The moon glints above the sky, its pale color flowing down towards the lands where a lone figure stood, blending with the darkness as his armor and cape were also black. His dark hair is caressed by the light breeze. Despite his heavy cloak, his footsteps are light, disturbing only the grass and the wind.

He avoids the light and the merrymaking, all at his benefit. But he is tired now, and worried.

Suddenly, a hand shoots out and grabs his arm. He gasps, almost grabbing his sword when he realizes that it is at the blacksmith to be mended. Snarling, his other hand grips the wrist, ready to throw his attacker on the ground when he realizes:

"Narcasse!"

Narcasse gives him his eccentric smile. "Looking for ladies, Darun?"

"You surprised me."

Narcasse shrugs and moves away. In his hand, Darun notes, is a cup half-filled with wine. But the master strategist still looks at him with his sharp gaze, leaving nothing out. "You're looking for Arslan?" he asks, sounding amused.

Darun turns to him sharply, a little annoyed that he guessed. "What's it to you?"

"You're not his nanny, Darun," his old friend told him. "Why don't you get back to that feast that was given to you? You have won the tournament for Lejandra...his brother Gardeep will not be around for a while."

"Where's Arslan?" the swordsman asks instead.

Narcasse shrugs, still smiling infuriatingly. "At the tower." He points at the direction.

Darun curses under his breath and makes his way towards there.

"Darun," the other calls to him.

He stops and turns to Narcasse and finds the brown-haired strategist raising his cup to his direction. "Congratulations," he told him before gulping the wine down.

Darun gives him an odd look before going on to the tower.

He finds Arslan sitting at the open window, gazing out to the towns. He bows low before him. "Your Highness," he murmurs respectfully to indicate he is disturbing Arslan's thoughts.

The prince turns to him, a smile lighting his face as he turns to his guard. "Darun," he murmurs in return. "Why are you here?"

"Because you are here, my prince," he replies, still not looking up.

Arslan gives a small laugh and perches down. His soft boots touch the marble floor and his cotton shirt whips in the high wind of the tower. His pale yellow hair is tinged from the light coming from the torches that are aligned at the corridors. "You should be at the feast that Lejandra has offered to you," he tells him. "You are Shindra's new hero, Darun!"

"I easily grow tired of the people's chatters," Darun replies, standing up and facing him. "My Prince, please go back to your room. I believe you have had a few drinks now, and I will not forgive myself if you pass out now."

"And if I do pass out," Arslan replies in a soft voice, "will you carry me to my room?"

Darun stiffens and turns to him, surprised. The prince is standing innocently, back on the wall and his hands behind him. "I will do what is necessary," he replies, choosing his words carefully. He holds out a hand. "Your Highness, I'll accompany you to your room."

"I am not a child, Darun," Arslan replies, a little indignant.

"You are drunk, my prince."

"I am not!" Arslan insists. "Look at me and realize I am not!" He steps closer to him, holding out his arms to grip Darun's wide shoulders. He looks up. "Look at me, Darun..."

For a few moments, the luminous eyes that stare up at him spellbinds the general as he looks down at Arslan's. He looks away quickly. "Let me help you to your room."

"Darun." Arslan's grip on his arm tightens. "Am I drunk?"

Darun shakes his head, not turning to him. "No, you are sober, my Prince."

"Then hear me." Arslan tugs at his clothing gently, forcing the other to turn to him. "Hear me for once, Darun. Not as your prince, but as me, Arslan."

The general faces him but looks down at his shoes, wishing he is kneeling in front of the other instead of standing.

Suddenly, slender arms wrap around his waist and pull him close. Darun stares down in surprise, his body trembling with an unknown force that overcomes him. Arslan sighs and puts his cheek on his chest, feeling the metal armor beneath it.

"I am sure you've heard I threatened Lejandra," he begins.

The general blushes, not knowing what to do. "Y--yes," he replies.

"Who am I?" Arslan asks him, looking up again. "Tell me again who I am."

"You--" He need not but repeat those words, then why is he stammering? "You--are my beloved--ruler--for whom I will--I will give up my live for."

Arslan sighs and snuggles at his warmth. "True, you told me that. And when you battled that monster at the arena, I realized I was mad. Mad to lead you to death! And what angered me most is that I had not foreseen that Lejandra knew the possibility that you will die...even if you are the greatest warrior I have known. Dear God, do you know how much anger I held within me? I wished to kill Lejandra, wanted to cut off his head at the stands!"

Darun remembers. Narcasse had told him, seeming amused at the thought. Guibu, being a poet and minstrel, had even heightened the story about how Shindra's new Prince Lejandra had stooped to kiss Arslan's feet and begged for his life. And he can still feel Arslan's arms around him after he had won, those same arms that are around him now...

