Chapter Text
In the perspective of the gods, the Kurukshetra War was supposed to bring glory to those who participated in it. It was supposed to be the stage of honor, where righteousness prevailed over the wicked, and balance triumphed over excess.
However, like any wars, the grandest one demanded the blood of every party—blood that should drench the winners, to remind them the weight of lives that they had rightfully taken... and those they had failed to defend. It mattered not whether the war proceeded according to the rules or disregarded them completely; there would be casualties, whose death would taint the winners until the end of their lives.
Victory paid with lives was the most expensive one. Karna refused to pay, and so the world forcefully ripped the price off his hand.
Arjuna had previously been a bundled of perfection, one that would not falter for the sake of his family, never hesitating to put himself between them and danger. This was the first facet that Karna admitted from Arjuna, one that he witnessed in Panchaali’s Swayamvara and in their Tapasya days. Now, after the gruesome exile period, that bundle of perfection glowed in glory, as if an invisible great burden was lifted from his shoulder. It made his victorious smile lighter... stronger.
He pondered this in the Matsyan royal assembly, as Uttara led the celebration of their success against the Kaurava army. The Matsyan Prince indulged in parading Arjuna's success, contrary to what Karna expected (he had thought that Uttara would pull some delusion of grandeur about himself) and proceeded to do the same for Karna (who offered a placating smile and raised his goblet—a polite refusal). His favorite brother-in-law turned at him for his antics, bright-eyed and light-hearted, and Karna saw a glint of pleasantness passing beneath those ebony eyes.
They did not light because of their recent victory, but because of acceptance and the understanding that someone else knew who he really was, underneath the posing, the perfect facade, the witty personage (because Brihannala was still Arjuna, even if it was a form derived from a curse).
(Karna quickly smothered the swelling pride in his chest; Arjuna was not an object of conquest.)
When the celebration ended—the dukes and royalties retreating to their quarters, the newly reintroduced Pandavas, except for Arjuna, returning to their sleeping rooms, the servants cascading into the court like torrential waters—Arjuna hesitantly made his way, and Karna wondered briefly he had missed the subtlety of things. He carefully maintained a placid expression, bracing himself for an unpalatable news, though the feeling when Arjuna spoke, the usual confidence in his voice untainted with embarrassment, "I... I want to apologize for deceiving you, honored brother. I should have disclosed my real identity, so you would not..."
A beat of silence as Arjuna failed to articulate the fault in their decisions. It was enough to make Karna stand from his seating and reached for the other's hand. He thought of Brihannala's sigh as she melted under his embrace, so true and clear, and how he yearned to unravel this person to his/her depth, even when he knew (now) that he was his sister's.
Karna should not be giving the man a pass (even when he desired to).
"Arjuna," he started, his name a simple command that would never fail to lure those ebony eyes meeting his red-blue ones (it was already like this ever since their meeting; how could Karna just notice this now?), "Had you told me your real identity, then, Duryodhana would have discovered you and the rest of the Pandava. You would have been forced to endure another twelve-years of exile, along with Panchaali and the rest of your brothers. You have done well."
Arjuna seemed to light up, becoming more vibrant in his pleasantry, until a shadow passed behind those dark eyes. Then, his smile faded like a fading ember, horror, and fear to strike his face as if he had recalled the consequences of this (consequences that had been mulling in Karna's thoughts too).
At that striking change, Karna could not help but tighten his grasp unto Arjuna's hand, "What is it, Kiriti?"
A hitch of breath, then an almost whimper, before a change of stance. "It was—they were mistakes," Arjuna declared under his breath, spitting the words out with barely-mustered firmness, and yet Karna could only see how those brown eyes broke under those words (how his own mind tried to comprehend what was happening, because had Arjuna really denied what they had gone through?), "Our meetings, they should not have happened. Nor will they happen again in the future."
