A/N: I'm really later than I wanted to be because I've been agonizing over ways to prevent Deepti's character from falling into the abyss of Mary Sue-hood. I took the Mary Sue test and got 24, which, apparently, is not a Mary Sue but still calls for caution. :) I will try. I'm not in habit of making my own original characters Mary Sues (at least, not since high school :) ) I also wanted to familiarize myself a bit better with Indian culture. I'm fortunate to have an Indian co-worker who loves to share info on traditions and culture. I've also been watching a lot of Bollywood. It seems a lot of the heroines are outspoken (my co-worder definitely is), definitely equipped with a mind of their own. I highly recommend "Jab We Met", "Kismet Konnection", and "Pasand Apni Apni."

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The Way Things Are Done

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Once Captain Haddock settled himself in his room he lit his pipe and left in search of his friends. He first stopped by Tintin's room and rapped on the door-frame.

"Hey, lad. Need any help unloading yer ditty bag?"

"I was just finishing up, actually. Thanks, though."

Tintin unlatched a medium sized suitcase to reveal a typewriter. With a grunt he lifted the heavy machine onto a nearby mahogany secretary. "This is the room I stayed in last time I was here. The Maharaja was kind enough to provide me with this excellent desk during my stay." Tintin began to busy himself with threading the ink ribbons. "I'm glad to see it is still here. Le Xxe Siécle cabled me saying they wanted coverage of the Prince's birthday celebration and on the general state of Gaipajama."

Haddock rocked on his heels for a moment, then a sly grin slid on his face.

"So . . . the Maharaja's niece . . ."

Tintin did not look up from the typewriter. "What about her?"

"Kinda cute, eh?"

"Captain, go into my bag and get me my typewriter lubricant. Two of the hammers seemed to have rusted together while we were at sea."

Haddock shook his head, tsked, but still did as the boy reporter asked. "Sometimes I wonder about you, kid."

Tintin finally looked up. "What?"

"Never mind."

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Tintin wandered the halls, reacquainting himself with the palace complex. Snowy trotted at his side, also reacquainting himself.

"Come along, Snowy. Do you really have to smell that vase?"

Suddenly, voices drifted to him from around the corner. Out of habit, Tintin flattened himself against the wall and peered around the edge.

It was the Maharaja and Lady Deepti and they appeared to be in a heated discussion. Tintin's knowledge of the Telegu dialect, was rudimentary at best. His Hindi was passable. Needless to say, apart from common words such as "please" and "no", Tintin could not make out the subject of their disagreement.

The sound of feet pattering quickly came in his direction. "Aandi, Deepti . . ." Tintin heard the Maharaja say with a sigh. Tintin straightened and pretended to be casually walking around the corner. Deepti almost barreled into him.

She fought to regain her footing as her momentum caught up with her. Tintin grasped the hand she reflexively put out. Her brown eyes registered surprise then they narrowed.

"Were you listening?" She whispered, vague amusement crossing her face.

"Ah! Tintin!" The Maharaja had caught up with her. At the sight of Tintin the Maharaja's furrowed brow smoothed. "How are you enjoying your second visit so far? I hope your friends are comfortable and have everything they need."

Tintin stole a glance at Deepti. She smiled politely at him.

What were they talking about? "I'm enjoying myself very much—and yes, they are settling in just fine."

"I am pleased to hear that."

"You know, your highness, I would be very interested to hear the history of how Gaipajama came to be and your family's rise to power."

"Ah, yes. I remember when you were here last I began to tell you but we were interrupted and I never had a chance to finish. Well, I will be happy to regale you at the feast."

"Tintin, you do not know what you ask." Deepti had moved to her uncle's side and affectionately nudged him with her shoulder. "You will be at our table a day and a night. Uncle might as well recite the Mahabharata for as long as the telling will take him."

The Maharajah gave Tintin a long-suffering look. "And this is the thanks I get for keeping her on behalf of her parents."

"For which I am truly grateful." Deepti said, placing a peck on her uncle's cheek. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I must get ready for dinner."

Deepti spared Tintin a quick glance as she brushed past. Tintin's eyes followed her retreating figure. He frowned. She said she needed to speak to me . . . so, when?

The Maharajah cleared his throat, snapping Tintin's attention back to him. The Maharaja gave him a disapproving look.

"Tintin, I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude. If I could I would give you half my kingdom in thanks. But, I cannot give you my niece."

Tintin blushed hotly. "N-n-no! I-I-I-wasn't admiring her, I- um . . ."

The Maharajah's frowned deepened. "Why not? What's wrong with her?"

"I- what?" Tintin's blush grew brighter and he had begun to sweat.

Tintin had the highest respect for women, instilled in him from a tender age by the Sisters of Saint Élisabeth's Orphanage. And yet, as a general rule, he avoided prolonged contact with them (the Sisters excepted), especially the young ones, for reasons such as this. Things inevitably become awkward. Also, he was not exactly the safest person to be around. He was always getting shot at, knocked down, and chased after.

"She is already spoken for."

"I—She is?"

"The Raja Vaijayi, who is visiting us, has put forth his suit and she will accept him. I know what you would say. The concept of arranged marriages is strange to you. But, here we know the feelings of infatuation is temporary, but respect and real love, cultivated by the years, lasts. She is my ward, sent to me by her parents to look after her welfare. The Raja Vaijayi, although a small hills raja, has much land, all of which is rich in agriculture. On the superficial side, he is young and handsome. What more could a girl want?"

"Where are Deepti's parents?"

"Last I heard from my sister they were in Jammu. I've never been truly clear on what they do there or why they sent her away. Deepti has not been forward with that information, either."

Tintin put a hand on his hip and stroked his chin. "Hmmm . . ."

The mystery keeps building . . . I won't be able to stay away from her at this rate; I've got to know what's going on!

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A/N:

Mahabharata: An famous Indian epic that is 1.8 million words long.