) around while scanning the ruins of the city. Dastan had already left the street, urging his horse towards the center where he knew his brother and uncle would be.
An uncomfortable feeling fluttered in his stomach, making his breath quicken and adrenaline rush through his veins. He jumped off his horse and run up the steps of the palace in twos and threes, pushing himself further and further.
Guards jumped out the way as he raced through the halls, following the trail of soldiers to where he sensed his brother was located.
The doors were unguarded and he saw his brother kick a sword away from the fallen monarch of the palace, arrogantly standing over the defeated ruler. The guards who were meant to protect Garsiv were fawning over the women huddled over in a corner, watching the Persian men with fearful and wary eyes.
No one noticed the shadowy figure slink from the curtains near the monarch's throne. Dastan's feet slid across the floor with great speed but he knew he was too late. There wasn't enough time to tackle to person away from his brother without running the chance of a loose swipe striking his brother.
"Garsiv!" Dastan yelled, plowing in to his brother and throwing him to the floor. The sword arched where Garsiv was but seconds before. The cloaked figure snarled and the guards quickly turned at the noise. The enemy's sword was swung down for a killing strike at Garsiv. Dastan reached out with all his strength and kicked the figure at the same time as shoving Garsiv out of the way.
The sword changed targets as the opponent lost their footing and put their force into the blade. It sliced through Dastan's side, missing most of him as he attempted to twist out of the side. His abdomen erupted in fire as the sword struck clean through him and pinned him to the floor.
The falling opponent landed on him, knocking the wind out of him. Wide eyes met his own and he knew the figure was no man. The warmth of the strange woman's body against his own wasn't as delightful as usually thought; it was crushing.
Guards charged forward as Garsiv regained his senses. Quickly, they pulled the struggling body off of the fallen prince. Garsiv pulled the short sword as gently as he could from his brother but still couldn't stop the internal flinch at hearing his brother's gasp.
The guards ripped off the cloak shrouding the attacker's face, revealing it to be the furious face of the princess, daughter of the King that Garsiv had mocked not moments before.
"Let me go, you Persian beasts!" The princess shouted, struggling in the strong grips of her captors. She snarled at them when they sent her dirty looks and snapped foul Persian swears at her.
"It would be wise to accept defeat." Garsiv snarled at the woman, silencing her with his glare before softening his look and turning to look at his brother.
Dastan coughed, offering a weak smile. "I told you, you should be more careful. Don't let victory of war cloud your mind." He figured he would be able to get away with these words now, wounded in his brother's grip. He left what he really wants to say go unsaid; 'I will always watch out for you.' And the subtler 'I knew this was a mistake…'
"You always have to take the spotlight, don't you Dastan?" Garsiv questioned, shaking his head.
A healer entered into the room and all ever forced to leave except the two princes and the healer's helpers. Two guards closed the door and stood sentinel. Together with the help of Garsiv, they lifted the muscular royal and laid him on a makeshift bed fluffed with floor pillows and carpets.
A young maiden produced some white linen for wrappings as the healer knelt before the prince, examining the wound. "Well, the good news is that the blade went straight through, so we have nothing to fear of shards being stuck." He turned and lifted a hand, an attendant placing the blade in his hand. He examined it and released a breath, "Perhaps this time you won't be ridden with fever, Prince Dastan, considering the making of this blade. It looks like a ceremonial blade—hopefully it hasn't been used once before this."
"And?" Garsiv prodded further, pulling Dastan's clothing away to help the physicians better reach the wound.
"I'm hoping that given this palace and the wielder, there will be little chance of infection. The blade struck clean and through, missing any important organs and bone." He glanced at one of the girls who pulled out a compress. "Apply pressure."
"Yes, sire." Another woman wet a cloth, wiping away grime and blood from the site of the wound.
"Prepare the needle and thread." The healer looked down at Dastan pleased that there was little bleeding and the prince was still conscious. "Prince Dastan, we meet once again."
The prince weakly chuckled, focusing on the pain to keep conscious. "Indeed. Once again you aim to scar my body."
