Chapter Three: Necessity Permits the Forbidden
Anwar went to meet the lord of the fortress, a man named Haman Bouras, who received him in his chamber. It was a spacious room, meticulously decorated, with a very high ceiling. The floor was carefully laid with a massive carpet depicting a red-and-black lion holding a spear. Along the walls stood ornaments, statues, and paintings by great artists, while behind him, a large cabinet held ancient and rare manuscripts and books. It was clear that the commander of the fortress possessed refined taste—perhaps he descended from kings or great warriors.
Yet Anwar entered indifferently, passing by all those decorations and priceless artifacts without the slightest sign of admiration, as though he were accustomed to such sights. He sat down without being invited and greeted the commander casually, as if it were nothing.
Haman asked in surprise, "Are you the military advisor the king recently hired?"
Anwar replied in a blunt, matter-of-fact tone, as if he disliked idle conversation, "Yes. I assume you know why I'm here."
Haman said, barely concealing his disgust, "Those people are shouting loudly—they want revenge on you."
Anwar answered coldly, "What matters is that their villages burned."
Haman asked, on guard, "Do you hate them that much?"
Anwar replied with a hint of cunning, "It's not personal, as you think, my lord."
Haman pressed on, "Then why did you do it?"
Anwar answered briefly, "Necessity permits the forbidden."
Haman objected, "That's the same excuse tyrants have used since ancient times—from Nero to Octavius, the king of Filvidiria we are facing now."
Anwar said indifferently, "Well, perhaps it's a principle suitable for every time and place."
Haman replied, stressing his words, "Or perhaps it's just a personal whim to prove yourself."
Anwar responded, trying to justify his stance, "Evil is necessary to save the good from evil, and good is necessary to prove the existence of evil. Without whims, there is no life—and to preserve life, we need those whims."
Haman added, now inwardly divided and beginning to harbor resentment toward Anwar, "Your whims destroy everything, Advisor. Are you saying it is good to kill the good?"
Anwar replied as if stating an absolute truth, attempting to manipulate his opponent and sway his emotions, "Good and evil cannot be defined before the end of war. The victor is the one who shapes principles and morals as he pleases. I intend to be on the side of good in the end—and so will you, if you help me now."
Haman, having understood the veiled threat in his tone, responded, "Ah… so you promise that we will be the good side in the end?"
Anwar answered, again attempting to manipulate him, "Yes. We will win—if your soldiers are ready for victory."
A servant poured each of them a cup of tea as they spoke. He was a deaf man who worked constantly at his master's signal, serving tea or anything requested through gestures. This was necessary given the importance of the guests who frequented the fortress and the sensitive conversations held in the commander's chamber.
Nothing escaped Anwar's notice; his fox-like eyes observed even the smallest movement and recorded it in the ledger of his mind—then he ignored it all, as if he had seen nothing.
After their long discussion, the servant rang a bell to signal that the meal was ready. Haman rose quickly, a broad smile on his face, and said, "At last, it's time to eat! I wouldn't want you to think we neglect our guests. Come—you'll enjoy our cuisine."
Anwar replied with feigned politeness, "Of course. The ruler's taste is unmatched."
The dining table was enormous, filled with dishes of every shape and color, along with the finest drinks. Anwar glanced at the table, quickly pulled a chair opposite the lord, and attacked a plate of steamed crab. He ate as if he were alone in the room, finishing one dish and moving swiftly to the next, his speed striking enough to draw attention. The servants watched him, laughing quietly among themselves, but he paid no attention to anything around him in that moment.
The lord was pleased by his appetite and assumed he had won his favor, recalling the saying: *"The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach."* Anwar's stomach had indeed been very hungry, and he seemed content.
Suddenly, the lord exclaimed, "Wait! Where is the royal agent?"
A maid answered cheerfully, "She's asleep in the guest chamber. Shall I call her, my lord?"
Anwar replied while eating, "No, no need. She's in a bad mood when woken suddenly, and she's ill—she needs rest."
The lord nodded, though he appeared suspicious. Still, for reasons of his own, he accepted the explanation and said hesitantly, "Very well… if you say so."
After eating his fill, drinking tea, and sampling various sweets, Anwar stepped out into the garden, taking in its enchanting beauty. There, he met the gardener—a woman in her thirties, with blonde hair, green eyes, and a small, full figure. She wore a sun hat and looked like a blossoming flower, her fresh face adorned with a captivating smile.
She was delighted to receive a new visitor; no one in the fortress paid attention to her or her flowers. She began telling him about the flowers and their varieties, recounting the story of each one—where it came from, how it was cultivated, what it liked, and what it disliked. She took pride in her flowers and cared for them as if they were her daughters.
"Look," she said proudly, "this is Dolly, this is Molly, and this is Tori—they're all sisters. Their mother died long ago. She was a beautiful orchid—the most unique and fragrant flower of her time…"
Anwar interrupted her before she could continue, "Who taught you gardening?"
"My grandfather," she replied. "My father was a gardener, and so was my grandfather. I inherited this profession and have cared for flowers all my life, following in their footsteps."
Anwar said with what seemed like genuine enthusiasm, "A woman like you, with such a big heart, deserves a greater position than that of a mere gardener. I see in you the potential to care for people just as you care for flowers—to become the commander of this fortress."
She replied hesitantly, "But I don't have enough knowledge, and everyone here looks down on me. I don't deserve such a position."
Anwar continued, encouraging her, "None of us truly deserves our position—but that is what you must do."
She surrendered to his words, "Alright… I don't know what I should do."
Anwar leaned in and whispered something into her ear, like a serpent deceiving its prey.