Gandhari guided Dhritarashtra through the throne room's heavy doors, her hand firm on his arm, her indigo sari brushing the marble as they left the scribes' bustle behind.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped unevenly, his steps stiff with the fury still boiling from the nobles' murmurs, his dark tunic blending into the corridor's shadows.
The royal chambers waited ahead, their carved wooden doors creaking open to a quieter space, the night air seeping through shutters with the faint hum of the Ganga below.
A servant slipped away as they entered, leaving them alone, the dim glow of oil lamps casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls.
The chamber was a stark contrast to the throne room's chaos—silks draped over low benches, rustling soft in the breeze, the air heavy with the scent of sandalwood and wax.
Dhritarashtra pulled free of Gandhari's grip, his staff thumping hard against the floor as he paced, his blind eyes wide with a rage he couldn't aim.
Gandhari shut the door behind them, her movements slow, her blindfold stark against her pale face as she turned to face his storm.
"They mock me, Gandhari, for him!" he burst out, his voice bitter and loud, echoing off the stone as his staff struck again, a sharp crack splitting the quiet.
Gandhari stepped closer, her hands folding in front of her, her voice soft but steady. "You are enough, my king—they'll see it in time."
Her sari shifted as she knelt on a cushion, her head tilting toward him, her calm a thin shield against his rising tide.
Dhritarashtra's pacing quickened, his staff pounding a jagged rhythm, his tone cutting. "Time? They don't give me time—they whisper his name like a prayer, Pandu this, Pandu that!"
His chest heaved, his fingers clenching the staff until his knuckles paled, his bitterness a flood breaking loose in the dim light.
The Ganga's hum filtered through the shutters, a low murmur undercutting the tension, the lamps flickering as a draft stirred the flames.
Gandhari's hands rested on her knees, her voice holding firm. "They speak of him because he's gone—your rule is what they live under now."
Dhritarashtra spun toward her, his staff slamming the floor, the crack sharper this time, his voice a raw snarl. "Live under? They endure me—every decree I make, they measure against him, his skill, his balance!"
His shoulders shook, his blind gaze darting uselessly, the weight of Pandu's shadow a chain he couldn't shake.
Gandhari rose, her sari rustling, her steps careful as she approached him, her tone gentle but unyielding. "You're not his shadow—you're the king, here, holding this court together."
Her hand reached for his arm, a steady touch, but Dhritarashtra jerked back, his staff thumping again, his voice dropping low and jagged. "Am I? Or am I just the blind fool they pity while they dream of him?"
His head dipped, his breath ragged, the question hanging heavy, a wound festering in the silence that followed.
Gandhari's hand hovered, trembling slightly, her blindfold hiding eyes that couldn't see his pain but felt its depth.
The lamps dimmed further, their wicks burning low, the chamber's walls closing in as the night deepened outside.
Dhritarashtra resumed pacing, his staff dragging now, scraping the stone with a grating sound that matched his grinding teeth.
"They laughed today—quiet, under their breath, but I heard it," he muttered, his voice thick. "That tax, my tax—they'll choke on it and blame me, not him."
Gandhari knelt again, her voice a quiet thread. "They'll adjust, my lord—your will is strong, stronger than their whispers."
He stopped, his staff slamming down once more, the crack splitting the floor's polished surface, his voice rising to a shout. "Strong? They don't see strength—they see a blind man fumbling where Pandu danced!"
His hands shook, the staff wobbling in his grip, his fury a storm that rattled the silks hanging limp around them.
Gandhari's hand trembled fully now, her calm straining, her tone softer still. "You don't fumble—you lead, even when it's hard. That's what I see."
Her words faltered at the end, her loyalty bending under the weight of his unrelenting rage.
The Ganga's hum grew louder as the wind picked up, rattling the shutters, the night pressing against the chamber's fragile peace.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped slow, his voice a raw whisper. "You see what you want, Gandhari—out there, they see a king who'll never match him."
He sank onto a bench, the wood creaking under his weight, his head bowing as his bitterness curdled into something quieter, heavier.
Gandhari stayed kneeling, her hands clenching her sari, her voice steady but thin. "I see a king who fights—Pandu's shadow doesn't change that."
He laughed, a short, hollow sound, his staff resting against his knee, his tone dark. "Fights? I fight my own court—nobles, merchants, even the scribes, all waiting for him to ride back."
His fingers dug into the bench, splintering the edge, his blind eyes staring into the void of his doubt.
Gandhari shifted closer, her hand brushing his, her voice a faint plea. "You fight for us—for me—that's enough to build on, my lord."
Her touch lingered, shaky, her blindfold a mask hiding the strain creeping into her resolve.
The lamps sputtered, one winking out, the chamber dimming as shadows swallowed the edges of the room.
Dhritarashtra's breath slowed, his staff tilting against the bench, his voice low and tired. "Enough? I hear his name in every silence—every step I take, they weigh against his."
He leaned back, his shoulders slumping, the storm in him ebbing into a dull ache that filled the space between them.
Gandhari's hand tightened on his, her tone firm despite the tremor. "Your steps are yours—they'll see that when the noise fades."
A sharp knock broke the quiet, the door creaking as a servant stepped in, his voice hesitant but urgent. "My lord, the nobles are restless—your decree's stirring them up in the hall."
Dhritarashtra's head snapped up, his staff gripping tight again, his voice a growl. "Restless? Let them stew—I'll face them now."
He rose, his tunic shifting, his bitterness flaring anew as he turned toward the door, the weight of rule dragging him back.
Gandhari stood, her sari rustling, her hand falling away as she watched him go, her calm cracking under the strain of his endless storm.
The servant bowed low, stepping aside, his silhouette small against the corridor's torchlight spilling in.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped a steady beat, his steps heavy as he moved past, his voice a mutter. "Pandu's shadow—let's see them choke on mine instead."
The door thudded shut behind him, the Ganga's hum filling the chamber again, leaving Gandhari alone in the dim, her hands clenched, her loyalty tested in the silence.