Peasant's clothes. She was wearing peasant's clothes. That was all Ram could think as Sita stepped out of the luxurious bathroom and back into their large chambers. Peasant's clothes, thin, easily worn out, rough, and orange. Somehow, she still looked beautiful all the same in them, and Ram wiped away a tear. She would look like the loveliest maiden that ever lived in absolutely anything, but that didn't mean that she should not wear jewels and silks.

Ram looked down at himself. He too was wearing peasant clothes, but didn't mind it much. Thank goodness. It would be a little sad if he was stuck wearing an itchy, scratchy potato sack for fourteen years. Not that he would complain, beggars couldn't be choosers, and he was not a beggar either. It was, truly, his honor to fulfill his father's promise, but as he looked up at Sita's face again, he could feel guilt surging up his spine. It was not Sita's.

"What are you thinking, Raghav, as you wipe away those tears?" wondered Sita as she took off the last of her golden earring, placing them on her nightstand. "Are you crying because you leave behind this palace where you have grown up in, and all of its luxuries? Or the lovely views that you are granted from these windows? Or perhaps that crown that you now lack? Tell me, and I will make sure that it is present when we go to Chitrakoot."

She was speaking so serenely, so calmly, it was as if they were merely moving for a while and he would be homesick. It was not the luxury, nor the home, nor the views, not even his crown, which he had most sadly put away. It was none of that. "You. It is you." Ram whispered. "You look lovely in that clothing, but so bare! I-it-you! You should have gold and silver and jewels and..." he trailed off helplessly.

"But what is gold and silver and jewels if you are not there to put them on me?" asked SIta, tilting her head. "What is anything if you are not there to share it with? Raghav, you are my husband, my dearest love. You may not be able to get me jewels, but the times we spend together are worth much more than jewels! If you were exiled, and forced me to stay back, I would walk around in the same clothing as I wear right now. But good fortunes are looking upon me! Not only can I wear my favorite color, but I can spend fourteen years peacefully with you." Sita smiled, placing the last of her anklets away.

"I would have felt incomplete in that forest, without you." Ram admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Even if the entire kingdom followed me into Chitrakoot, my loneliness would be terrible. Even if the entire world followed me, if you weren't part of it, then their sacrifice would be in vain. All I need is you, in that forest, with me." Sita beamed at him and stepped forward, folding her hands together respectfully.

"Well, then, let us go! Let us take our blessings, and let us go write a new chapter in the book of our intertwined lives." Ram smiled back at her, and they stepped out of the room the last time, in a long, long time. Neither of them looked back, to dart their eyes around the silk bed sheets, or the jewelry, or the marble tiled floors.

Step for step, Sita followed Ram. Ram's eyes drank in the sight of the hallways. The paintings, which all seemed to regard the couple sadly. The vibrant colored flowers which sat on the vases which lined the tables on the hallways withered when they saw the back of Sita. Ram and Sita's footprints somehow pressed into the marble, as if it wanted to remember her and Ram until they returned. The rooms were empty. No one would work when the light of their lives left the palace.

Ram took a deep breath. It was surreal, the fact that he would be leaving the place where he grew up. Ever since he first could walk, all he could dream of was a life that was centered in the palace. He would grow up, marry, become king, and watch his sons, and possibly daughters, grow up in the same palace as him, and then he would die. All in the castle of Ayodhya. It was as if this shining palace was the sun, and he was a planet circling it dutifully.

Every footstep upon the normally warm marble floors, now suddenly cold, felt lasting. Time itself slowed, everything stalled. And yet, something remained the same. Once the couple reached the throne room, the attendants still loyally stood at the heavy doors. Tears trailed down the mens' cheeks, but they still stood straight, and stood at attention, hands trembling when they saw their Yuvraj and his wife in commoner's clothes.

The doors were thrown open with a bang, and inhaling a deep, cold breath, Ram put his right foot inside. Then his left. Then he was fully in the room. The throne room was always so large. The court was wide, the walls never constricted him. But suddenly, it felt crowded. Servantmaids, dasis, servants, aids, and courtiers alike lined the cramped wills, but the center was still open as always.

Ram's eyes lingered on the king's throne, so lavishly decorated before. He could remember, blue silk and green velvets and red satin and luxurious, soft cottons thrown upon the grand peacock throne, embedded with precious jewels and gold. Now it was simply, bare, cold, unwelcoming, as if it didn't want anyone else to sit upon it. If the throne had an emotion, it would be quietly seething.