If he was not holding Arjuna's hand then, Karna would have steeled himself and took that declaration with grace—with a certain belief that Arjuna meant every word. But Arjuna's hand was cold and trembling in his grasp, and it propelled him cross the distance between them. False, he wanted to say, but Karna had better courtesy than that. Instead, he looked at Arjuna's conflicted eyes and spoke, "Why do you deny what you want, Arjuna?"
Like moths to a flame, Arjuna's dark, broken eyes gazed back at him at the mention of his name, followed by a quick, almost-rehearsed answer: "Because it will deny me the path of Kshatriya."
Had Arjuna heard how his voice almost broke at such flimsy lie? In the end, Karna resigned to that answer with a mournful sigh.
"If that is your wish," he released the other's hand, so quickly as if it would burn him if he held much longer, "Then I shall abide," Karna acknowledged. If there was coldness in his words that spurred Arjuna to recoil internally, Karna opted to let it be. "But I stand by my words still: I am here for you."
Karna might have turned away too quickly, despite the reminder of his vow, but Arjuna's denial (and refusal) pulled at his heartstring, a frosty knife that stabbed into him, spreading cold into his very system. As he dragged himself back to his own quarter, disregarding the worried callings of his pages, his mind could not help but wander to the numerous visions he had of Arjuna: Arjuna who eyed him with hate, Arjuna who loathed him, Arjuna who looked with cold resignation, Arjuna who steeled himself when they crossed path in the northern plains of Matsya—
—in his better days, Karna would have ignored this, always telling himself that what he had seen were not his reality. Now, he cared not if they played with his mind (he would regret this decision later); Arjuna could loathe him for all he cared.
In the end, as he laid haphazardly on top of his bed, the bitter taste of regret and unrequited longing seared into his being, Karna pondered gouging out his red eye. It was proving more to be a curse than a blessing.
Expectedly, Duryodhana refused to return Indraprastha to the Pandavas.
Bima was livid when the news broke out. Yudhistira was at loss of words, as he genuinely believed that the Kaurava would live up to their words. Nakula and Sahadeva seethed quietly but opted to redirect their fury to more horse-breeding works if only to placate their anger, despite King Virata's utmost disapproval. His sister was silent, steel embedded deep beneath her beautiful eyes, as she welcomed her true purpose and rallied her husbands to take back the throne which they deserved.
(Even now, Karna wondered how her hatred had twisted the sweet sharp girl whom he met years ago into this woman, hell-bent on her personal vengeance. It mattered not when they had to endure the thirteen years of suffering; a part of him wished that he had been with her at that turning point. Maybe she would not lose herself. Maybe he could have protected her better than her husbands.)
Arjuna only gazed past the window, where the northern mountains laid—where Karna and he finished their Tapasya together—with longing. And Karna could not help but wonder what went through that mind. Had Shiva whispered to him about this, long before it was to happen?
He refrained himself from asking, breaking his staring before Arjuna noticed firsthand, and proposed to return to Panchaala on the first crack of dawn. No one dared to stop him, knowing that time was of the essence; the sooner they could sway the other kings to their sides, the better their chance to win would be. They were going to war, after all, even when the eldest of the Pandava had not breathed that intention yet.
His Discernment of Fates had shown him the prelude after all.
He left his pages to attend Panchaali, claiming that an entourage would slow down his ride. Thus, on the eve of dawn, he quietly set out from the palace, expecting no one to obstruct his travel... that was until he noticed someone standing near the gate of the palace. Karna felt his heart constrict; even when that man concealed himself under a white hood, he could never mistake Arjuna's countenance.
Karna halted his steed, restraining every part of his being from lashing out. The memory of refusal still tasted bitter in his mouth, despite his unconditional vow to be ‘here for him’. "What do you want, Arjuna?"
Arjuna gently perked up from his hood, ebony eyes, yearning and hopeful. "I want," a pause that spoke more of confidence than the brokenness of yesterday—a fragile decisiveness unclouded by worry, "I want to apologize for how I behaved previously. You deserve better than that."
