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There were rumours and whispers and gossip. Untruths and half truths and carefully guarded murmurs. Vasiliadon was steeped in them, astir with not only talk of the Egyptian contingent who even now were still upon their shores, but with yet more scandal surrounding the disgraced King. He had fled, some said, in the dark of the night. Or it was said that he’d killed himself, driven mad by the guilt of his crimes. He was in a crazed stupor and would speak to no one.
All of these things and more, Achilleas had heard as he walked through the Agora, managed to pick up until people realised he was there, who he was and suddenly fell silent in his presence. It was hardly reassuring. And the Lord Mikaelidas did not know who to turn to for truth. The past few days had been rather eye opening, in more ways than one. Still, he walked the line of his father’s displeasure, so there was nothing to be learnt from him. But Achilleas had heard enough to make him think there was some grain of truth somewhere, some fire that filled the heads of the Taengean people with so much smoke. He had considered carefully who he could trust to be honest, who might be in a position to know fact from fiction, and it was after such deliberation that he had headed toward the manor of his cousins. His Mother’s family.
It could be said that Achilleas was not as close with the Dimitrou House as if he might have been, had he not been so much under his father’s sway. But the Prince and the Lord Gavriill did not have the most amiable of relationships, and that distance had managed to drift down to the younger generation too. It was not the most natural of inclinations then, for Achilleas to turn to the quietly spoken man with his questions, but if nothing else, the elder of Irakles’ sons could appreciate the straightforward simplicity of the Dimitrou Head of House. And Gavriill had been the one to speak up in Stephanos’ defence in the senate, that had not escaped his cousin’s notice either.
Achilleas was hoping that he was making the right decision as he reined Amyntas to a halt in the stable yard, dismounting and tossing the reins to a stable lad who appeared from the low slung stone building, casually tossing out a “Careful, he’s not keen on strangers” as he crossed towards the main house with a determined stride.
He was calling unannounced, but thought it might be for the better, he did not want this to be a big deal. He just wanted some answers, and he wanted to know where the man stood in relation to their disgraced King. His conversation with Xene had highlighted that they needed to understand the extent to which the lies about Stephanos had permeated. And Achilleas was still certain they were lies. They had to be. So when the door swung open and the liveried servant looked expectantly at him, Achilleas gave a polite nod, his expression neutral. “Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas to see the Lord Dimitrou if you please”.
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There were rumours and whispers and gossip. Untruths and half truths and carefully guarded murmurs. Vasiliadon was steeped in them, astir with not only talk of the Egyptian contingent who even now were still upon their shores, but with yet more scandal surrounding the disgraced King. He had fled, some said, in the dark of the night. Or it was said that he’d killed himself, driven mad by the guilt of his crimes. He was in a crazed stupor and would speak to no one.
All of these things and more, Achilleas had heard as he walked through the Agora, managed to pick up until people realised he was there, who he was and suddenly fell silent in his presence. It was hardly reassuring. And the Lord Mikaelidas did not know who to turn to for truth. The past few days had been rather eye opening, in more ways than one. Still, he walked the line of his father’s displeasure, so there was nothing to be learnt from him. But Achilleas had heard enough to make him think there was some grain of truth somewhere, some fire that filled the heads of the Taengean people with so much smoke. He had considered carefully who he could trust to be honest, who might be in a position to know fact from fiction, and it was after such deliberation that he had headed toward the manor of his cousins. His Mother’s family.
It could be said that Achilleas was not as close with the Dimitrou House as if he might have been, had he not been so much under his father’s sway. But the Prince and the Lord Gavriill did not have the most amiable of relationships, and that distance had managed to drift down to the younger generation too. It was not the most natural of inclinations then, for Achilleas to turn to the quietly spoken man with his questions, but if nothing else, the elder of Irakles’ sons could appreciate the straightforward simplicity of the Dimitrou Head of House. And Gavriill had been the one to speak up in Stephanos’ defence in the senate, that had not escaped his cousin’s notice either.