There had been bright little dias lighting the hallway floors. There had been flower garlands on the walls, petals scattering the floor. There had been colorful tapestries everywhere. Now there was just barren gold. Even the gold, which Dasharath so loved, did not sparkle. It did not shimmer, did not cat the light as its diamond cut normally did. The windows were wide open, but no light streamed in. The sky was grey, but not heavy. It was like a blanket of sorrow, sorrow that would not unleash tears nor tempests.

Ram turned around, and reached his hand out. A hand that Sita grasped, and he pulled her forward so that she stood next to him. She turned to meet his eyes, and just that one glance healed the fiery breath that he had sharply taken in, the jagged dagger that was digging into his gut, the bitter liquid he felt that he had just swallowed, the tears that he was withholding from everyone's view. The tears that swam in his eyes.

Standing in front of him were his three mothers; Kaushalya, Kaikeyi, and Sumitra. On a large, plush chair was a devastated Dasharath. Dutifully next to him was Sumant, head bowed, mustache curved down. Right at Kaikeyi's right hand was Manthara, scowling at everything and everyone, but for once, she received more bitter looks right back at her. And next to Sumitra, hands folded, was a somber Urmila.

Lakshman had run in, but upon her face, his eyes had widened, and he had darted out again. Dasharath finally looked up from his withered hands. "Ram.....RAM! N-no, y-you can't leave m-m-me. I will banish Kaikeyi and her wretched nursemaid, forget my honor and name! Stay! You cannot let this ailing king go without his son by his side! Please, Ram stay! Stay! Stay!" he cried, and Kaushalya clenched her eyes shut tightly, her body shuddering with silenced sobs.

Ram shook his head, walking forward and taking his father's hands, just as Lakshman ran right back in, seemingly holding something in his hand. "Well, if you are leaving, Ram, take my subjects! Take my gold! Take my chariots! Take my horses, my cows, my land, my fields, my jewels and my money! Take all of my courtiers, who have pledged a lifetime's service to me! They will loyally do as I say!" Dasharath cried desperately.

Kaikeyi's eyes widened in alarm. She shook her head. "So that's your plan, is it? You plan to leave my Bharat a kingdom deprived of all gold, silver, and jewels! You leave him an Ayodhya that has nothing left! A barren, bare, empty Ayodhya, that is what you want to leave my son! A king with nothing to rule? I will not allow that to happen! NO! That will not be happening!" she screeched.

Dasharath turned towards her. "You wretched, wretched witch. If Bharat accepts my son's kingdom and my son's riches and my son's wealth and my son's title, then it is my last wish that he cannot perform my final rites!" he spat. "Seize the gold that she has, treasurer. I will not leave Bharat with an empty kingdom, if that is what Ram wishes, but I will leave his mother with nothing but servants and silks to her name!" he barked.

Ram shook his head, and looked back at his brother and his wife, both of whom stared right back at him expectantly. "Papa, Papa," he spoke shakily, his hands trembling as he put his bow aside and his hands out. Dasharath looked towards him. "It is time for me to leave, Papa, I shall take all of your blessings now." Ram bit his lip and looked down, and touched his father's feet as Dahsarath put his hands on his son's head without any words left to say.

Ram did the same with Kaushalya, who immediately lifted him up and kissed his forehead. "My son! I saw you grow up, I saw your first steps and your first words, and I knew you would bring honor to our name! You are so dedicated to your family that you go into exile that we are not looked down upon! You are the pride of my life! Remember, when you run into trouble, that you have a kingdom behind you, and a mother who will do anything for you. Remember, son, and make us proud, whatever you do!" Ram nodded.

He then touched Kaikeyi's feet, but she just looked away bitterly. Lastly, he did the same to Sumitra, who picked him up and, with a sniffle, hugged him tightly. "My son, my son, my son! No matter what happens, what anyone says or does, remember that you are divine." Sumitra looked into his eyes. The eyes of Lord Vishnu, she knew. "Remember that you have commanded armies and slain demons, and that no challenge is too big for you. A-and that we are all praying for you, back here. And remember, feel no guilt for our sorrow. You are raising our heads higher that we could ever afford to do so. J-just stay safe, out there, would you?" Ram nodded, and Sumitra blessed him, appeased.

Then, he looked to Urmila, who looked right back at him. "I'm sorry." That was all he could say. That was all he could muster up the courage to utter when he looked upon the wife of his brother. The wife whom he was depriving of a husband.

