#narsus

This is the first moment I've had to sit down and write this post, though I did jot down some thoughts in a notepad the day after it came out! I'm referring to those now for what I wanted to discuss because my brain is mush.

I like that the chapter opens with Isfan waking up; he didn't see how Jaswant and Farangis etc reached his side and so neither do we. Thumbs up for Arakawa's pacing as usual (and also glad we don't immediately leave Isfan in the wake of him defeating Shapur; just because he won that battle doesn't mean his struggle isn't continuing, and it's important on a broader level than Isfan alone so I'm glad Arakawa brought it into focus where Tanaka didn't).

Heartbreaking.

(Also, for those concerned about Isfan's eye — looking at this panel, the outline of his eye is visible beneath all the blood. Obviously can't say for certain that there's no permanent damage but I'm leaning towards no because I think it would have been signposted like with Kishward's arm. So I think he'll recover fully but for now he's limited to one functional eye.)

(ALSO also this isn't in my notes but I'm. Obsessed with the bandage? The act of bandaging? The bloody wound as metaphor? I don't have time to write an essay and this could be sleep deprivation talking but I mean, I'm thinking about Isfan's grief and self-blame/survivor's guilt because how easily 'I should have died in his place before the castle gates that day' translates to 'I should have died that day in the mountains because that way this would never have happened, and after all I'm only a gholam's son' and how that bloody wound represents it. I'm thinking about how that blood clouds his vision. How after Jaswant shows him a different angle of looking at things, he ties the bandage over that wound. How early panels show him from his wounded side then we switch to seeing the other side of his face as he listens to the clarity of Jaswant's words.

I enjoyed how forthright Jaswant was! Look at his body language, his self confidence in his position (reinforced visually with him initially standing tall over a kneeling Isfan before empathetically crouching beside him — the conversation manages to feel both private and public, mirroring how this is both a personal matter and one that reflects on the country as a whole). You can tell this is a matter he feels strongly about, and one with personal significance.

Isfan's grief is also part realisation that with Shapur's death, there is no more family who cares for him in this world. 'He cared about me, as a brother should...' contrasted with his father, who turned a blind eye to his wife's attempt to murder Isfan and his mother. And not just that; if he returned home they would feel no joy knowing he survived when Shapur didn't. Just like Jaswant once did, Isfan is questioning his place in the world.

Thankfully, having found his place at Arslan's side, Jaswant is in a great position to lift Isfan up. The fact that he opens with a reference to his country's king being the son of a gholam paves the way for this conversation to reveal itself to be about more than Isfan's individual struggles, but about the future of Pars and what someone like Isfan can represent (the watching survivors who are hearing these words are presumably gholams or azat at most?). I very much appreciate Arakawa wrapping this into Arslan's plans for the future of Pars. She's working well with the materials she's got.

Again, I'm going quietly feral over this.

Feels like his glance at his brother's head here (his own face in profile with the bloody side visible) is an acknowledgement that the shared dream of riding through battlefields together is now an impossibility. He cannot change the fact that his brother is dead. Nor can he alter things so that his father and Shapur's mother will somehow accept him. But he can choose to ride towards a better future for Pars with pride in who he is.

If, in the last chapter, we saw Isfan catch up with his brother when he defeated him, now we are seeing him go further, beyond where Shapur had the opportunity to go. He still grieves, his wound is still there, but his path is resolved and he's moving forward.

Predictably, I loved this moment.

Kubard watching out for Isfan from afar but not inserting himself into the situation is very on brand. From his vantage point up there I think we can assume that he saw Farangis and Jaswant's party approaching Isfan's unconscious form, and knew they'd arrive in time to take care of things (as we see in the beginning of the chapter, they must have killed some flying apes that they feared had attacked Isfan).

I'm curious to see where Kubard goes now. To Arslan as well, I assume. Will he bump into anyone else along the way? Would love to see him meet Sam again!

And now for Vahriz! I expected we'd get two chapters for this fight but I gotta say I am not at all disappointed with how it was handled. What I was most curious about is what Vahriz's angle would be, what will lie beneath his harsh, tainted words. When we get into the conversation, it becomes clear — he wants to know that Pars is in good hands.

Okay, so this reveals two things. One is that what Vahriz really wants is for Arslan to prove him wrong. This is a test; he wants Arslan to prove to him that he has the makings of a great king, that he can indeed entrust Pars to him and the retainers he's gathered, that Arslan can in fact save Pars from the Snake King.