Achilleas was hoping that he was making the right decision as he reined Amyntas to a halt in the stable yard, dismounting and tossing the reins to a stable lad who appeared from the low slung stone building, casually tossing out a “Careful, he’s not keen on strangers” as he crossed towards the main house with a determined stride.
He was calling unannounced, but thought it might be for the better, he did not want this to be a big deal. He just wanted some answers, and he wanted to know where the man stood in relation to their disgraced King. His conversation with Xene had highlighted that they needed to understand the extent to which the lies about Stephanos had permeated. And Achilleas was still certain they were lies. They had to be. So when the door swung open and the liveried servant looked expectantly at him, Achilleas gave a polite nod, his expression neutral. “Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas to see the Lord Dimitrou if you please”.
There were rumours and whispers and gossip. Untruths and half truths and carefully guarded murmurs. Vasiliadon was steeped in them, astir with not only talk of the Egyptian contingent who even now were still upon their shores, but with yet more scandal surrounding the disgraced King. He had fled, some said, in the dark of the night. Or it was said that he’d killed himself, driven mad by the guilt of his crimes. He was in a crazed stupor and would speak to no one.
All of these things and more, Achilleas had heard as he walked through the Agora, managed to pick up until people realised he was there, who he was and suddenly fell silent in his presence. It was hardly reassuring. And the Lord Mikaelidas did not know who to turn to for truth. The past few days had been rather eye opening, in more ways than one. Still, he walked the line of his father’s displeasure, so there was nothing to be learnt from him. But Achilleas had heard enough to make him think there was some grain of truth somewhere, some fire that filled the heads of the Taengean people with so much smoke. He had considered carefully who he could trust to be honest, who might be in a position to know fact from fiction, and it was after such deliberation that he had headed toward the manor of his cousins. His Mother’s family.
It could be said that Achilleas was not as close with the Dimitrou House as if he might have been, had he not been so much under his father’s sway. But the Prince and the Lord Gavriill did not have the most amiable of relationships, and that distance had managed to drift down to the younger generation too. It was not the most natural of inclinations then, for Achilleas to turn to the quietly spoken man with his questions, but if nothing else, the elder of Irakles’ sons could appreciate the straightforward simplicity of the Dimitrou Head of House. And Gavriill had been the one to speak up in Stephanos’ defence in the senate, that had not escaped his cousin’s notice either.
Achilleas was hoping that he was making the right decision as he reined Amyntas to a halt in the stable yard, dismounting and tossing the reins to a stable lad who appeared from the low slung stone building, casually tossing out a “Careful, he’s not keen on strangers” as he crossed towards the main house with a determined stride.
He was calling unannounced, but thought it might be for the better, he did not want this to be a big deal. He just wanted some answers, and he wanted to know where the man stood in relation to their disgraced King. His conversation with Xene had highlighted that they needed to understand the extent to which the lies about Stephanos had permeated. And Achilleas was still certain they were lies. They had to be. So when the door swung open and the liveried servant looked expectantly at him, Achilleas gave a polite nod, his expression neutral. “Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas to see the Lord Dimitrou if you please”.
Gavriil was not to be found in his office. Nor was he still abed at this hour. He’d already been out for a morning ride, racing his eldest daughter in the fields surrounding Vasiliadon before they both came back to the house and parted ways for the morning. The servant leading Achilleas through the home took him through rooms that were still outfitted with furniture that hadn’t quite been in style for some time. The fittings and furnishings of this manor hadn’t been changed since his grandfather’s time and would soon come back into fashion as antique. The Dimitrou clan were nothing if not consistent. Their flagrant disregard for society’s whims showed not only in the decor but also in their insistence on being about as active as any Greek could be.