"My prince," he says, feeling his voice catch at his throat. He blinks...the light brings him tears. "My prince, please, let me bring you to your room."

He hears another sigh and Arslan pulls away, not gazing at him. Relieved and, albeit, a little disappointed, he steps back as the prince turns for one more glance at the lights below.

"Shindra is a beautiful place," the light-haired prince tells him in a soft sigh. "But I long for Pars."

"We have formed an alliance," Darun replies, feeling grateful that the subject has turned to one he is comfortable with. "Shindra and Pars will now be joined to battle the Rusitanian. We can claim Pars once more."

"I wonder how Father is."

I don't care for the King as long as you are alive. The thought runs in Darun's head as always when Arslan speaks of his father.

The fire flickers in the wind and, in a few minutes, die down. The corridors are long and dark. Darun sees Arslan's figure turning away from the window. "Give me your hand, my prince, so that I may lead you out of here and to the light."

"I am not a child, Darun," Arslan repeats, this time amused. But his palm touches Darun's and they walk down the tower. Each step are hesitant for the warrior takes care that neither will fall or trip, sending them both to the healers or to their deaths.

At the bottom, Arslan turns to him. "I can go to my room on my own, Darun. You need not sleep outside my door. It is your victory night and you are tired."

"My prince..."

And then, the light-haired boy of fourteen steps before him and enfolds his arms around the taller man's neck. "Darun," he murmurs.

His half-lidded eyes prove to be too much for the warrior and, not helping it, he closes the distance and feels Arslan slide over him, tiptoeing. Their breaths mingle in the southern Shindra cold and their lips brush against each other. Warmth elevates in Darun's veins. In a maddening, single rush, he feels his chest pound loudly upon his ribs, his hands slipping around the prince's waist to draw him closer, needing him. All the while, he had needed this, needed the prince...

"Dear Lord!" he gasps as he feels Arslan run his lips over his neck where a bruise from the battle came. "My prince...oh God..."

"Darun," Arslan breathes, light fingers caressing his shoulders and gliding through collar and on his chest, running beneath the black armor. "Darun...my God, I've waited..."

"Arslan--" In a light gasp, their lips meet once more, kissing each other, mouths falling open to claim the other, desperately needing to know the other intimately, needing each other's strength and warmth and love--

"Take it to a room," a voice tells them, sounding amused.

Darun and Arslan guiltily jump apart. They turn to the direction of the voice and find Narcasse standing there, holding a fresh cup of wine in his hand.

"Narcasse," Darun says, taking a deep breath and forcing himself not to strangle the intruder. "Where is everyone?"

"Still enjoying themselves," the brown-haired man tells them. His eyes turn to the prince, lighting immediately. "Your Highness, I believe that Darun is tired. I presume you will take him to his room?"

"I intend to," Arslan replies in his official voice. "Please awaken us early for we leave for Tundra tomorrow."

Narcasse bows respectfully. "As you wish, your Highness."

Arslan's hands slides over Darun's and they walk away, hand in hand. The general gives Narcasse another dirty look before almost skipping merrily after his prince.

There were few minutes of silence as the master strategist watched them walk away together, that smile still on his lips. Finally, a gentle shake of the leaves brings him back and he turns to his side. There was Elam, who is running towards him with a smile.

"Narcasse-sama!" he cried happily. "We've been looking all over for you."

He gripped the goblet tightly as the boy threw himself happily on his legs. "Yes. Forgive me, I strayed during my walk."

Farangis and Guibu appear close at Elam's heels. "The prince?" Farangis asks, always concerned for her master's safety.

Narcasse smiles again. "I believe he and Darun retired early for tonight."

Guibu's eyes narrow. "Am I hearing things?" he asks slowly. "Or is there maliciousness in your voice?"

"If you do," Narcasse retorts, "then you must have drunk much wine."

The red-haired minstrel grins. "Yet Darun and the Prince Arslan...a new song...about a romance destined to be broken." His face loses his smile as he turns to the direction where Narcasse was looking. "Arslan is the prince."

"For now, neither he nor Darun cares if he is," Farangis replies. "They are together. That's what matters for now."

Elam turns to each speaker during the conversation, and now, he looks up again at Narcasse. "What are you talking about?" he asks curiously. "Narcasse-sama?"

Narcasse affectionately ruffles his hair. "Don't worry about that, Elam. Let's go to bed now."

Guibu turns to Farangis. "I will be glad to accompany--"

"That will not be necessary," the black-haired priestess replies icily. "I can manage."

Narcasse smiles and leaves, Elam next to him. "It seems that the night is full of lovers," he says to the boy.

Elam only looks up to him in confusion. Tonight, grown-ups are weird, he decides. Even Narcasse-sama. Nothing makes sense.

But it doesn't matter.