There was truth in Arjuna's words, but it was also sprinkled with insecurity—something left unsaid that might involve lives if it weren't brought to light. Karna frowned, and then admonished, "Do not tarry Arjuna. I can't spare more time for you." Blue eye softened as Karna continued again, "Speak your piece."
Arjuna maintained his impassiveness at first, until his mask fell, giving way to displeasure and... Was that hurt? "...What I feel for you is wrong."
And was that not the crux of the problem? Karna let out a sigh of lamentation and finally decided to get off his steed. Before Arjuna could even anticipate the other's movement, he was already reaching his cheek and pulled closer, so that their foreheads touched. Arjuna almost recoiled at the first touch, but Karna's grip held him at his place.
"No, it is not. If you act on it without consideration, however, it is wrong. I..." Karna gulped, trying to work out the urgency in his bosom (the desire that he never got to speak out when he was already Arjuna). Yet the words that flowed out afterward were something else altogether—but important, nonetheless. "Tell me, Arjuna, what do you want from this?"
Arjuna did not answer, his gaze downcast as if he had just been caught stealing. It gave Karna the opportunity to lean closer, to put a soft kiss on his forehead—a silent benediction. "Ponder on that, Arjuna, and tell me your answer when we meet again."
So Karna pulled himself away, leaving the muted Hero of the Endowed still on his place, and rode away.
They met again on the eve of the war.
There was little time for them to meet in private, though. Perhaps due to such harrowing circumstances, Arjuna grew itchy, desiring to descend upon the Kaurava like the scourge of gods (with Gandiva in his hand, as well as series of Astras bequeathed to him by his father, wouldn't he be one?), and Krishna would always be there to calm him—to endure, for even this waiting too should pass.
Unlike Arjuna, however, Karna dreaded the war's coming, even when he knew that this moment would finish many grudges. He would look at Shikandi, the softness in her eyes hardening with each passing day as she prepared herself to fulfill her lifetime vengeance. He would steal a glimpse at Panchaali and Dhri, sitting together during a dinner between the Pandava and Pancahaalan royal family, who spoke in hushes, the name Drona occasionally could be heard within their conversation. Draupad hid his excitement under wraps, but at the hushed mention of his long-denied friend, he would falter in his activity, and that signified how abnormal the whole situation is.
Everyone was antsy about the war.
Thus, when he laid on his bed, sometimes worrying over the next vision, Karna took solace in the fact that his red eye had not graced him with further clues of alternate realities. The last thing he needed was to witness deaths (theirs) that he could not prevent.
The war started with the deaths of Virata's sons.
Karna shuddered when he witnessed Virata agonized over the deaths of his three sons, the lamentations that wracked the King's body as he tended to their bodies, right after the first day of the battle ended. He recalled Uttara's boastful but naive nature, qualities belonging to a man who tried to run away at the hardest odds. In this war, the cowardly prince chose to bravely move forward against the mighty guardian of Kuru himself. Prince Uttara had died honorably (and Karna wondered how his sister—Arjuna's daughter-in-law—was coping when the news of him arrived).
The following battles reaped loss on both camps, but the scales only tipped when Arjuna lost his sons.
Iravan was one among Arjuna's children, one born from his union with a Ulupi, a naga princess from Nagaloka. The man had little time to know more about his father, yet he jumped at Arjuna's invitation to war against the Kaurava. Perhaps it was this devotion that stole a bit of Arjuna's favor.
When the news of his death surfaced, his headless corpse tended to, Karna witnessed how Arjuna stood still, looking out at it with cold hatred. Karna would have reached out then, for he feared the damage that Arjuna would unleash at the death of his son, but Krishna already took the steps and consoled the third-born. A single hand on a shoulder, a word of wisdom—it took little effort for Krishna to calm him.
It was not so when Abhimanyu died.