The head of the house only sat when necessary and, unlike Irakles, was not showing the signs of his age. He did not move slower than he used to, save for in the mornings when he’d just gotten out of bed, nor did he curtail any of his interests in favor of taking up the pursuits of old men. Archery and hunting were still his passions and would continue to be until the day he died. Politics took a natural backseat, until he was compelled to pay attention to them. He only did what was necessary and no more. The games of court did not appeal to him in any way.
This morning, rather than allowing himself to be inconveniently troubled by the happenings in the capital as of late, he stood in the back garden with his daughter, Alexa, the two of them shooting arrows at targets. Alexa’s cat was curled up asleep on a basket that had been set up for her, with a cushion on the basket’s top, though this was overshadowed by the cat’s white fluff of fur. It was the cat who paid attention to Achilleas first, blinking its huge yellow eyes and staring at him in the disdainful way cats have.
”My lord,” the servant paused in the open doorway of the house and bowed before standing aside and gesturing to Achilleas. Gavriil lowered his bow and half turned to eye his steward. The interruption of his morning was unusual. The man’s sharp blue eyes landed on Achilleas, shadowed behind the servant. ”Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas wishes a word.”
“My lord,” Gavriil nodded his head at the younger man and the servant disappeared back into the house. “You’ve met my daughter, Alexa?” He honestly couldn’t remember if they had or not. Alexa didn’t lower her bow, as her father had. She took her shot. The arrow zoomed through the air, not quite making a bullseye on the target. It was a little off. The young girl turned and finally dipped into a curtsy.
Gavriil turned away from Achilleas to look at where Alexa’s arrow had landed. He said nothing about it and Alexa didn’t seem much bothered about the arrow’s proximity to the goal. She simply nocked another arrow and raised the bow again as though the men weren’t there. Her cat purred at her.
“This is a surprise,” Gavriil said without preamble. “Did your father send you?”
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Gavriil was not to be found in his office. Nor was he still abed at this hour. He’d already been out for a morning ride, racing his eldest daughter in the fields surrounding Vasiliadon before they both came back to the house and parted ways for the morning. The servant leading Achilleas through the home took him through rooms that were still outfitted with furniture that hadn’t quite been in style for some time. The fittings and furnishings of this manor hadn’t been changed since his grandfather’s time and would soon come back into fashion as antique. The Dimitrou clan were nothing if not consistent. Their flagrant disregard for society’s whims showed not only in the decor but also in their insistence on being about as active as any Greek could be.
The head of the house only sat when necessary and, unlike Irakles, was not showing the signs of his age. He did not move slower than he used to, save for in the mornings when he’d just gotten out of bed, nor did he curtail any of his interests in favor of taking up the pursuits of old men. Archery and hunting were still his passions and would continue to be until the day he died. Politics took a natural backseat, until he was compelled to pay attention to them. He only did what was necessary and no more. The games of court did not appeal to him in any way.
This morning, rather than allowing himself to be inconveniently troubled by the happenings in the capital as of late, he stood in the back garden with his daughter, Alexa, the two of them shooting arrows at targets. Alexa’s cat was curled up asleep on a basket that had been set up for her, with a cushion on the basket’s top, though this was overshadowed by the cat’s white fluff of fur. It was the cat who paid attention to Achilleas first, blinking its huge yellow eyes and staring at him in the disdainful way cats have.
”My lord,” the servant paused in the open doorway of the house and bowed before standing aside and gesturing to Achilleas. Gavriil lowered his bow and half turned to eye his steward. The interruption of his morning was unusual. The man’s sharp blue eyes landed on Achilleas, shadowed behind the servant. ”Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas wishes a word.”
“My lord,” Gavriil nodded his head at the younger man and the servant disappeared back into the house. “You’ve met my daughter, Alexa?” He honestly couldn’t remember if they had or not. Alexa didn’t lower her bow, as her father had. She took her shot. The arrow zoomed through the air, not quite making a bullseye on the target. It was a little off. The young girl turned and finally dipped into a curtsy.
