I goddamn love the way you write TT all your works are so beautiful I'd cry TT Especially that Lakshmana Kumara one. I've lost count of how many times I re-read it. And even after my 20+ time reading it, that drabble still gets me. Ugghh I'm in feels! Also, I was wondering if you still take prompts. I'd love to see some Ash-Dury-Karna bromance and them being absolutely dumb for no given reason. And imagine if their wives were stuck with their shenanigans. Hope you have a nice day tho ~
Thank you, thank you for your kind words! I'm sorry this took me so long, but I was a little busy. I hope you like it. Have a good day/night :D
P.S.: I'm not very good at writing happy things, so sorry if this is not what you expected. Once again thanks for reading :)
1.
Bhanu was still flexing her fingers when they heard the crash. Vrishali lifted her eyes from where she was painting her nails and raised an eyebrow. Bhanu sighed, blew on her nails to dry the paint, and trotted outside.
A slightly alarmed, but mostly amused guard directed them towards the stables, mumbling, “His Highness, the Crown Prince is there with his friends.” He opened his mouth to add something else, but neither of the girls were listening. For the umpteenth time, Bhanu wondered why, of all Princesses of Aryavarta, it was her Suyo had to kidnap.
2.
Karna was sitting on the ground, giggling. He brightened up when he noticed Vrishali, brushed his fringe away with muddy fingers and tried to stand up. Vrishali heaved a theatrical sigh. Bhanu stared as Karna meticulously lifted himself up, brought a foot underneath himself, stood up and immediately tripped. She could not not wince as he face-planted, but Karna sat up with a dopey grin, hilariously unfazed, and made wiggly fingers in the air.
“Ugh,” Vrishali grumbled, but went to him anyway. Karna gave her a blinding smile and slurred, “Vaish ish preg-eeee.”
“Huh?” Vrishali tried to grab the parchment he was waving around. Karna whined, “Letaah to meee.”
Ignoring him, Vrishali unfolded the letter, raised an eyebrow and turned to Bhanu will a joyous smile, “My sister is pregnant.”
“That is so wonderful!”
Bhanu rubbed her forehead. Vrishali merely rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, and it would have been better if this fool did not try to celebrate it by drinking this early in the morning,” Vrishali groused. Karna rested his head on his wife’s shoulder and snuggled close. She shook him, “Radheya, no don’t sleep, where are Suyo and Ashu?”
Poor Karna, probably the world’s happiest drunk, mumbled, “I dunno.”
3.
He did not need to tell them. A loud whinny came from somewhere east. Moments later, Duryodhan, half hanging from a furious horse, rode in, cursing like Kalki come to earth. Ashwatthama followed, zigzagging across at a more sedate pace.
“Su-yooooooo,” Karna giggled. The angry stallion jerked, threw Duryodhan off and snorting majestically, trotted off. Duryodhan sat there, looking dazed. Ashwatthama plodded right up to him, then tripped on him, and they fell together in a tangle of limbs. “Oof,” Duryodhan said.
“Oof,” Karna echoed. Then he stood up, trotted up to the heap of drunken morons, and dropped himself on them. “Oof,” Karna said again.
Vrishali groaned. Bhanu sighed.
+1.
“I did not,” Duryodhan shrieked in his totally masculine way.
“You did, Suyo,” Vrishali told him levelly, but with a smile. Bhanu wished she had her superpower of dealing patiently with idiots.
“I can hold my liquor, Bhabhi, I’m a man and the Crown Prince of Aryavart!”
“No you can’t,” Ashwatthama snorted, “none of us can.”
“Besides, your post has no relation to liquor consumption,” Bhanu added unhelpfully.
“No I can! Karna, tell them!”
Poor Karna blushed redder (his complexion wasn’t helping) and mumbled, “I think we did all that.”
Duryodhan gave him and look of utter betrayal and jumped on him yelling, “Traitor! Traitor!”
Ashwatthama looked on for a moment, then shrugged and leapt in.
“Whose side are you on?” Karna demanded, while simultaneously fending off two very capable hands hell-bent on tickling him. Ashwatthama didn’t even bother to answer. Bhanu was pretty sure he had no idea himself.
Vrishali leant over and fetched their nail paints. “Mine got smudged, and I’ve got to look good at my sister’s baby-shower,” she said simply, noticing Bhanu’s raised eyebrow.
“That’s ages away.”
Vrishali shrugged and frowned, inspecting her nails.
“It is,” says the Crown Prince, almost apologetically, “an unusual commission.”
To say the least, Vrishali agrees darkly. There are things better left unsaid in Hastinapur, however, particularly to Prince Duryodhana by a maiden lacking power and position, and so she holds her tongue. But how, she half-wants to wail, is she to find the mysterious stranger who’d attempted to challenge Arjuna and promptly disappeared before giving his name, leaving behind only a shoe?
The Prince seems every bit as skeptical, raising his eyebrows at her suspiciously. “Are you certain you can find him?”
“Yes,” Vrishali lies at once. It might seem impossible, but a life spent as an unhappy and unsatisfied wife is no less so. If she can accomplish this one miracle, the Crown Prince’s patronage will be enough to establish her in a career where she might use her unladylike skills: everything depends on it.
“Very well.” The Prince relaxes; Vrishali remembers hearing how impressed Duryodhana had been with the stranger’s daring, how rumor has it he intends to present the stranger with the kingship of Anga itself for the simple accomplishment of annoying Duryodhana’s cousins. Oh, when she returns successful, he will be very pleased indeed.
So she studies the shoe from every angle, noticing everything that might serve as a clue even as her father hems and haws in her direction, fretting over her future as always.
“The boy comes from a fine family indeed,” Father says for the thousandth time, and Vrishali hums vaguely. The shoe is half as long again as her hand, and a man with feet so large might be expected to be similarly proportioned everywhere. That eliminates at least the shorter members of the population.
“Why, Adhiratha and I have been friends of long standing. That is why he offered me the proposal before any other.”
“Of course he did, Father,” Vrishali murmurs, wondering why exactly the shoe has been patterned with shining golden circles. Fashion, folly, or something of the stranger’s features that would complement such a choice?
“At least,” Father wheedles, in that tone she can never refuse, “meet him once. For my sake, if nothing else.”
Vrishali sets the shoe down and sighs. Very well, then: a meeting it shall be, if that is the price of the peace she needs to work out this puzzle. How long might it be, after all? A few minutes to lay eyes on this suitor, a few more to refuse him, and then Prince Duryodhana’s stranger—and, more importantly, her future—will be safely in hand.
no but ugly crying because she knows him so well they were friends when they were kids. they probably played ghar ghar and vrishali probably made him wear ridiculous clothes to play the part of her sakhi even though he wanted to be the dashing prince that married the doll and yeah.. ugly crying.