He was the only one among Arjuna's children likened to his father. He was bright, charming, a warrior with both passion and serenity, a young boy who was said to be loved by the moon. His martial prowess garnered so much attention that people outrageously claimed him as Arjuna's successor. Even Yudhistira expressed his wish to bequeath the throne to him when they won. And yet no number of blessings would save him from his tragic fate: on the 13th day of the great war, Abhimanyu fell, dishonorably maimed to death by four Kaurava officers, within the ranks that he should have broken up.
It was different with that boy, for he was supposed to escape the death trap with the help of the Pandavas. His uncles and father were occupied by Jayadratha, who prevented them to reach Abhimanyu in time. By the time the Pandavas repelled him however, it was already too late: the Kaurava made a show of Abhimanyu's deformed body, hammered and battered. All of this, because they had not arrived in time.
In a way, Arjuna had a hand in killing his son. (He was not, was what Karna wanted to say, because it was Jayadratha's fault for getting in their way—not those who tried to save their beloved kin.)
Karna was quicker in consoling the man than Krishna then, gently catching Arjuna's dispirited form that almost fell to the ground at the reminder of his son's death. For a moment, those in the camp—Dhri, the other Pandavas, and some of their allies—were ready to descend on him in worry, but Krishna was already a step forward, shielding Karna from unwanted attention while silently gesturing him to get away. So, Karna did as he was told, dragging Arjuna's limping form out of the war council into his personal tent.
When they entered, Karna urged the other to lie down, to which Arjuna refused quietly. He yielded to the other's request, like he always did, and guided him to sit on the bed. Arjuna trembled under his palm, his hands burying his face under the weight of grief.
"It is my blunder," he whispered, "Had I read the situation correctly, I could have—I should have—"
But Arjuna's words deteriorated into a series of sobs, and a part of Karna's heart died too (because Abhimanyu had been a delightful person, a bright light that never failed to shine with sincerity and genuineness. Karna would still love him all the same even if he was not Arjuna's son). So, Karna leaned in and embraced the other, knowing that he had been trembling too, if only to comfort and be comforted at the same time.
Karna was unsure when exactly did they change positions: his brother-in-law laid on the makeshift bed, facing him, his head snugged under his chin, still whimpering, still heartbroken. Karna still had his hands wrapped around the grieving father, ignoring the burn on his arm that had become Arjuna's makeshift pillow. They remained like that for a while, until Arjuna finally wrapped his hands around Karna too, as if enlightenment had graced his mind—
"Jayadratha will die before the battle ends tomorrow," he whispered, the conviction behind those words unbending like steel, "If he does not, I will end myself."
—an understanding that Karna refused to acknowledge, as he gently pushed Arjuna a bit to reach for his chin, to gaze at those puffed eyes and search for any sign of weakness (of forgiveness). But he saw only the earnest desire for revenge, and Karna could only think of his lost sister, a vengeful shell of her former self.
But who was Karna to interfere in the affairs of his love ones?
He hummed lightly, before responding, "I will assist you, Arjuna. But should we fail, I will follow you."
Arjuna was caught surprised, perhaps more to Karna's last vow than the first. "You can't just kill yourself for me—"
Karna let out a small chuckle, his lips closing the distance to meet with Arjuna's—to silence his refusal before it was made. Arjuna's gasp quickly deteriorated into a pliant sigh, underlined with the need for something more (despite his denial, his principal). Karna could have easily stoked this man's wanting, but he pulled away, their foreheads touching as their gaze met.
"Oh Arjuna," he chuckled, his fingers tracing the edge of the archer's face as he ruminated, "How can I be here for you when you insistently ask to pass on? Wherever you go, I follow."
"I think... I know what I want, brother."
Even in the middle of the chaos of their army as they strove to break Jayadratha's rank, Arjuna's voice cut like an arrow aimed true. Both of their chariots were located next to each other (at Arjuna's request, despite Dhri's disapproval; Karna was needed somewhere else to chip off Kaurava's rear army), ready to descend unto the battlefield should the right opportunity arrive. A calm before the storm—before they met their destiny.