"I know." Urmila responded softly. That was all they could say to each other, and Ram stepped back, letting Sita take her blessings.

Sita first went up to Dasharath and touched his feet lightly, putting her hands to her head and looking up. "Bharat would not wear women's jewels, would he?" asked Dasharath bitterly. When he received no response to the contrary, he continued. "Good. I will not see the daughter of my good friend, pious and loyal, suffering with my son, without a jewel to her name. Give Sita a bagful of jewelry! SUMANT!" In a flash, Sumant was there, and with shaking hands, put a little bag of jewelry, anklets, earrings, and maang tikkas, into Sita's hands. "Putri, remember, that you are the rightful queen of Ayodhya. I will not have you looking like anything else."

Sita bit her lip, and nodded, and next took Kaushalya's blessings. "May every single god be with you, dear." Kaushalya said. "May all the heavenly spirits look after you. I have never seen a wife so loyal and so good as you. My son is lucky to have you as a wife. I am lucky to have you as a daughter. A sacrifice like this, hold your head high and declare to everyone that you are the Maharani of Kosala, out for a little while. But you will be back, and I shall see you then." Sita nodded and next went to Kaikeyi, who did not respond.

When she finally reached Sumitra, the queen would not let her touch her feet. "NO! You will not. I am below you. All wives are below you on this Earth. Your sacrifice is unheard of. The love that ties you is eternal. But remember, putri," and Sumitra's eyes met Sita's. "The law of the jungle is harsh. Stay in the safety of your husband and brother-in-law. Do not step out. People are cruel there. Demons run free. You are a goddess born on Earth. God will look after thou." Sita nodded, and lastly, dropped her jewelry and ran to Urmila.

"DIDI!" cried Urmila, as she cried into her sister's hair. "Stay safe. Do not regret anything you did. I know you feel guilty, guilty of everything, but don't! Surely god has wished it to be this way, and neither of us can argue with him, right? We are sisters, by birth mother or not. Stay safe, please stay safe. Do not be plagued by things you could not control, whether you wished to or not. Go." Sita nodded, picked up her jewelry, and stood back.

Now the couple both looked at Lakshman, whose dark eyes darted to Ram before he too, stepped forward. First, he touched the feet of his father, not meeting his eyes. Dasharath looked at his third-born son. Just one glance. That one glance conveyed so much. It conveyed pain, sorrow, regret, and guilt. And with a shaking hand, he put it on his son's head, murmuring something that no one could hear.

Lakshman's eyes did not widen, he just nodded dutifully and next went to Kaushalya. "I'm sorry," he stated simply. "I am sorry that I could not do as you said, as you wanted." His eyes darted to Kaikeyi and back to Kaushalya. "Maa-I'm sorry." Kaushalya shook her head, waving him off, and instead, grabbing him closer, and kissing his temple.

"Don't be sorry. I truly did not want you to either. I was so overcome by grief and sorrow that my mind could not reason between right and wrong. Remember, none of this is your fault. Nothing that happens is your fault, remember that." Lakshman nodded half-heartedly. "Remember that," Kaushlaya repeated meaningless words to Lakshman's ears, but ones she had a consciousness to utter.

Next, he moved to Kaikeyi. He was about to pass her over, but he heard a clearing of throat behind him, and into Ram's disapproving eyes. With a sigh, as if it was very hard for him, Lakshman leaned down and touched Kaikeyi's feet for barely a second, before clenching his jaw. "The Ram you banished stopped me from committing murder." he stated straighforwardly, and no one had to ask whose murder it would have been. And even though sorrow plagued him like an illness, Dasharath smiled sadly at his son's violent innocence. What a great army general he would have made.

And then Lakshman stared into the eyes of his birth mother. No one else could see the sliver of fear that remained in his eyes but Sumitra. "I'll live, right Maa?" he asked hopefully. Sumitra burst into tears as Lakshman fell to her feet, hiding her face in her hands. A question he asked whenever he left.

Flashback

"It's just another hunting trip, but one we have never gone through!" cried Shatrughan excitedly, jumping up and down. "Papa says it is in the darkest of jungles and the creepiest of forests, and barely anyone has come out alive, and the ones that have, all of them lost their sanity! Did you know that, Bharat?" Bharat squealed and ran into Kaikeyi's open arms, and she smiled at him, shaking her head at his ridiculous childishness. Shatrughan burst into laughter, and Bharat walked up to him and smacked the back of his head.

