Vidura strode through the throne room doors, his plain tunic catching the torchlight as he led Bhishma, Dhritarashtra, and Gandhari back into the palace's shadowed corridors, his steps firm against the stone.
Bhishma followed close, his silver hair glinting, his broad frame a steady wall, his deep voice rumbling low as he urged haste toward the council chamber.
Dhritarashtra trailed behind, his broken staff abandoned, his hands flexing with barely contained fury, his dark tunic blending into the dimness as Gandhari's sari rustled at his side.
The chamber's heavy doors loomed ahead, creaking open to a tense hush, nobles already gathered, their whispers dying as Vidura entered with purpose.
The council chamber was a taut coil of silence, nobles clustered around the oak table, their silks muted in the glow of a single lamp flickering on the wall.
Shadows stretched long across the stone, the air thick with the scent of wax and unease, scrolls piled haphazardly from earlier disputes.
Vidura stopped at the table's edge, his dark eyes sweeping the room, the crumpled scroll from the balcony still clenched in his hand.
Bhishma took his place beside him, his presence a quiet storm, while Gandhari guided Dhritarashtra to a chair, his breath sharp as he sat, the room poised on a knife's edge.
Vidura unrolled the scroll, laying it flat on the table, his voice steady and clear. "Truth holds us, not schemes—this letter proves some of you would unravel that for Pandu's return."
He pointed to the ink, his tone calm but unyielding, his finger tracing the emerald lord's mark, the noble's seal stark against the parchment.
The emerald lord, tall and sharp-chinned, stiffened in his seat, his hands gripping the table's edge, his voice shaky. "I meant no harm—it's just talk, nothing more!"
Nobles shifted, eyes darting, the lamp's glow casting their faces in stark relief as Vidura's words settled like stone.
Bhishma leaned forward, his gray eyes piercing, his deep voice firm and low. "Vidura sees what we miss—you'd do well to remember that before you stammer excuses."
His hand rested on Vidura's shoulder, a solid weight, his glare sweeping the room, silencing the faint rustle of dissent among the silks.
The emerald lord's face paled, his fingers twitching, his voice faltering. "It's not treason—just a thought, a way to fix things, with Pandu gone so long."
Vidura's gaze locked on him, unwavering, his tone cutting through. "A thought to undo your king—truth doesn't bend for that, and neither will this court."
Dhritarashtra's chair creaked as he leaned forward, his voice a low growl. "Fix things? You'd fix me right off the throne—name your allies, now!"
His hands clenched the table, his blind eyes wide with suspicion, the room's tension spiking as the noble shrank back.
Gandhari's hand rested on his arm, her voice soft but steady. "Vidura's got this, my lord—let him pull it apart, he'll find the roots."
The emerald lord swallowed hard, his words tumbling. "No allies—just me, I swear, a letter I didn't even send!"
Vidura's hand pressed the scroll flat, his voice calm but relentless. "You wrote it, sealed it—didn't send it because I found it first, under this very table."
He straightened, his dark eyes boring into the noble, his logic a blade dismantling the scheme piece by piece.
The crimson lord, stocky and graying, shifted in his seat, his voice gruff. "Pandu's absence stings—we're all feeling it. Doesn't mean we're plotting."
Vidura's tone didn't waver, his gaze shifting to him. "Feeling it's one thing—writing to recall him behind your king's back is another."
Bhishma's hand tightened on Vidura's shoulder, his growl cutting through the murmurs. "He's right—this isn't grumbling, it's a step too far, and Vidura caught it cold."
His silver hair gleamed as he leaned over the table, his presence a wall, his voice steadying the room's fraying edges.
The emerald lord's hands shook, his voice rising thin. "I didn't mean to betray—just thought Pandu could steady us, like before!"
Vidura's eyes narrowed, his words firm. "Steady us by breaking your oath? Truth doesn't serve that, and neither do I."
Dhritarashtra's fist hit the table, the thud sharp, his voice a bitter snarl. "Steady us? You'd shove me aside for him—Pandu's shadow again, even here!"
His shoulders tensed, his suspicion a dark cloud, the nobles' silence thickening as his rage simmered anew.
Gandhari's hand pressed harder, her tone low. "They're scared, my lord—Vidura's showing them they don't need Pandu, you're enough."
The emerald lord stammered, his face flushed. "Not shoving—just a mistake, I swear, I'd never go through with it!"
Vidura stepped closer, his voice steady as stone. "A mistake with ink and a seal isn't a mistake—it's a choice, and it stops here."
He pointed to the scroll again, his logic unyielding, his calm a stark contrast to the noble's unraveling excuses.
A sapphire lord, wiry and hawk-faced, coughed, his voice low. "Pandu's ways worked—we're struggling now, that's all he meant."
Vidura's gaze snapped to him, his tone cutting. "Struggling doesn't justify plotting—your king's here, and I'm keeping this court whole."
Bhishma nodded, his hand dropping from Vidura's shoulder, his voice a deep affirmation. "Vidura's the backbone here—his eyes caught this, and his word holds it down."
The lamp flickered, shadows dancing across the stone, the room steadying under the weight of their combined resolve.
The emerald lord slumped, his voice a whisper. "I'll burn it—forget it, I swear, no harm done!"
Vidura's stare didn't soften, his words clear. "Harm's done when trust cracks—this stays as a warning, not a pardon."
Dhritarashtra's breath hissed out, his voice dark and low. "A warning? I'd have his head—why spare him when he'd call Pandu back over me?"
Bhishma's hand rested on the table, his growl firm. "Spare him to show strength—Vidura's way keeps them in line without blood, for now."
Gandhari's hand stayed on Dhritarashtra's arm, her voice faint. "He's right, my lord—Vidura's holding it together, let it stand."
The room hushed, the nobles' eyes shifting, the lamp's glow a fragile anchor as Vidura's quiet resolve steadied the night.
A guard pushed through the doors, his armor clanking, his voice sharp and urgent. "My lord, word from the front—Pandu's taken a ridge, raiders scattered, he's moving west!"
Dhritarashtra's scowl deepened, his fist clenching, his voice a mutter as he stood. "Pandu again—always him, even now."
The guard stepped back, his report hanging heavy, the nobles' heads turning as Dhritarashtra entered the room fully, his rage simmering fresh.
Vidura's gaze followed him, his scroll still on the table, his shadow steady as Bhishma's nod sealed the council's stand.