"A pointless war is just that, my boy. Pointless."
One fatal night changes everything for Thirumavalavan, Prince of Urayur.
One moment, he is a happy-go-lucky Prince, without a care in the world. The next, he finds himself sucked into a dark conspir...
That evening saw Alli and Poovazhagi attend their dance class with Ilanchezhiyan and the others packing so that they could leave the next day without hassle. Valavan tried to offer them help but they wouldn't hear of it, asking him to rest instead. Sick of being shown sympathy when he didn't need it, he retired to his room quietly.
Feeling rather rebellious, he looked around. He had allowed a few lamps to be lit in his chamber for some light, much against his wish. They were covered however, emitting only a dim glow. It was more than good enough for him.
He still couldn't stand the presence of a direct fire.
His chamber was like any other. It had a huge bed standing majestically in the middle, with a shelf against the wall, consisting of his clothes. There had been a few left from his previous visits. But, the Azhundurvel had bought him some more.
He hadn't made any attempt to decorate the room though.
Maybe because it didn't feel like home, he thought distantly as his eyes swept over the room.
Nothing interesting here.
He looked around some more until his eyes fell on the wall.
Aha!
Decorating the walls were shields, just like on almost every other wall in the Palace, in case of emergencies. But that's not what caught his eyes.
It was the two swords behind them.
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Excited, he stood up suddenly, forgetting his injuries. He gritted his teeth as a sudden onslaught of pain wracked through his body, wave over wave of agony rippling through him. He withstood his ground stubbornly, refusing to hold anything for support or even buck his knees, his eyes and hands clenched tight shut.
He was tired of being a weakling.
The pain slowly subsided. Ensuring that he could move without pain rendering him motionless, he took a few slow, careful steps, taking his time to reach the wall. Reaching up, he wrapped his hand around the hilt of one of the swords and tugged. It came away smoothly. Valavan balanced the weight of the sword in his hand, the feeling suddenly unfamiliar. He frowned.
He tried to recollect the last time he had done sword practice and was shocked to realize that it'd been well over a month ago. He imagined what his father would have said had he known and shut his eyes, a different kind of pain washing over him.
His father wouldn't have let him go a single day without training and running fifty times around the Palace grounds.
He adjusted the sword in his hand, pushing away the memories that threatened to swallow him whole. He knew swordplay always cleared his head as it allowed him to escape from the realities of the world. He had turned to it even when the world had had far less problems stored for him in it than now.