Gavriil turned away from Achilleas to look at where Alexa’s arrow had landed. He said nothing about it and Alexa didn’t seem much bothered about the arrow’s proximity to the goal. She simply nocked another arrow and raised the bow again as though the men weren’t there. Her cat purred at her.
“This is a surprise,” Gavriil said without preamble. “Did your father send you?”
Gavriil was not to be found in his office. Nor was he still abed at this hour. He’d already been out for a morning ride, racing his eldest daughter in the fields surrounding Vasiliadon before they both came back to the house and parted ways for the morning. The servant leading Achilleas through the home took him through rooms that were still outfitted with furniture that hadn’t quite been in style for some time. The fittings and furnishings of this manor hadn’t been changed since his grandfather’s time and would soon come back into fashion as antique. The Dimitrou clan were nothing if not consistent. Their flagrant disregard for society’s whims showed not only in the decor but also in their insistence on being about as active as any Greek could be.
The head of the house only sat when necessary and, unlike Irakles, was not showing the signs of his age. He did not move slower than he used to, save for in the mornings when he’d just gotten out of bed, nor did he curtail any of his interests in favor of taking up the pursuits of old men. Archery and hunting were still his passions and would continue to be until the day he died. Politics took a natural backseat, until he was compelled to pay attention to them. He only did what was necessary and no more. The games of court did not appeal to him in any way.
This morning, rather than allowing himself to be inconveniently troubled by the happenings in the capital as of late, he stood in the back garden with his daughter, Alexa, the two of them shooting arrows at targets. Alexa’s cat was curled up asleep on a basket that had been set up for her, with a cushion on the basket’s top, though this was overshadowed by the cat’s white fluff of fur. It was the cat who paid attention to Achilleas first, blinking its huge yellow eyes and staring at him in the disdainful way cats have.
”My lord,” the servant paused in the open doorway of the house and bowed before standing aside and gesturing to Achilleas. Gavriil lowered his bow and half turned to eye his steward. The interruption of his morning was unusual. The man’s sharp blue eyes landed on Achilleas, shadowed behind the servant. ”Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas wishes a word.”
“My lord,” Gavriil nodded his head at the younger man and the servant disappeared back into the house. “You’ve met my daughter, Alexa?” He honestly couldn’t remember if they had or not. Alexa didn’t lower her bow, as her father had. She took her shot. The arrow zoomed through the air, not quite making a bullseye on the target. It was a little off. The young girl turned and finally dipped into a curtsy.
Gavriil turned away from Achilleas to look at where Alexa’s arrow had landed. He said nothing about it and Alexa didn’t seem much bothered about the arrow’s proximity to the goal. She simply nocked another arrow and raised the bow again as though the men weren’t there. Her cat purred at her.
“This is a surprise,” Gavriil said without preamble. “Did your father send you?”
The Lord Mikaelidas followed the servant through the halls of the Dimitrou manor. He cared not for its lack of grandeur, did not pay any heed to furniture. He did wonder where he was being led as the servant bypassed all the usual reception rooms and instead threw open a door to the back of the house, where hidden gardens swept down the boundary wall. Here, Achilleas was gifted finally with sight of the man he sought, and with his daughter too...which one was it though? As the servant announced him, the Lord stepped forward and offered the Dimitrou Head of House a bow.
“My Lord Gavriil” and then because the older man had considerately given his daughter’s name “My Lady Alexa. Please, forgive my interruption”
Not that the young girl seemed to actually consider his arrival an interruption, continuing her archery practice as if he were not there. Achilleas looked on with a mild degree of appreciation as the arrow sunk home. It was not his forte, archery had become Emilios’ sport more than his, but as a Commander of the Tangean armies, Achilleas knew enough to be able to see that she was not half bad. But then the Lord Gavriil was talking, and Achilleas flicked his eyes over to him sharply at the mention of his father. Setting his teeth, he tried not to read into the assumption that he was running around doing his father’s bidding, though he knew he had done little to disavow people of the notion. Not until recently at least. He gently corrected the presumption.