The other thing that is revealed is that these traits — decisiveness, ruthlessness, and physical/military might — are the traits that Vahriz valued in Andragoras. Vahriz has served Andragoras loyally since before he became Shah. He must have thought Andragoras was the right choice for Pars; better than Osroes.

'Thus did the relationship between the brothers drastically sour, and discord spread throughout the court. If one were to compare, the sympathies of the courtiers lay in large part with the valorous warrior Andragoras, rather than the weak and ailing Osroes. Naturally, those who sided with the younger brother incurred Osroes’s displeasure, and were expelled from court, exiled to provincial cities and border regions. Vahriz, too, was relegated to a fortress at the western border with Misr.' (Book 1, Chapter 2, part iii)

That said, Vahriz must also have been aware of Andragoras's weaknesses. His obsession with Tahamenay, the secrets of the royal line that Vahriz knew and wrote of in that letter to Bahman, and (after their defeat at the Battle of Atropatene) overconfidence in military might and refusal to listen to concerns of his retainers. Vahriz must have seen all the ways Arslan is different to Andragoras. He must have seen potential in him even back then, and that's why he asked Daryun to swear loyalty to him and him alone.

However, Vahriz died before he saw Arslan grow into the person he is today. It's no surprise he wants to see proof that Arslan is capable of being Shah.

So Arslan proves himself by giving a direct order. An order from a ruler to a vassal. An order that someone like Andragoras would not have hesitated to give; an order issued with the expectation that it will be followed. But, as with so many things in this series, it's more than that.

It's underpinned by Arslan's understanding of his own responsibility to judge and decide, which he learned from listening to Narsus. It's cemented by his knowledge of Daryun's loyalty, given to him freely regardless of his lack of royal blood. That Daryun knows who he really is and stands firmly by his side anyway is what gives him the right to issue that order.

And we can all see it, right? That even if Arslan hadn't given that order, Daryun would have killed his uncle for Arslan's sake. Arslan gives the order not to force Daryun into doing it, but to share the burden of what must be done, to shoulder the responsibility even though it's not his hand that wields the sword.

So while decisiveness was also a trait Vahriz saw as a positive of Andragoras, in this case it stems from Arslan being everything Andragoras is not.

Vahriz's praise feels as though it's for both Arslan and Daryun. After all, Daryun promptly following Arslan's order is the culmination of the oath Vahriz had him swear before Atropatene. We'll see if he has any more last words next time.

Aaaand as soon as we cut to Tahamenay I went 'oh FUCK'. I'd been waiting for this, it felt like it was set up for this, and here we are; Andragoras is the new host body for Zahhak (not pictured: Kaykhusraw's crumbling remains discarded... somewhere? Not gonna lie, it would be kind of amusing if Hilmes stumbled upon them and recognised them, Zandeh would be so horrified though).

ZAHHAK SPEAKS (I think that was on the bingo cards? I guess we'll soon be crossing off 'Tahamenay is kidnapped by Team Zahhak' too)

So the Snake King is well and truly back now, fully cognizant where before it seemed like the snakes were in the driving seat. It's not surprising that Zahhak praises Andragora's body. I imagine he, too, must favour physical might and was likely even more uncompromising. So Andragoras-Zahhak is the final boss, just like in the novels. But who will defeat him? Will Arslan be able to wield Rukhnabad in the end, or will it fall to someone with royal blood like Hilmes?

((I'm not sure how to introduce myself at this point, so I decided to make a compilation of messages for a general impression))

PoV: You are Narsus.

This short story was written during the New Year holidays. It was an attempt to write something light, funny and everyday. It is incredibly stupid and I ask you not to take it seriously! I just wanted to fool around a little with my favorite characters!

His Highness's detachment is on the run again. Expelled from the Peshawar fortress, His Highness and his retinue once again find themselves a target for Hermes and the dark forces. This time, the young exiled parsian prince is forced to stop and live for a while… in an apartment. This short story is an answer to the question "what would have happened if this whole company had suddenly found itself in such a familiar environment for their readers and viewers - an ordinary apartment?"

This story is strange and delirious, like a dream. You don't need to think about how Arslan and the others ended up there, you don't need to think about what world this action takes place in. Here are only the familiar characters with their strengths and weaknesses and a room of three rooms. What will come of it? I'll try to tell you…

This is just a dream that no one has ever had. But maybe someone will? The work is an expanded version of my long-standing idea.