"Stop trying to scare us, Shatrughan" grumbled Lakshman. "We all heard Papa's horror stories, none of us need your stupid ones." he leaned down and put his hunting dagger in his waistband as Sumitra grabbed the last of his supplies. "Now come on, start packing, or we'll be late and Papa will leave without us. You know how impatient he is to hunt wild boar."

Shaturghan frowned, and walked up to him, eyes narrowed maliciously. Ram's eyes followed him, making sure he did not start an argument as the twins were prone to doing. "Ah really. Even your paranoia won't help you here. Papa says that elephants are taller than our own, and you know the gigantic monsters that we breed are practically unmatched. You are going...to die!" He jumped up, raising his arms above his head, and Lakshman flinched involuntarily. "See? I got you! You really are scared!" cried Shatrughan triumphantly.

But Lakshman was not listening to him. Instead, he turned towards his mother hopefully, his eyebrows raised in imploring. "I will live, right Maa?" Shatrughan's head also turned towards Sumitra, who twisted his ear in reprimand.

Then she took her son's head in her hands, and on her tippy toes (for she was the shortest of all the queens, and Lakshman was the tallest of all the princes), she kissed his temple. "My yodha son can never die." And she had said that whenever he left to go anywhere without variation.

Present

Sumitra did not know what to say this time as her son waited for an answer. She trembled for a second, before wiping away the tears that flowed out of her eyes like a flood. "Warriors, like you Lakshman, never die. They always remain immortal in the hearts of their mothers, wives, and sisters." She pulled her son up as everyone watched.

"You follow your brother, Lakshman. You follow your sister, Lakshman. I could not wish for anything else for my son but his happiness while he ensures others'. But they are not just your brother and your sister anymore, you understand?" Lakshman blinked as she hugged him. "I am not your mother anymore, and Dasharath is not your father. Ram is your father, and Sita is your mother. Treat them as you would have us." Lakshman nodded. "Spend your sleepless nights ensuring that they stay safe, okay?"

Lakshman nodded again, and Sumitra sniffled as she patted his shoulder, drawing a smile to both of their faces. She noticed, with surprise, that not a single tear had trailed out of her son's eyes. "Go on, go on." She burst into laughter as his eyes darted in fright towards his wife as if he never wanted to speak to her. "Some warrior you are, can't even face your wife." And despite the situation, a smile was brought to everyone's faces at her ridiculous statement.

Finally, the third prince and the third princess stood in front of each other, fair faces ashed and pale. His hand trembling, Lakshman took something out of the pack he had attached to his waistband. The tiniest wooden carving of Urmila, which he placed in her hands. "Remember, right after bhaiyya and bhabhi were betrothed, that you threatened me with eternal mutilation if I didn't make one of you?" he asked softly.

Urmila looked up at him, but all his eyes could stare at were his hands. "I promised to myself, that day, that this one would be the worst I ever made, that I would make you the ugliest carving and present it to you." He swallowed, and a small smile graced his face. "You know how well I keep grudges." Urmila couldn't help herself, and made a sound that no one could tell if it was a small whimper, or something akin to a giggle. "I-I tried again and again and again. Over and over. I could not."

His eyes finally met hers. Pleading. Ashamed. Guilty. "I could not, once we were betrothed, then we married, then we returned to Ayodhya, and throughout all of that, I kept on trying. I could not make it the ugliest statue I ever made. Look through my things. There will be a hundred small carvings of you that I tried to uglify. None of them met my goal. I could not make you look anything other than what you were. Beautiful."

Urmila wrapped her arms around his neck, and Lakshman lifted her into the air. Not a single tear escaped either of their eyes. So many things were conveyed through that one gesture. Sorrow. Guilt. Anger. Acceptance. She hopped off, and poked his arm. "Stay safe, Sleeper, Grumpyhead, Rakshas." Lakshman rolled his eyes, and stepped back.

"You too, Chubby Face. Peace." Urmila nodded, and Lakshman stood back with his brother and bhabhi, his face unreadable. Everyone blinked once, before Ram cleared his throat, and began to walk. He walked, and he walked, and he walked. Finally, he stepped out into the sunlight bathed courtyard, taking in the scene one final time. So many things had happened in this courtyard. Plush and rickety chairs were strewn across the large area, and the three separated from their family one last time.

