Nothing's Conventional About Us

PROLOGUE ~ Sword

I am a honed sword.
I am a glinting blade. 
And you should step away.
But I can't let you. 
Because your blood is sweeter than honey.
I wonder...
What must your heart be like.

~~~

The joy of their victory against Panchala no longer lingered in his heart, even as the whole city lit up in the most colourful of lights and the exquisite crystal chandeliers threw light-and-shadow patterns all across the expansive marble floors and walls of the castle.

Was friendship with the enemy worth all this bloodshed?

He frowned as the rage brewed within him. He was just a prince and a warrior - albeit a good one - who wasn't supposed to question his own Gurudeva. He had not when he had lunged at the single opportunity to reduce the debt of his education to his Guru as much as he possibly could.

He hadn't even thought of these offending questions when he had killed hundreds of Panchala soldiers to break into the Chakravyuha and then a few hundred more. He had asked no questions even as he threw Drupada at Guru Dronacharya's feet.

But, this...?

If Guru Drona only had to make his friend apologise and rekindle their broken friendship, weren't there better ways to do so?

Of course there were. They could've lured Drupada into a threatening meeting, placed his crown and his kingdom at the edge of the sword, taken a hostage, called an honorable official meeting - the methods were endless.

His breathing quickened as he strode through the wide corridor to the event hall of the palace. He felt like a damn mercenary - a hired sword - and not a beloved disciple.

He didn't even feel like attending this posh, horrible-excuse-of-a-good-time event with a bunch of low-lives.

No, he wasn't talking about caste-discriminations. He could care less about the caste system when his own supposed family was so full of low-lives.

He took a deep breath.

In. Out. In. Out... He counted steadily and attentively till the turmoil in his mind was somewhat distracted.

A letter from Dushyala's friend, Yadava Princess Subhadra's half-brother and his own supposed cousin - the miraculous youth to the extent of divinity, that he's never quite had the chance to meet - had stated him to be 'ever-wrathful'. Now, why Krishna would write a letter to him was a question that only Krishna himself could possibly answer.

But that sort of hurt and now he was struggling double of the usual to try and keep his temper in check. Krishna probably wrote it as a praise - most girls found that particular feature of his quite attractive. Even Princess Subhadra had shyly approached him after he had been subjected to verbal insult in the name of reprimanding after almost pulling his sword out on Duryodhana and Karna during the last 'event'.

As if he needed another reason to hate this snobbish, posh shameful namesakes of royal gatherings.

Even that supposed compliment had made his temper to dance and bristle on the edge, almost ready to pounce onto the forefront.

"She didn't mean it", he had reasoned with his subconscious.

"Oh, but she did.", it had retorted right back.

Actually, the main issue with his temper was not like that of brother Bheema's. He wasn't angered by the slightest of things in quite the way that Bheema was. Bheema was a classical hot-head. Understandable.