Note: A special thanks to all readers, reviewers, favs, alerts, and support this story has gotten! Hopefully other people will make some lovely Dastan whump fics as well! Review or PM me if you have one/know of one: I feel like I've ghosted the entire archive already. Thanks again y'all! Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy:
THREE: King Sharaman
The King honestly couldn't believe the situations that Dastan managed to get himself into. However, his prowess in battle and life surely faced a few bad days to oppose his plethora of good days.
His two sons and brother had returned from their campaign not too long ago; a month had passed since Testuna had fallen to their Empire. The King was allowed to remain in relative power as long as he pledged loyalty to the empire and agreed to have his territories marked as Persian. Their conquest meant there was little they could argue or resist for.
Sharaman actually saw the situation with amazement. He knew his son Garsiv was hot blooded—a trait he himself once shared before he ascended the throne. When he heard of the attempt on Garsiv's life, his mind flashed back to the many attempts on his sons' lives, starting from the most recent. When he heard the assailant had lived, he had been truly surprised, especially when he learned Dastan foiled the attempt and would leave the close attack with yet another scar on his body…
He shook himself from his thoughts, reminding himself that his sons were all once again together and safe within these castle walls. His guards here were among the most loyal. Plus, Bis was wandering around the various corridors, no doubt not only stirring trouble among the staff but also shadowing his lifelong friend and prince.
A knock alerted the King to a vistor and he looked up, glancing at the door guard and lifting his hand, indicating that he should open the door. Nodding at the order, the man proceeded to do so and admit in none other than the object of the King's thoughts.
"Hello father," Dastan cheerfully greeted, getting to a knee and then taking his father's offered hand to sit on the floor beside him. "How is the empire today?"
Sharaman chuckled, knowing that Dastan truly had no interest in running a country or empire. He cared of the people indeed, and had a large heart that remembered his roots, but he was a man of action and adventure rather than bureaucracy. "Is that truly what you wish to know?" He raised an eyebrow, easily able to read his youngest.
Dastan grinned, "You know me too well father."
The King smiled as well at that thought. Taking Dastan in to his family was one of the wisest decisions he believed himself to have ever made. "All is well in the kingdom. Trade is up and all of the territories seem to be prospering."
Dastan smiled softly, "I'm glad." He knew how much effort his father and family put into this empire, both in expanding and maintaining it.
"Was there something that you wanted my son?" Sharaman questioned as he signed a document he had been reading over and passed it on to one of the silent advisors behind him. Sharaman took up another document and glanced at his son before closely examining the paper's contents.
"Just company." Dastan leaned against the plush coverings on the floor beside his father's throne. "Bis has decided the he is going to be my shadow for the day and—quite frankly, it's driving me insane." Even though he knew it was Bis, his senses were overloading, setting jitters through his veins as he felt the presences of a stalker. He couldn't help it; he had conditioned his body in such a way, always prepared and tense—but the constant shadowy presence in the back of his mind was starting to make him jump at shadows.
"I know he means well." Dastan commented, "and I know he is giving me space to think and do as I please, but it's almost worse than actually having him constantly by my side. At least then I know it's him and not someone else."
Sharaman made a noise of understanding in the back of his throat. No wonder his youngest was so on edge. The youth was rarely the type to conform to royal standards. He brawled with the soldiers, performed stunts and other fabulous feats, and rarely allowed for guards to accompany him. His battle skills made him a worthy enough opponent without a band of officers slowing him down rather than protecting him.
Dastan took a deep breath, smiling as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. There were few moments in his life he could take a breath and simply enjoy the slow passing of time.
Sharaman glanced down once more at his silent son, a slow smile crossing his face. He shuffled some papers, looking through them for a task that would occupy Dastan's mind and time. His search produced a folded and sealed note from Tasman, a regent from one of their recently conquered territories. He looked at the note and couldn't help but sigh; the man was continuously vying for the King of Persia to come to his lands and attend various banquets and lavish events. So far, this was the fifth of such invites he had been sent over the course of two months.