Dasharath, Sumitra, Kaikeyi, Kaushalya, and the pleasant Urmila went sluggishly and almost regretfully to stand on the balcony above the courtyard, where they could witness everything with a finality, foreboding and sorrow, which they had never known before. Ram, Sita, and Lakshman walked out of the gates, and into the crowd.

Hundreds, perhaps even thousand of people had arrived from all corners of the large state of Kosala to bid their Yuvraj and his wife goodbye. Most cried, tears falling from their eyes steadily. Their faces crumpled as they looked upon their prince, whom they had seen grow up, and his lovely wife, whom they had readily welcomed into their province. This made up the majority. Others stood with their heads high, accepting, but unwilling to show their emotions. Some had eyes filled with anger, raging infernos and battles previously fought.

The three sat in their chariot, Ram in the middle, and Lakshman and Sita on either side delicately. "Don't leave us, Ram!" some cried, reaching their hands out. Ram swallowed hard, and looked straight ahead as Sumant began to drive, raising his whip reluctantly. And slowly, the carriage began to slowly move. The crowd let out a loud cry of anger and despondent emotion, and followed the chariot.

"Drive slowly, Sumant," one growled. "Let us keep our beloved prince and princess in this kingdom as long as we can, let us cause Kaikeyi's eyes further pain." Sumant complied, and though Ram tried to say otherwise, it seemed that the horses themselves refused to move any faster. Their hooves were only extended once every minute, and their long heads were bowed in depression.

Ram leaned back, enough to catch Sita biting back a sob into her hand. He reached over and grasped her hand, rubbing it slowly. "Hey, it's alright. We'll be back. We'll come back to an Ayodhya prospering under Bharat. You'll see your father, and mother, brothers, and sisters again. Don't be sad, Sita. We'll make the forest our home." Sita shook her head as if not believing it, and leaned into her husband's arm.

Lakshman blinked. Even from many, many, metres away, he could feel Urmila's eyes boring into the back of his head. He wanted to shut his eyes tightly, and turn around, look right back. But he knew that if he looked back now, he would jump off of the chariot and never be able to leave. Look forward, grasp the bow tightly, prepare yourself for the hardships of the jungle. Abandon all thoughts of silk beds and safety and marble tiled floors. Prepare for pine mats and bloodthirsty demons and thorn laden dirt paths.

People trailed their hands over the side as Ram tried in vain to console them. No use. The anger continued to simmer over the burner and the flood of salty tears would not be stopped. The grand chariot continued to rumble along like a penguin, with a crying Sita and a consoling Ram still in it, and soon enough, even the slow travelling horses seemed to finally give up and start moving a little faster, for the chariot seemed to speed up as all things that were slipping out of grasp did.

Dasharath's eyes watched hungrily, right up till the last speck of dust had risen from the Earth, and the chariot disappeared into nothingness. He reached his arms out and murmured as he saw the last bit of his son go before his eyes. "Ram...Ram...my son....he is gone!" His mouth opened and closed without meaning. He felt his life had no purpose anymore. "Gone...gone...gone! My son! He's gone!"

Kaushalya bit her lip, and Sumitra wiped away the last of her tears, clearing her throat. "Come, Dasharath, you need some rest," she whispered softly, putting one hand under one arm, Kaushalya doing the same, slowly, to the other. In one movement, the king was lifted up by his two queens, and Kaikeyi tried to take over for Sumitra sneakily.

Dasharath was having none of it. He turned around and his eyes flashed at her with the last bit of true anger that he would muster in his life. "No! You have no right to touch me, to help me! You robbed me selfishly of my son for your own reasons! Kaushalya and Sumitra are my true queens! In my heart, I am only married to them!" he snarled.

All Urmila could do was stare sadly into the distant forest. There, her sister, brother, and husband would trek persistently for the next fourteen years. There, in that lush green forest, which she could observe hopefully without the need of a viewing scope. And she would be here, in this golden palace, hidden from their view by the thick branches of the trees. So close, so close, they were. But so very, very far.

A/N-Obviously, this chapter was an important one, a very, very important one, and I definitely did not do it justice. However, a lot of the moments I had imagined in my brain since the beginning of this story were finally put into action here. This chapter was not necessarily *fun*, per say, but it was most interesting and somewhat exciting to write, neither in a good way.

Okay, okay, this is a transitional chapter, next we'll be moving into the Pre-Ravan Vanvass Era, and this will probably be consisting of shorter chapters, but I think in greater quantities.

PROMPT CALLOUT-Anything for this era? Aaaaanything? Please.