“No, my Lord. He does not know I am here. I hoped I might steal a moment of your time, if it is not too much of an ask”
And the pointed glance that Achilleas directed toward the lingering servant and Alexa should have been enough to suggest that whatever had led the Mikaelidas heir to seek him out was talk that required some discretion, away from prying ears. Not that Achilleas had any reason in particular to mistrust either Gavril’s young daughter or his staff, but he thought some of Stephanos’ paranoia had rubbed off on him, and he certainly did not need to be stirring the pot where his father was concerned by having it get back to him that he’d been asking questions where he didn't need to be.
Ironic, given that Achilleas would not need to if the man ever bothered to tell him anything. Indeed, had he not gone to his father time and time again in recent weeks to try and understand what was happening, to offer his help? Even Achilleas had limits, and he found himself resenting the continued rebukes from the man. It was sinking in that the approval he had chased and courted all these long years was simply wishful thinking. Either way, that had no bearing here and his gaze settled upon the Dimitrou Lord expectantly, hoping that the man would agree to speak with him. They were family, after all.
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The Lord Mikaelidas followed the servant through the halls of the Dimitrou manor. He cared not for its lack of grandeur, did not pay any heed to furniture. He did wonder where he was being led as the servant bypassed all the usual reception rooms and instead threw open a door to the back of the house, where hidden gardens swept down the boundary wall. Here, Achilleas was gifted finally with sight of the man he sought, and with his daughter too...which one was it though? As the servant announced him, the Lord stepped forward and offered the Dimitrou Head of House a bow.
“My Lord Gavriil” and then because the older man had considerately given his daughter’s name “My Lady Alexa. Please, forgive my interruption”
Not that the young girl seemed to actually consider his arrival an interruption, continuing her archery practice as if he were not there. Achilleas looked on with a mild degree of appreciation as the arrow sunk home. It was not his forte, archery had become Emilios’ sport more than his, but as a Commander of the Tangean armies, Achilleas knew enough to be able to see that she was not half bad. But then the Lord Gavriil was talking, and Achilleas flicked his eyes over to him sharply at the mention of his father. Setting his teeth, he tried not to read into the assumption that he was running around doing his father’s bidding, though he knew he had done little to disavow people of the notion. Not until recently at least. He gently corrected the presumption.
“No, my Lord. He does not know I am here. I hoped I might steal a moment of your time, if it is not too much of an ask”
And the pointed glance that Achilleas directed toward the lingering servant and Alexa should have been enough to suggest that whatever had led the Mikaelidas heir to seek him out was talk that required some discretion, away from prying ears. Not that Achilleas had any reason in particular to mistrust either Gavril’s young daughter or his staff, but he thought some of Stephanos’ paranoia had rubbed off on him, and he certainly did not need to be stirring the pot where his father was concerned by having it get back to him that he’d been asking questions where he didn't need to be.
Ironic, given that Achilleas would not need to if the man ever bothered to tell him anything. Indeed, had he not gone to his father time and time again in recent weeks to try and understand what was happening, to offer his help? Even Achilleas had limits, and he found himself resenting the continued rebukes from the man. It was sinking in that the approval he had chased and courted all these long years was simply wishful thinking. Either way, that had no bearing here and his gaze settled upon the Dimitrou Lord expectantly, hoping that the man would agree to speak with him. They were family, after all.
The Lord Mikaelidas followed the servant through the halls of the Dimitrou manor. He cared not for its lack of grandeur, did not pay any heed to furniture. He did wonder where he was being led as the servant bypassed all the usual reception rooms and instead threw open a door to the back of the house, where hidden gardens swept down the boundary wall. Here, Achilleas was gifted finally with sight of the man he sought, and with his daughter too...which one was it though? As the servant announced him, the Lord stepped forward and offered the Dimitrou Head of House a bow.