"Dastan, entertain yourself with the various tasks of this empire. Be a good son and help your father go through these tedious tasks, notes, and letters." He passed down Tasman's letter to his son.
"Anything for you, father." Dastan grabbed a blade and slid it under the wax seal of Tasman's house of arms, breaking the seal. He lifted the fold of paper up and jumped back when a strange black mist sprung from the envelope and surrounded him.
He jumped back and away from his father, feeling the mist wrap itself around him.
"What sorcery is this?" The King cried, standing to his feet as guards burst into the room, breaking any silence from the studious activities not a few minutes prior. The King could only watch in horror as the black mist surrounded Dastan, wrapped around him, and seemed to seep into his body.
He watched horrified as his son collapsed on the ground, still and silent. The letter fluttered to the floor next to him. The guards finally eased their protective circle around their king and he pushed through them to Dastan, falling to his knees.
"Call Healer Ysam immediately!" The King bellowed, sending the guards skirting around like scared hares. His fingers gently touched the mysterious envelope and, when no surprises met him, he opened the letter fully.
Your majesty King Sharaman, Emperor of all Persia,
I hope this letter meets you with good spirits, for it shall be your last. No doubt all my invitations previously have eased any suspicion of ill or harm towards you and your family. A curse on your house this letter brings forth! When your armies conquered my lands, you gave us no choice but to surrender to the higher power.
We have searched ourselves and our faith, questioning our gods as to why and how we were able to be conquered. All of this matters not to you however. Our struggles in faith and fortune mean little as long as you receive your taxes and share of wealth, food, and women.
I laugh as I pen this letter to you, for I know you shall not be able to read this at all. MY sorcerers have worked long and hard to concoct this malady that will strike as soon as the fold is opened, a deadly plant vapor common in our lands. The black mist you observe will be the last thing you shall ever gaze upon.
Sweet dreams your majesty, for you shall never awake from your slumber and will simply waste away to flesh and bone—just as our country slowly has as well.
Your executor,
Tasman
With a roar of rage at such treachery, he called for his sons to come to him. The healer arrived after his sons rushed into the room, stilling at the sight of a still Dastan.
"Father?" Tus questioned, walking quickly to his father and kneeling beside him. When his father remained silent, his eyes flickered to the note held loosely in his fingers. Gently taking it from his father, he lifted it to his gaze and silently began reading.
Garsiv leant down to Dastan along with the healer—the same who had been called the previous times—and brushed his brother's bangs aside. Dastan was still, yet he still breathed lightly. Garsiv could feel the tickle of air against his hand with each exhale.
The healer took Dastan's pulse. "We meet once again, prince. At least this time there is no blood to meet my eyes." His brow however furrowed deeper as his examination continued. He was able to provide no answers for the baffling sleep the prince found himself in.
"What sorcery is this?" Tus cried, passing the letter on to the healer. Garsiv shot his elder brother an unhappy look at that turn of events before checking himself; the healer had to know after all what they were up against.
Silently, the man passed the letter on to Garsiv and examined his patient once more, only more thoroughly. "I have heard of such a plant existing on the slopes of the Himalayas, but I have never seen it nor its effects. I thought it was but a myth."
"If such a plant does exist but it is, as you say mythical, what can we do?" Tus questioned.
"We cannot simply let him turn to nothing but bones." Garsiv growled, looking down at Dastan with worry. He was eerily still, reminding him of a dead body. His paled skin didn't help fight off any illusions of death. It seemed as if the blood had been drained from his body.
Healer Ysam closed his brown eyes and took a moment to concentrate his thoughts and try to bring forth a solution to this grievous issue. He sorted through his thoughts and all his ears and practices of training. Finally he snapped his eyes open and turned them to the expectant king. "King Sharaman, I beg of you to send for a healer from Alamut. Ask them to bring all of the medicines native to their country and of surrounding areas, including Himalayan herbs. I believe the Alamut healers will be able to help Prince Dastan wake up from this unholy slumber."
