Bhishma strode through the palace corridors, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the stone, his steps firm as he led Vidura back from the gates' dust-choked chaos.
Vidura followed, his tunic still streaked with grime from the merchant scuffle, his dark eyes steady but heavy with the weight of the day's struggles.
The throne room doors loomed ahead, their carved surfaces dulled by time, parting slow to reveal a dimming chamber where torches sputtered low.
The air inside hung thick, shadows stretching long across the marble floor, a quiet that felt more like a held breath than peace.
Dhritarashtra sat hunched on the throne, his dark tunic blending into the gloom, his staff resting against his knee as his blind eyes stared into nothing.
Gandhari sat beside him, her indigo sari a faint shimmer, her blindfold stark against her calm face, her presence silent but solid.
The room felt smaller than before, the banners of crimson and gold drooping, the once-grand space now a cavern of brooding stillness.
Bhishma halted near the dais, his silver hair catching the torchlight, his deep voice breaking the hush. "The gates are settled—Vidura handled it."
Vidura stepped forward, his boots scuffing the marble, stopping a few paces from the throne to face Dhritarashtra's unseen gaze.
He clasped his hands behind his back, his voice measured and clear. "Merchants fought over taxes and bandits—Pandu's absence stirred them up, but order's back now."
Dhritarashtra's head tilted, a faint twitch at his jaw, his staff tapping once against the floor with a sharp crack.
"They fight because Pandu's gone," he said, his tone low and edged. "And I sit here, a shadow to his name—again."
Gandhari's hand shifted, resting light on his arm, her voice soft but firm. "Vidura aids us, my lord—he's keeping things steady out there."
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped again, harder, the sound echoing in the dim room as his fingers tightened around it.
"Aids us?" he snapped, his voice rising sharp. "He patches holes while Pandu's victories pile up—everyone sees it, even the rabble at the gates."
Vidura stood unmoved, his dark eyes fixed on the throne, his tone even. "Pandu's victories need time to settle—his absence tests us, but it's not a race against him."
Bhishma shifted, his hand resting on his sword hilt, his voice a deep rumble. "Vidura's right—Pandu's out there, but you're here. The kingdom's holding because of it."
Dhritarashtra's lip curled, a bitter twist, his staff tapping a third time, the rhythm quickening like a pulse of frustration.
"Holding?" he said, his voice cutting. "I hear his name in every corner—merchants, nobles, even the guards. What am I holding but a throne they forget?"
Vidura took a step closer, his voice steady but insistent. "You're holding Hastinapura together—Pandu's wins don't change that. The gates would've burned today without us here."
Gandhari's fingers pressed firmer on Dhritarashtra's arm, her head tilting toward him, her tone gentle. "He's not wrong, my lord—Vidura's work keeps the chaos from reaching us."
Dhritarashtra jerked his arm free, his staff slamming the floor, the crack splitting the air as his voice flared. "Chaos reaches me every time his name rings out—Pandu, Pandu, Pandu!"
His chest heaved, his blind eyes wide with a fury he couldn't see, his bitterness spilling like a flood held too long.
Vidura's stance didn't shift, his words deliberate. "His name echoes because he fights—yours holds because you rule. The court needs your patience to make his wins mean something."
Bhishma nodded, his gray eyes narrowing, his voice a low growl. "Pandu's absence is a strain—Vidura's keeping it from snapping. You're the anchor, not him."
Dhritarashtra's staff stilled, his grip tightening until his knuckles whitened, his breath sharp through clenched teeth.
"Anchor?" he muttered, his tone dark. "An anchor sits still while the ship sails—I'm no fool, Bhishma. I feel the weight of his shadow every day."
Vidura's voice cut in, calm but unyielding. "That weight's real—but it's not your rival. Pandu's campaigns stretch us thin; your steadiness keeps us from breaking."
Gandhari leaned closer, her hand finding his again, her voice a quiet thread in the tension. "Listen to him, my lord—Vidura's not praising Pandu over you. He's holding the line for us."
Dhritarashtra's head snapped toward her, his staff twitching in his grip, his voice a harsh whisper. "Holding the line? He's polishing Pandu's glory while I rot here, blind and useless!"
His shoulders hunched tighter, his bitterness a storm swirling in the dim light, the throne a cage he couldn't escape.
Vidura's eyes flickered, but his tone stayed level. "I'm not polishing anything—Pandu's absence is a problem I'm solving, not a crown I'm handing him."
Bhishma stepped forward, his boots heavy on the marble, his voice a deep command. "Enough—Vidura's not your enemy, Dhritarashtra. He's pulling us through this mess."
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped once more, slower, his breath ragged as he leaned back, his face a mask of simmering rage.
"Mess?" he said, his voice cold. "Pandu leaves a mess, and I'm the one buried in it—every report, every brawl, it's his name they shout."
Vidura's hands unclenched, his voice firm. "They shout it because he's far—your name's the one that matters here. Patience turns his wins into your strength."
Gandhari's fingers tightened on his arm, her voice soft but steady. "He's right, my lord—Vidura's not lifting Pandu above you. He's building something for us to stand on."
Dhritarashtra's grip on the staff loosened, just a fraction, his head dipping as his voice dropped low. "Building? I feel like a wall crumbling while he rises—how do I bear that?"
His blind eyes turned toward Vidura, unseeing but searching, his bitterness a raw wound laid bare.
Vidura stood tall, his words hanging heavy. "You bear it by ruling—Pandu's absence tests us all, but your throne holds the court together. That's no small thing."
Bhishma's hand dropped from his sword, his tone gruff but steady. "Vidura's got the gates quiet, the nobles in line—your rule's what makes that stick, not Pandu's sword."
Dhritarashtra's staff rested still, his shoulders slumping, the fire in his voice dulling to a smolder.
"My rule," he muttered, his tone flat. "A blind man's rule—while they cheer a warrior they'll never forget."
Vidura's gaze held steady, his voice resolute. "They'll cheer you too—give it time. Pandu's victories don't erase what you do here, day after day."
Gandhari's hand stayed on his, her presence a quiet anchor, her voice barely above a whisper. "Vidura's counsel keeps us whole, my lord—let it steady you, not sting."
Dhritarashtra's breath hitched, his staff tilting against the throne, his silence stretching as Vidura's words settled in the dim air.
The torches flickered low, shadows creeping longer, the room a tableau of tension and fragile calm.
Vidura's stance softened, just a touch, his dark eyes unwavering as Dhritarashtra's grip tightened again, his bitterness stirring beneath the surface.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor, sharp and quick, breaking the stillness as a noble in sapphire silk stepped into the room.
He bowed low, his voice formal but urgent, his silks rustling in the quiet. "My lord Dhritarashtra, the court acknowledges your rule in Pandu's stead—orders await your word."
Dhritarashtra's head lifted, his staff steadying in his hand, his blind eyes narrowing as the noble's words shifted the air.
Bhishma turned to Vidura, his voice a low command. "Looks like your work's just starting—let's see it through."
Vidura nodded, his tunic still dusty from the gates, his gaze shifting from the throne to the noble, the weight of his counsel settling firm.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped once, faint but deliberate, his voice a murmur. "My rule, then—let them see it."
The noble straightened, bowing again, the torchlight catching his silks as he awaited further command.
The throne room held its breath, shadows stretching, Dhritarashtra's brooding clashing with Vidura's steady resolve as the court turned anew.