Dhritarashtra charged back through the palace corridors, his staff striking the stone floor with a relentless thud, his dark tunic billowing as he left the royal chambers' dim quiet behind.
Gandhari followed, her steps softer but quick, her indigo sari catching the torchlight, her blindfolded face set with a strained calm as she kept pace.
The council chamber's doors stood ajar, voices leaking out—sharp, clipped, a buzz of discontent that grew louder as Dhritarashtra approached.
He shoved the doors wide, the wood banging against the walls, his blind eyes blazing with a fury he couldn't see but felt in every muttered word.
The chamber was a tight knot of tension, nobles clustered around the oak table, their silks creased from hours of arguing, scrolls unrolled and spilling over the edges.
A single torch flickered in its sconce, casting jagged shadows as dusk settled outside, the air thick with the smell of sweat and stale ink.
Dhritarashtra strode to the head of the table, his staff slamming down once, the crack cutting through the chatter as Gandhari slipped in behind, settling near his side.
The nobles turned, their faces a mix of wariness and defiance, the room hushing for a moment under his looming presence.
A lord in emerald silk, tall and sharp-chinned, broke the silence, his voice bold and clear. "Pandu's way kept us rich—his trade laws let goods flow without choking the merchants."
He unrolled a scroll, pointing to neat columns of figures, his tone steady. "Your tax hike's already stalling carts—two days, and the west's complaining."
Dhritarashtra's staff hit the table again, harder, the wood groaning under the blow, his voice sharp and loud. "I'm king now, not him—my edicts rule, not his memory!"
The lord held his ground, his eyes narrowing, the scroll crinkling in his grip as the room's tension spiked.
Gandhari's hands folded in her lap, her voice low but firm. "They'll see your strength, my lord—give it time to take hold."
Her blindfold tilted toward him, her calm a faint thread in the storm, but Dhritarashtra's jaw tightened, his staff tapping fast against the floor.
"Time?" he snapped, his tone slicing through her words. "They don't want my strength—they want his finesse, his cursed balance!"
His chest heaved, his blind gaze darting uselessly, the nobles' stares a weight he couldn't shake.
A noble in crimson, stocky and gray-haired, leaned forward, his voice gruff but pointed. "Pandu's tolls funded roads without breaking us—your decree's got merchants locking their gates."
He shoved a crumpled report across the table, his finger jabbing the ink. "West's trade's down a quarter already—Pandu wouldn't have let it drop like this."
Dhritarashtra's staff slammed down, the tip splintering against the stone, his roar shaking the room. "I said I'm not him—stop throwing his name at me like a blade!"
The crimson noble flinched, his chair scraping back, but the murmurs spread, a low ripple of agreement threading through the council.
Gandhari's hand twitched in her lap, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. "You'll prove them wrong, my lord—they'll feel your rule soon enough."
Dhritarashtra's staff scraped the floor, his breath harsh, his tone a bitter growl. "Prove them wrong? They're already picking me apart—every word's a cut for him!"
His shoulders hunched, his fury a live thing pacing the chamber, the torchlight flickering as if bowing to his rage.
The emerald lord crossed his arms, his voice steady. "Pandu's laws kept the nobles quiet—yours stir them up. That's the difference we're feeling."
Dhritarashtra's staff swung up, splintering further as it crashed against the table's edge, his voice a thunderous bellow. "Quiet? I'll have silence when they obey, not when they grovel to his ghost!"
Scrolls slid to the floor, the nobles jerking back, their faces paling as his outburst rattled the chamber's walls.
A noble in sapphire, wiry and hawk-faced, muttered low but clear. "Pandu's ghost still trades better than this—merchants trusted him, not us."
Dhritarashtra's head snapped toward the sound, his staff trembling in his grip, his voice a raw snarl. "Trusted him? They'll trust me when I'm done, or they'll get nothing!"
Gandhari rose, her sari rustling, her hand reaching for his arm, her tone calm but strained. "My lord, they'll follow if you show them—your way can work, it will."
Her fingers brushed his sleeve, a steadying touch, but Dhritarashtra yanked away, his staff thumping the floor, his voice loud. "My way? They don't want my way—they want his, every damned one of them!"
His blind eyes widened, his fury spilling over, the council's whispers a fire stoking his resentment higher.
The crimson noble rubbed his jaw, his voice gruff. "Pandu's way didn't need forcing—it flowed. This feels like a hammer on glass."
Dhritarashtra's staff cracked again, a shard breaking off, his roar filling the chamber. "Hammer? I'll hammer this court into line—Pandu's flow be damned!"
The nobles flinched, chairs shifting as the sound reverberated, the torch flickering wild in the draft of his rage.
Gandhari's hand dropped, her blindfold stark, her voice low. "They'll bend, my lord—your strength is there, they just need to see it."
Her words hung, fragile, the strain in her tone a crack in her usual calm, the room's dissent pressing against them both.
The emerald lord straightened, his voice cutting through. "Pandu's trade kept us fed—your tax is starving the west already. We're not blind to that."
Dhritarashtra's staff swung down, splintering more, his voice a jagged shout. "Blind? You're not blind—I am, and I still see you clinging to him over me!"
His chest heaved, his hands shaking, the council's murmurs swelling into a hum that gnawed at his fraying authority.
A noble in gray, older and hunched, spoke up, his tone measured but firm. "Pandu's edicts held the borders—yours push them to break. That's what we're saying."
Dhritarashtra's staff hit the floor, the broken tip scraping, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Break? Let them try—I'll crush their whining before it spreads!"
The nobles stilled, their whispers faltering under his threat, the chamber's air thick with the weight of his unraveling control.
Gandhari sat again, her hands clenching her sari, her voice a faint murmur. "You're king, my lord—they'll learn that, in time."
Her blindfold hid her strain, but her fingers betrayed it, the council's division a storm she couldn't quiet.
A guard burst through the doors, his armor clanking, his voice sharp and breathless. "My lord, a threat at the border—raiders massing near the eastern ridge!"
Dhritarashtra's head jerked up, his staff steadying in his grip, his tone snapping back to command. "Send fifty men—now—crush them before they move!"
The guard nodded, retreating fast, his boots echoing as the nobles exchanged quick, uneasy glances.
Dhritarashtra stood, his voice a harsh bark. "Council's done—get out, and make my edicts work, or I'll deal with you next!"
The nobles rose, scrolls gathered in hasty hands, their murmurs trailing as they filed out, the torchlight dimming with the dusk.
Gandhari remained seated, her sari still, her blindfold a silent witness to the storm that lingered in his wake.
Dhritarashtra's staff tapped slow, his breath ragged, his authority frayed but clinging as the chamber emptied.
The guard's warning hung, a new fire to stoke his rage, the court's whispers a shadow he couldn't silence.