In five minutes, riders were quickly prepared to travel the long trek to Alamut and gather the best willing and skilled healer the holy city had to offer, as well as any herbs and medicines that could be of help. With their persons, hey each carried a letter pleading for help written by the Healer Ysman. He prayed that their morals would transcend any borders or ill feelings towards the Persian Empire. Alamut was a peaceful place—neutral and hadn't been breached or attacked in numerous centuries.
"Quickly, we must get Prince Dastan to his bedchambers so I can further examine him." His eyes caught the numerous gazes of the remaining advisors in the room, mumbling lowly to one another on the blatant attempt on the King's life, and of the treachery displayed by Tasman…
The riders stormed into the city, and the guards at the eastern gate had anticipated their arrival, clearing the way for them. As soon as the watchmen had seen the approaching figures—five riders in all—they sounded the signal. Luckily, the moon was hanging high in the sky and the occupants of the city were mostly tucked away in their respected dwellings.
They charged through the city and the almost vacant streets, destination in mind and not slowing down for a soul. The palace guards opened the final door that allowed admittance into the palace square and the horse pranced and pulled at their reins as they were sharply pulled to a stop.
The two messengers from Persian leapt from their respected rides and hurried over to the other three accompanying their party. They assisted in removing the various packed bags the horses carried and lended an arm to the healers to dismount their steeds.
Servants approached, taking the reigns of the exhausted horses and waited until their luggage had been removed by other assisting hands before leading them off for rest and food in the stables.
"Quickly, this way sires." A young maiden said, bowing her head to them respectfully before leading them off to Prince Dastan's chambers.
"What is the prince's condition?" One of the Alamut healers questioned as they matched steps with the servant. Worry was evident on their face.
"He hasn't stirred for three days. The healers are doing what they can—giving him liquids and potions, but still nothing seems to rouse him from this strange sleep." She bit her lip, "Prince Garsiv accidently knocked over a dagger and it sliced through the Prince's arm and he still didn't stir or flinch at all."
She stopped before a door and the healers almost ran into her. "Here we are, sires." She tapped the door briefly before opening it and entering, the healers following behind her.
The two princes looked up to see who was entering the room and stood when their gazes met the appearance of the healers they had requested. "Healers of Alamut. We are in your debt for such a hasty journey." Tus formally said, bowing his head.
"This is the patient?" One of the healers, an older one with wizen features and crystal clear blue eyes questioned as he approached the still prince. His companions followed suite and together, the three healers surrounded the bed.
Tus made a subtle hand gesture to the woman to both exit and go and fetch his father and Healer Ysman. The girl bowed and spun on her heels, walking briskly to complete her task.
The Alamut healers were murmuring to themselves and examining the prince. One of the healers lifted the prince's arm where there was a bandage. "This is where the Prince was cut?" Garsiv flushed but nodded nonetheless.
"No response to pain stimulus." The healer muttered, gently placing the arm back onto the fine cloth bedding. "Tell me," the healer questioned, not removing his eyes from their patient or interrupting any further examinations, "do you have the letter in question that might provide answers to this mysterious ailment?"
Tus nodded and procured a copy of the letter—the original remained with their father and his war counsel. Their uncle Nizam was already on the long trek to meet the territories once owned by Tasman. The wealthy man would pay for his actions with his life and the family—especially if they had any part in this plot—would regret such choices for the rest of their mortal life.
One of the healers took the note and, ignoring any political arguments and justification, found the root of the issue. "The calimut root."
The elder healer looked up and took the letter from the healer's grasp, eyes skimming the letter before lowering it and looking at the prince. "I never thought that such devilry would still be remembered in this world."
The doors opened once more and the servant woman stood in the doorway as the King and Healer Ysman entered. She quietly closed the door and allowed the men to convene amongst themselves and hopefully cure Prince Dastan.
"Have you uncovered the cause of my son's ailment?" Sharaman asked, eyes searching for any clues.