Arslan, as a prince, could have taken a separate room, but he refused and his friends did not dare to insist. After His Majesty Andragoras gave him an impossible task, he still felt something like loneliness and only close people could save him from it. The prince and his friends were treated unfairly and there was something wrong with what was happening, time after time they were thrown to the bottom of despair, then raised on the wings of hope, spinning in this crazy whirlwind. Maybe this is their fate? This squad least of all resembled the retinue of the heir to the throne. Motley, consisting of people who are not similar to each other, but who found their place with His Highness and each other. They were used to this and now, by someone's evil will, they were crowded into a strange little shelter.

It took him a lot of effort to get used to it.

Arslan shared a small room with Daryun and Elam.

-You will turn the house into chaos, and we still have to pay for it! - The guy, serious beyond his years, did not want to leave his master, as he knew him and his creation too well.

-Elam, I am an adult, I can clean up!

Narsus, have pity on Gieve and Jaswant, they still have to live with your paintings… -Daryun's voice was heard behind the wall and, as if in response, the ud howled plaintively and abruptly, followed by its owner.

-My pants! My only pants!

Gieve ran out into the corridor, his white pants decorated with a motley colorful ligature of a pattern, absorbed into the fabric by thick oil paint.

-Don't worry, Gieve, we'll wipe it off with solvent… - The strategist smiled guiltily, sincerely wanting to help, but not fully believing in this remedy.

-How can I show myself to Lady Farangis now? I have to walk all the way to Gilan like this…- The musician ran his fingers through his disheveled purple hair, shaking his head sadly. To appear in such an inappropriate form before her was beyond his strength.

-I’m so sorry, Gieve… I…

The three rooms were clearly cramped for His Highness's retinue, accustomed to the spaciousness of the Peshawar apartments or the freedom of a camp, where the ceiling was the starry sky and there were no walls at all…

These same concrete walls pressed them against each other, forcing them to collide with their characters, preferences and habits.

It was not easy for such different people to get along here…

5:40 – Narsus felt Inspiration. Who would have thought that it would overtake him right here, now? The strategist rolled over on his side, burying his face in the back of the sofa, on which he had been spending more than one night. A hard, tight, ugly thing. But it was precisely in such moments, when there was no beauty or hope around, that it appeared. Inspiration. Now it seemed to spread throughout the body, together with the blood, a spicy wine, sounding like a marvelous iridescent melody in the ears. Narsus missed it. He missed the interweaving of complex ornaments, the stone lace of the arches, the sky strewn with shimmering stardust. There were almost no stars here. The dark sky was crossed with wires. There was no beauty here. But it lived inside him.

No. This cannot be missed.

Narsus slowly rose, feeling a strange creak inside the hard surface on which he had been lying, pulled his hair into a ponytail with an hair band and carefully stepped over Jaswant, who was sleeping on the floor, his bare feet slapping on the linoleum, he crept into the darkness towards the canvas and paints.

He could not ignore this call. He would create even in the light of a small flashlight, hunched over on a stool behind the open door of the closet (so that the light would not disturb the others). For a moment, Narsus imagined Daryun's crooked grin , which would appear on his face if he caught him now. Ah, let him laugh! This man will never understand what art means!

5:50 - No, it is beyond his strength. It took a while for Gieve's unconscious consciousness to realize that the hunched creature with sparkling eyes in the dim light was their strategist. The musician decided that he did not want to spend the night in the same room where such "miracles" were happening.

Yesterday, the goddess of fortune clearly turned away from Gieve. The fact that Gieve touched the not-dried "masterpiece" and ruined his clothes even made him feel despondent. But Gieve would not be himself if he despaired for long. Wrapping a blanket around himself like a tunic, the musician knocked on the girls' room.

This bad luck may even give him a special charm in the eyes of Farangis. Women often feel sorry for men if something like this happens. Her heart will finally respond and she will feel sorry for him…

Unable to cope with the blanket, Gieve spread out on the floor in front of the door, which slammed shut after their short conversation.

-For what – oh…

The musician turned his head to the opposite door. At least Jaswant was lucky, he was sleeping.

5:51– Jaswant was not sleeping. He lay motionless, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

5:52– Elam, holding a large aluminum pot in his hands, steps over Gieve and heads to the kitchen. Arslan, yawning sleepily, follows him to help. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately.

Luck or no luck, art or no art, but breakfast needs to be cooked.

Elam liked the local kitchen. How many different devices made cooking something incredible. The countless number of plates and pots, cutlery, cutting boards, allowed him to create several dishes at once and so different!

Here Elam's talent was fully revealed.

