Asmath gave Tariel water, which he sipped slowly before taking a long breath and continuing his tale.
“One day, when I came back from a hunt, Pharsidan came to me and said, ‘Come. Let us go and see my daughter Nestan.’ Yet, I had not seen her for many years. Our duties kept us from the sight of one another. She grew in her own way as I in mine. Still, he took me by the hand and led me to her.”
“We came to the small palace where she lived, and I looked on the garden for the first time. It was fairer than any place of delight I had seen before. There were fountains of rose water and countless birds singing more sweetly than any siren. Slim and tall cypress trees encircled the emerald walls of the courtyard, and gold curtains hung over the entrance.”
“The King went in, walking directly to the tower, but I remained behind. I knew he wished none to look upon his daughter. As he entered, I glimpsed what was within. The interior was covered with intricately woven rugs, interspersed by tapestries of the finest gold and silks. On the far side, I saw a curtained canopy, where a sleek spotted panther rested.”
“From inside, Pharsidan called me. To my surprise, he ordered me to bring decorative partridges. When I returned with them, he told Asmath to take the birds to the princess as a gift from the Amirbar. Though I could not hear what else they said, when she came out to take them, I caught the briefest glimpse of Nestan before the curtains fell back.”
“How the memory of that day pains me. When I laid eyes on her, a fire was lit in me which burns my soul to this day. I did not know how fiercely love would scorch me. In that moment I began paying my debts to Fate. It was as if a lance of adamant pierced my heart of stone.”
“In a daze, I handed the partridges to Asmath. She took them, and I stood before her, wreathed in flames at seeing Nestan. Since then, this burning never stops, though I fear it consumes me to no end, for she is lost!”
As the last words escaped his lips, Tariel collapsed and fell over with a groan. He, a man of such brightness the sun despised him, was unable to speak more. Avtandil and Asmath stood over him, lamenting the wounds he suffered at telling his tale. Their cries echoed throughout the cave.
“Woe is he, laid to waste by the hand of Fate. The might of his arms now no more than straw, though before they brought so many heroes to nothing!”
Asmath sprinkled water on him, and together they watched over the fallen hero until he returned to consciousness. When he woke, sadness overcame him. His heart was bound by melancholy. He did not talk but instead stood and paced. For a long while he found no path back to the world of words and speech, but eventually he sat down again. In frustration he dug his hands in the earth, tilling his pain into the dirt until bitterly moaning as he finally spoke.
“The furrow of my sorrow runs deeper than an abyss. I cannot tell you how these memories hurt me, lest I fall further into ruin and flame. Truly, I praise those sages and philosophers who oppose this world. Those who believe otherwise are fools. They trust in luck and fleeting promises of gifts, yet in the end, none are spared Fate’s treachery. But there is more I must say. Listen closely now, for I will speak so long as life remains in me, or until these words consume my soul.”