One of the healers stepped forth, "The calimut root." Ysman's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing the fabled name. "It is thought to be extinct once the climate shifted along the foothills of the Himalayan mountain range. Furthermore, sire, this particular concoction requires a specific recipe often used by natives of the land and was believed to be forgotten centuries ago when the last tribesmen perished."
"Do you know of the cure?"
"Yes." Relief was tangible for all the occupants in the room. "I believe we have all the necessary ingredients. We shall quickly prepare it and do all we can to help young Prince Dastan."
Tus couldn't hold his tongue any further—curiosity was one of his rather hidden traits, "Tell me, if such a plant and potion is thought to be extinct and unheard of, how is it that you know of such a plant and the cure?"
One of the healers raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile, pulling out a thick and dusty tome wrapped carefully in the finest linens, "Alamut has one of the most extensive libraries, containing rare books and things long thought of as history or legendary." He flipped open the book and thumbed to a proper page, "Many of our citizens travel the lands extensively and document all that they can of areas. Many healers have emerged from this practice, gaining a variety of knowledge from local and widespread techniques."
His searching hands stopped flipping through pages and the other two healers crowded around the tome. "Here it is." They began to mumble once more under their breaths, every so often one would exit the circle and rummage through a nearby pack and produce various dried herbs.
Eventually, they pulled away from one another, a stone bowl containing a powdered and crushed mixture of all the herbs they had blended together. "Healer Ysman's letter called for our help." They met the eyes of the man standing next to the king, Is this you?"
"Indeed."
"Please mix this with one cup of water, boil over a hot flame for two turns of a sandglass, and then allow for it to cool." They handed the bowl over to the medicine man. "We trust you to fully accomplish this task. Afterward, the prince must drink it all." Ysman nodded and turned to leave.
One of the healers couldn't help the yawn from escaping his tired lips. "Forgive me, King Sharaman. We have traveled for two days without rest—only stopping to switch our horses and packs at outposts. Pray—may we rest for the evening before we continue treatment for your son?"
The King nodded, "I cannot thank you enough for the help you have given us." He snapped his fingers and a servant appeared by his side in almost an instant. "I shall have the finest guest rooms prepared for you to refresh yourselves in before a feast tonight to welcome you." He nodded at the boy by his side, "Hasam will lead you to your rooms."
Once the healers were gone, Tus and Garsiv, who remained silent and out of the way during the healers assessment and treatment of their little brother returned to where they had been before. Sharaman approached his sons after a moment of admiring the picture of brotherly love and the bond between the three.
Tus brushed off the sweaty bangs from his little brother's forehead. "Don't worry, Dastan." He grabbed a nearby wet towel and dabbed at his forehead, "Soon you'll be climbing trees and causing trouble, acting as though nothing was ever wrong." Garsiv chuckled at the thought. It sounded just like Dastan.
"I will leave you be, my sons. Guard over him, if you will. Ysman should return shortly." Sharaman said, turning to take his leave.
"Father." Garsiv stopped his father in his footsteps, but the weary king did not turn to meet his son's eyes. "You're favorite story was always of how uncle once saved your life from the lioness."
Tus nodded in agreement. "We know Dastan would gladly do the same—if not more for each of us—and the same goes for you father."
Sharaman remained silent, for once not quite knowing what to say despite all his years of wisdom. His never thought his sons would be able to read him so well; that they would be able to see past his tough appearance.
"Even if Dastan knew what was in the letter, he would have gladly opened it and accept any fate as long as he could protect you." Garsiv finished.
"I know, my sons." Sharaman said, refusing to look them in the eye, as he continued on to the door, where the guards silently observed the scene. He hoped Ysman would hurry and bring forth Dastan's medicine that would cure him. The healers implied only one dose was needed to combat the root and allow Dastan's eyes to once more see the sun's rays. The King exited Dastan's bedchambers. The guards then closed the doors behind the king, closing off and dividing the small family.
'But no father should ever have to bury his son.'
FIN