Karna turned to his right, where Arjuna was, and was surprised by the gentleness behind the latter's gaze. Those brown eyes that had been clouded by grief and fury were now clear with purpose. For a moment, the brightest of Pandava seemed to gleam in the sunlight and Karna felt a part of him stutter.
"I want to be with you, in whatever capacity you offer me, for as long as time permits."
Karna should have replied such declaration with a vow of his own, instead of gaping like a lovestruck fool. But someone had already blew the horn, sounding their army to advance. Krishna was the one to disillusion them from their stupor, prompting Arjuna to ready his army too. He followed suit, tending to his Vijaya with utmost care and checking with his charioteer, before glancing back at Arjuna's chariot once again. Krishna's silent gaze at him, however, froze him on the spot.
For a single moment, he almost thought that Krishna stared at him... In pity? But such thought was soon forgotten as Arjuna commanded the army to march forward, into the chaotic clash made by his younger brothers, Nakula and Sahadeva. They rode forward, to the middle of the clash, parting ways to pinch the enemy commander.
Many warriors fell before the might of their bows. From the distance, Karna heard thunder whenever an arrow left Gandiva's string. Arjuna saw glints of Karna's arrows, imbued by the divine light of Surya, striking true at his enemies. They strafed through the unending waves of enemies, breaking through Jayadratha's defense one rank at a time, until Karna felt off. His right eye pulsed, urging him to notice the anomaly of the battle. Amidst the sea of soldiers, war steeds, and animals alike, Karna could only see the reality of war as it was—of people killing another, of arrows nocked and shot—
—of Shakuni, who was supposed to be by Duryodhana's side at that moment but chose to be by Jayadratha's.
Dread quickly filled his lungs as he watched the cunning sorcerer pointed his staff at Arjuna. There was something black gathering at the edge of it, a powerful curse that made his right eye itch. Was it a magic so foul that even his blessed eye sensed its evil?
His charioteer suddenly made a harsh turn, almost throwing Karna off the chariot. While Karna was able to keep himself within, he lost Vijaya to the sea of soldiers (he could summon it again whenever he needed it; Vijaya is a divine construct that ignored this world’s rules after all). He bit back his curse, rebalancing his position within the chariot, and looked at Arjuna's direction—
—Arjuna was fiercely strafing through the enemies before him, the hundreds of propagating arrows launched from behind him struck his enemies dead. Among the pin-cushioned enemy soldiers, he eventually noticed Jayadratha’s chariot. Karna watched as calmness left him in the wake of rage, Pasuphata's form appearing before his hand, ready to be nocked and launched. But Arjuna saw not what Karna did, for Shakuni was already done with his incantation, the horrible curse already taking the form of an arrow as he handed it over to Jayadratha. There was urgency in how the sorcerer shoved it over, how then Jayadratha haphazardly aimed it at Arjuna's personage.
There was coldness at the bottom of his stomach as he watched Jayadratha aim. It did not matter if his stance was weak; Karna had the terrible hunch that the arrow would aim true, no matter how flimsy the aim was, and he had to end this battle now before that foul weapon is launched. The Outsider Prince reached for his lost Vijaya, trying to chant the appropriate mantra to call back its form—but the words escaped him.
He tried chanting the words again, but they laid forgotten at the tip of his tongue. His mouth tasted like ash, his mind going full-blown panic as he recalled his teacher's curse: ‘When you are in desperate need of an Astra, your memory will fail you!’
"No," he whimpered hoarsely, the desperation in his words even made his charioteer's head turn in worry—as if his master was facing death (perhaps Karna was indeed facing one). "No, please, don't—"
Jayadratha released his arrow just at the same time as Arjuna did his. Pasupatha cleanly severed the Kaurava's head from its body. The black arrow, however, disappeared as soon as it was launched, until it finally appeared, dashing at Arjuna with a speed that beat his reactional speed.
Karna watched helplessly as it pierced into Arjuna's chest, as it knocked the air out of his brother-in-law—as it fell the greatest warrior of the world.
He screamed.
