[Open Commentlog] - Old Persian - Found Prince 001
[Unfortunately, Dastan only reads that very first line written by Lord Deior before he snapped the journal closed, frowning before absent-mindedly tucking it into his belt. Sorry, Deior, but he believes he has a way to fix this, and if time isn't on his side he has to move now so it soon will be. First objective: find the dagger. He certainly can't
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He's trudging through the snow outside - he had not found any sign of who he was looking for in the building where he awoke, and he has now changed his plans to getting out of there.
And then he spots Dastan climbing towards the roof of this Keep, and his plans quite suddenly change right back.
He can't help a brief wince when Dastan collides with the stone, and then he shakes his head, a fond, amused smile on his lips as he hurries through the snow towards where his brother is dangling from the rope.]
Dastan!
[The relief in his voice is obvious, and he doesn't bother to hide it.]
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[Did his ears deceive him? No. It couldn't be. Could it? Flipping around by using his body's momentum, Dastan twists in an attempt to look behind him. Sure enough--it's Tus. It's his brother. Relief and shock tear through him and Dastan drops to the ground as he gapes for a moment.]
Brother!
[Then he remembers Tus still blames him for their father's death--that he may want Dastan dead--and he quickly draws his sword, brandishing it between him and his brother defensively.]
Tus...
[His voice was low, a warning, and Dastan circled away from the wall, going around his brother.]
Tus, listen to me. [His throat felt tight.] I did not kill father!
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I would say you have no idea how glad I am to see you, but I suspect you might have an inkling of the feeling.
[And then Dastan is drawing his sword. For no logical reason at all. Tus stares at him, wondering if perhaps the snow has frozen his head enough to addle his wits.
He holds up his hands, making no move to go to his own sword.]
What - yes, Dastan, I am aware. We have already discussed this.
[And he uses 'discuss' lightly, considering what they really did was more of Dastan talking at him and then killing himself with a dagger. Something which he is not in a hurry to repeat.]
Unless - how far back did I go?
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You're happy to see me?
[It's too good to be true. So much of Dastan yearns for his brother's love and forgiveness, though. Forgiveness over a crime he did not commit. His expression crumples slightly as he stares. Then Tus's words finally reach him and his sword arm drops entirely.]
Wait. We've already--? You used the dagger.
[There is awe in his tone. How was it possible, when there was so much Dastan felt he couldn't remember.]
What happened, brother?
[His tone is low. He needs to know.]
And where is Nizam?
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It should never have happened in the first place.
With the sword no longer between them, Tus closes the distance to throw his arm around Dastan's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. Then he pulls back slightly, though he hand clasped on Dastan's shoulder.]
I do not remember using it, but I must have. What I remember last is - much of it is a blur.
[He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He doesn't know how much Dastan does not remember, but it's clear that he recalls nothing of when he broke into Tus's chambers, and that it what is most important to their current situation.]
Come inside. I saw fires and warm wine on my way out, and I believe this is a discussion that may take some time. Neither of us are dressed for the weather.
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You must remember, if you were the one to use the dagger. What do you remember up until that point?
[With a nod, Dastan relents. The thought of being warm was certainly an appealing one, in any case. His clothes were almost soaked through and frozen with the amount of times he had slipped and fallen on the roof.]
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this weather? The ice makes for lousy escape routes.
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When Dastan nods in response to his suggestion to move inside, Tus turns them back towards the keep, his arm slung companionably over Dastan's shoulders as they walk. It serves the dual purpose of providing both of them with some warmth, as well.]
So I've noticed, brother. Tell me, how many times were you planning on slipping before you sought another route?
[His tone is light and teasing, smile still on his face as he chuckles at Dastan's comment, even through a light shiver at being reminded of the cold.]
I must say I agree with you. And to think, I used to consider snow such a rare beauty.
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Slipping? I was sliding, I'll have you know. And only... three to five more times. If I have to get used to this weather, I might as well learn how to run in it. And on the roofs, of course. I am now able to spot most patches of ice, though some still escapes me. The trick is maneuvering on the ice--or suddenly finding you're off of it.
[He grins sidelong at Tus, definitely catching the humor in Tus's tone.]
It can be. When you are in it for a limited time. Or admiring from afar.
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[He shakes his head, amused.]
If anyone could repeatedly attempt the same thing and not only expect a different outcome but actually achieve one, it would be you, Dastan.
[He chuckles.]
Perhaps it is the rare part that is essential for the beauty part to remain true.
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It was an easy mistake.
[He grins wider, here, eyes crinkling in amusement.]
You honor me, brother.
Ah! Truer words could not be spoken! I believe I prefer snow and ice to remain a rare oddity. Then it may keep its rare splendor.
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[And then he laughs.]
For your actions today and in the past, it is an honor you deserve.
[He pulls his arm from around Dastan's shoulders when they reach the building, so he can push open the door and duck inside, holding it open for Dastan to follow him.]
And once again, I am in agreement. Snow should continue to be something that we enjoy very rarely, and certainly when we are better dressed for such enjoyment.
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[Dastan laughs lightly, shaking his head and clasping his brother's shoulder affectionately.]
Today? What is it I have done today?
[Dastan is very curious, but he is still able to keep his smile. For now. His brother knows he did not kill their father. They were together, and in being together, would figure things out. And they were getting out of this blasted cold. Her follows Tus indoors without question, shivering as even more cold seeps into his skin through wet clothes.]
Speaking of better dressed...
[Dastan sheathes his sword, and is already pulling off layers of wet fabric, making a face while doing so. He peels it from his skin until his chest is bared and his clothing drapes over one arm, then shivers.] Did you mention fire...? [The look he gives his brother when all is said and done is positively miserable.]
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Only you would attempt such a feat in the ice, and not break your neck.
[Once they're both inside, the door is shut behind them, and Tus turns back towards his brother. There's a sympathetic grimace as Dastan removes his wet clothing.]
I did. And wine to warm us.
<[Aww, Dastan. No one could resist that miserable look. Tus slings his arm around his brother's shoulders once more, and steers them towards one of the rooms with a fire he'd come across during his search.]
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What can I say? I'm very gifted.
[Hope stirring at the thought of warmth and wine in his belly, Dastan gladly allows his brother to steer him to said room.]
Good. I could use a drink. Or several.
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Truer words have rarely been spoken.
[And Tus is very much in agreement about needing a drink. It doesn't take them long to reach the room with the fire and wine, and Tus moves gratefully into the room's warmth. He pulls his arm from around Dastan's shoulders and nods towards the fire.]
You should set your things next to it to dry.
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Oh wondrously giving warmth.
[Dastan, goosebumps covering his form, moves to do just that--laying his clothes out near the fire and hoping it isn't too long before they dry.]
So. Brother. As joyous an occasion as this is, how is it you know I didn't kill father? What of Garsiv and our treacherous uncle Nizam?
[While Dastan would love brotherly bonding time, he'd prefer answers before his brain becomes drunkenly addled.]
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