"Perhaps one day we will meet under better circumstances—one where you aren't bleeding hopefully." He beckoned a young girl over to his side. "You will stitch the entrance and exit wound closed. Make them small and neat, girl." The woman nodded and took the proffered equipment.
"This time I hope you will follow my orders regarding your health. No more climbing trees until your stitches are removed." Garsiv nodded in agreement before turning his eyes back to his brother.
"I'm fine Garsiv—trust me when I say I've had much worse." He grit his teeth as the woman continued to pull his flesh back together.
"Really, with your skills I thought you would have been able to dodge that blade." Garsiv said, a torrent of emotions churning inside him.
His brother was gently turned for the exit wound to be fixed.
Dastan tried to not to be hurt by the words of his brother, as if he was cheapening the skills Dastan worked hard to perfect. "For every twenty arrows and swords I miss I have to eventually be struck by one, don't I?" he noted his voice held a bit of bitterness.
The woman tied off the last of the stitches and gently pulled it taut and gently rolled the brunette back into a more comfortable position and propped him lightly with plush pillows. Another female attendant wrapped the wound with a healing salve and fine linen while the other pulled a sleeping blanket made of fine Egyptian cotton up to his chest.
"Rest, prince." The healer said, bowing his head at the two of them. Dastan nodded and closed his eyes. He seemed to sense that there were words that needed to be spoken in confidence between the two royals. Quickly, he ushered all the room's occupants outside, closing the door behind him with hushed instructions for him to be fetched if any changes occurred in the prince's healing.
"Dastan." Said person opened his eyes and turned them to look at Garsiv. He had half expected his brother to leave the room when the doctor did after he ordered rest. He looked at his brother, taking in his jittery appearance and sensed there was something Garsiv needed to say to him.
"What is it brother?"
Garsiv was silent for a moment, as if struggling to find the words to say. A frown crossed his face before it morphed into frustration. He then let out a heavy sigh and bowed his head. His hand reached out, finding Dastan's and gripped it tightly. "I'm sorry Dastan."
Needless to say, Dastan was shocked at this turn of events.
"I realize that my words and actions can be harsh." He turned his head away, examining the wall as if it had all the answers in the world, "I often times realize that I say things I do not mean and by then… I simply cannot recant them in front of so many people." Weakness. "I often have admired you and Tus for qualities I find myself lacking in." He paused a moment before continuing, "The bond between you two is so evident and I feel…" Here he once again seemed to struggle. "What I mean to say is…"
"Garsiv," Dastan said, clenching his hand around his brother's. "You, Tus, Father, Nizam, and Bis are all the family that I have." He took a deep breath and looked his brother in the eye, "I would gladly die a thousand deaths to protect each and every one of you."
Garsiv bowed his head after seeing the undisputed truth lying in his younger brother's eyes, "I had worried for so long, after you got hurt by that assassin aiming for Tus… I said so many hurtful things—things that would make one question the brotherly bond between us—and things I know that hurt you. So many times I found myself wondering if you would bother doing the same for me as you did for Tus." He smiled, "I'm shamed to admit thinking such thoughts. Dastan, I apologize for ever questioning such things, and today only proves such." He slipped his hand from his brother's, choosing now to clasp it against Dastan's shoulder, "You are truly a strong and noble prince of Perisa. Never let my words or any others doubt you of your abilities. I apologize for how I've acted as of late."
Dastan snorted, ignoring the pain as chuckles bubbled up in his chest. To hear his brother admit such things was truly a rare occurrence and he felt so much lighter than before. "We will always be brothers, brother. Nothing can change that." He grinned, "Although you could try to be a little nicer."
Garsiv nodded and lightly patted his younger brother's shoulder, "Someone has to keep you in check. Besides, you are the youngest brother—if Tus won't give you grief, then it is my job as second oldest to take this task."
Together, the two shared a laugh and knew, no matter what was said in the future, it was the unspoken words and emotions the two now knew each other shared that solidified their trust and brotherly bonds.
FIN