Lately, little good had happened to them, and tasty food was the little that could please them. Elam seized this opportunity, thanks to such convenient devices, he created full breakfasts, lunches and dinners in a short time. His movements were fast and honed, like with a sword in training, his hands, without the help of his eyes, found what was where, and as a result, something incredible was obtained.

Elam liked it.

This was an ordinary day spent here. One day ended, another began…

2:00 – Jaswant couldn’t sleep. He knew they were just pictures, but he still felt uneasy lying on the floor, looking at this interweaving of shapes and spots. He was looking at them. They were looking at him.

Giving up on sleep, Arslan’s shinduran bodyguard crawled out from under the blanket, got up from the mattress and headed for the kitchen, stepping silently in the darkness.

Sleepless nights are conducive to reflection and recollection. Familiar images that he kept in his heart. The voice of the man he considered his father, those rare moments when they simply sat and talked. The warmth in lady Salima’s gaze. How long ago it all was…

Jaswant turned on the kettle, poured coffee into a mug and began to examine the shelves in search of the necessary particle, without which nothing would work. Where had Elam put it? Yes, here it is!

The coffee was completely wrong without curry and a few other spices. The orange curry powder made it spicy and warming. This coffee was soothing, like wrapping you in a woolen shawl. Remembering his loved ones and the homeland he had left, inhaling the tart aroma of this drink, he felt how the melancholy began to recede.

Yes, Jaswant often, especially in such moments of silence, felt nostalgia for the world in which he had lived before and in which there was no place for him. But did he regret his choice? No. Never. In fact, it was only after becoming a part of such a unique detachment of the parsian prince that the feeling akin to loneliness began to slowly disappear. It was so familiar that Jaswant did not notice it until the moment it disappeared completely.

He took a sip and his throat felt like a warm scarf was wrapped around it.

2:10 – Arslan opened his eyes and his half-awake mind slowly began to realize that he was surrounded by the quiet darkness of the night, where no deadly enemy shadows lurked in the black shadows. That the quiet, hate-filled laughter of the Silver Mask was only in his nightmare.

No, there was no point in trying to sleep any longer. Quietly, so as not to wake Daryun and Elam, he crawled out from under the blanket and walked quietly with bare feet to the kitchen. A narrow strip of light crossing the corridor indicated that someone was still awake.

That someone turned out to be Jaswant. Now, without a turban, in a T-shirt and knee-length shorts, with a mug of steaming drink in his hands, he looked like an ordinary man, and not a warrior as deadly as a panther.

Arslan smiled. The bodyguard, when on duty, was serious and focused, so it was rare to talk to him.

They talked, watching the melting snow slide down the glass. Raindrops grazed the stele and quietly knocked. The street, framed on both sides by high-rises and therefore resembling a gorge, disappeared into the fog. Snow and rain. How is this possible? It turned out that Jaswant could tell a lot about Shindura, not the way its current king, Rajendra, tried to show it. It was much more interesting to listen to such things.

Arslan felt that the image of Hermes was beginning to fade.

-What are you drinking?

-Coffee with spices, Your Highness. - Jaswant answered, taking a sip. - My master and I often drank it…

The shinduran man's voice trailed off, as if the memory had disturbed the pain that had subsided over time.

-That's interesting. - Arslan said, wanting to distract his comrade a little. - Will you make me one like that?

-Of course!

The shinduran man's turquoise eyes lit up with a lively light. Arslan was glad when his friends shared something dear to their hearts with him. And he had never tried shinduran coffee…

2:40 - Daryun woke up to find His Highness's bed empty. Of course! Arslan had been suffering from insomnia lately, and if not that, then disturbing dreams. Daryun was used to waking up in the middle of the night to find his young master either in the kitchen, or with a flashlight, reading a book. Doing anything but trying to sleep.

-Your Highness, this can't go on any longer, go to bed. - The Black Knight walked into the kitchen, his bare feet loudly stamping, and took the warm, steaming mug from Arslan's hands.

-If only it could work… - Arslan answered sadly.

Daryun and Jaswant exchanged sad glances.

-You go to bed too.

Shinduran nodded silently and left the room with Arslan.

No, something had to be done about this. His Highness's anxiety may be affecting his health. He's been taking on too much lately.

Daryun took a sip and nearly choked as the searing wave rushed down his throat and into his esophagus. Tears filled his eyes and his heart pounded in his temples.

How good that His Highness didn’t have time to take a sip!

3:00 – Azrael returned from hunting. Hearing familiar sounds, Jaswant, who had not fallen asleep, again trudged into the kitchen to open the window. On the other side of the glass, a familiar, blurry silhouette loomed. A large hawk, hunched over on a narrow windowsill, beat its wings against the glass. The span of these wings covered the entire opening of a tiny, by usual standards, window. The proud hunter did not like the bad weather at all. When they finally opened it for him, he fluttered onto the table, stepping with wet, cold paws.

He's back, that's good…

Jaswant turned off the light and went into the room, not noticing the gift in the form of a mouse, which fell to the floor and was quickly forgotten.

4:00 – Azrael sat alone in the darkness on the back of a wooden chair that served as a perch. The keen hearing of a bird of prey caught that the people were not going to get up. Ruffling his feathers and shifting from paw to paw, he began to whistle quietly. The hawk had no idea about time or what it meant to people. He simply felt it, felt when it was time to go hunting, when it was time to return, and when it was time to sleep. Gliding like a weightless shadow in the sky above the line of the parsian's army, he was accustomed to the fact that people began to stir early. There was something wrong with what was happening now. He should already be sitting on His Highness's shoulder!

Soon the whistling turned to a cackle, and then a squeal. Azrael spread his wings and flapped them with such force that he almost knocked over the chair on the back of which he was sitting. How could this be?! It's time for everyone to wake up!

4:01 - A feeling that was faster than reason made Daryun jump up. His heart was beating hard and slowly, its beats echoed loudly in his tense, ready to throw, body.

The life of a warrior and the constant expectation of danger honed this feeling to the limit. His consciousness, not fully awake, did not immediately understand what this noise was. Daryun exhaled, fully realizing that there was no danger, and he froze in the middle of the corridor, jumping out, as he was, in underpants and with a sword, ready to fight any opponent.

The Black Knight exhaled, pressing his forehead to the cold metal handle, and quietly chuckled. It's good that everyone was asleep and no one saw him.

All that was left was to calm the noisy bird. His Highness finally fell asleep. Daryun, who had been with him from the very beginning of the journey, knew better than anyone how hard it was for him to do this sometimes.

However, the Warrior-of-Warriors himself almost became the source of a noise that exceeded the bird's cackling. A bare foot, stepping on something soft and small, slid forward, crashing into an angular table leg. The darkness of the night exploded in colored sparks, pain rushed through the whole body, and the loud parsian curse, sometimes heard at the other end of the cavalry , was ready to break out, mercilessly clamped by strong palms.

With the light on, a long red stripe became visible, drawn by the mouse carcass Azrael had brought.

Glad that he was no longer alone, the mighty hawk began to move his paws on his perch, whistling.

There was only one thing left.

Now, looking at the rags, colorful bottles with exotic cleaning products and mops, Daryun regretted that he had not paid due attention to such a trifle as cleaning. His concern was battles, and the servants' concern was order. But not now.

Elam kept everything here in the strictest order. Which rag to wash the floor? Which mop to take? And should I take one at all? And the bucket? The dustpan? He didn't want to anger the wise boy who served Narsus Daryun. Just as he didn't want to wake anyone up. He could handle this nonsense himself! After all, he could handle his opponents on the battlefield?!

Having chosen everything that seemed suitable to him, under the watchful eye of the hawk's eyes, Daryun began to clean up the mess.

The warrior, who has no problem dealing with a whole squad, hunched over and trying not to pay attention to the desperately pulsating pain in his bruised fingers, is dragging a rag across the linoleum, cleaning up what remains of Azrael's unfortunate prey. Who would have thought… If Narsus caught him now… Let him laugh!

When all this was over, and the rag and bucket were returned to their place, a satisfied smile appeared on Daryun's tanned face. Something useful does not always have to be great… Now he can go to bed with a clear conscience…

4:40 - Jaswant, who had not fallen asleep, saw all this, but he preferred to remain silent and try to forget what he had seen.

Silence has finally come to this apartment

6:00 – A new day begins. Elam's grumbling indicated that the bucket was the wrong one, and the rag should be thrown out altogether.

6:01 – In her room, Farangis was combing her hair. Smooth and black, it had become even more manageable and smelled pleasant after the wonderful product here.

Alfreed, quietly humming something, applied a transparent balm to her lips in which tiny pink sparkles glittered. The girl was simply enchanted by such pleasant little things that this world was rich in. Perhaps she would take it with her.

It was not so bad here.

The night passed quietly and gave them a real rest, which they all needed for so long.