“My Lord Gavriil” and then because the older man had considerately given his daughter’s name “My Lady Alexa. Please, forgive my interruption”
Not that the young girl seemed to actually consider his arrival an interruption, continuing her archery practice as if he were not there. Achilleas looked on with a mild degree of appreciation as the arrow sunk home. It was not his forte, archery had become Emilios’ sport more than his, but as a Commander of the Tangean armies, Achilleas knew enough to be able to see that she was not half bad. But then the Lord Gavriil was talking, and Achilleas flicked his eyes over to him sharply at the mention of his father. Setting his teeth, he tried not to read into the assumption that he was running around doing his father’s bidding, though he knew he had done little to disavow people of the notion. Not until recently at least. He gently corrected the presumption.
“No, my Lord. He does not know I am here. I hoped I might steal a moment of your time, if it is not too much of an ask”
And the pointed glance that Achilleas directed toward the lingering servant and Alexa should have been enough to suggest that whatever had led the Mikaelidas heir to seek him out was talk that required some discretion, away from prying ears. Not that Achilleas had any reason in particular to mistrust either Gavril’s young daughter or his staff, but he thought some of Stephanos’ paranoia had rubbed off on him, and he certainly did not need to be stirring the pot where his father was concerned by having it get back to him that he’d been asking questions where he didn't need to be.
Ironic, given that Achilleas would not need to if the man ever bothered to tell him anything. Indeed, had he not gone to his father time and time again in recent weeks to try and understand what was happening, to offer his help? Even Achilleas had limits, and he found himself resenting the continued rebukes from the man. It was sinking in that the approval he had chased and courted all these long years was simply wishful thinking. Either way, that had no bearing here and his gaze settled upon the Dimitrou Lord expectantly, hoping that the man would agree to speak with him. They were family, after all.
Gavriil didn’t miss Achilleas’s eyes cutting back to him after his comment. He wasn’t privy to the strained relationship between father and son, but the way the other man acted, he figured something wasn’t quite right between the two. Though, he’d never have expected how deep the breach went. His relationship with his children was as close as any parent could be and he did not belittle them the way Irakles did to Achilleas and Emilios when others weren’t around. Had Gavriil known that such a blunt statement would have bothered Achilleas, he might have chosen different words, but, from his perspective, he couldn’t see any other reason for the eldest of Irakles’s sons to drop by unannounced. Especially when he’d never done so before.
Achilleas’s sharp eye didn’t ruffle Gavriil, who looked steadily back at him. Waiting. Finally, Achilleas spoke.
“No, my Lord. He does not know I am here. I hoped I might steal a moment of your time, if it is not too much of an ask.”
Gavriil didn’t like the sound of that. It had the ring of secrecy to it. Like the new regent wouldn’t like it if he knew where his eldest was at this very moment. All of these clandestine meetings. They were fatiguing and why Gavriil usually preferred to stay away from Vasiliadon. He was already being tainted by shadows.
“Here,” he said, holding out his bow to no one. Within seconds, a new servant appeared from behind Achilleas as though he’d been simply waiting for his master’s call. Which, of course, he had been. The man took the bow from Gavriil and waited for the older man to unshoulder his quiver and arrows, and hand those over too. Gavriil then removed the bracers from his forearms and the archer’s tab, and handed those off as well. The archer’s tab took the longest to remove, but it was arguably one of his more important items. Alexa had one too. It was a sheath that fit over three fingers and protected those fingers from the bowstring, allowing the wearer to not have to worry about slicing into the meat of their own fingers after repeatedly drawing the bowstring back.
“This way,” Gavriil gestured back into the house after the servant went to put the bow and quiver away. Achilleas appeared to be on edge and Gavriil didn’t like that, either. It bespoke what he was beginning to have serious misgivings about - the king’s disappearance. The inquest prior to that. The suddenness of the Creed’s return after so long an absence.
Moving around Achilleas, Gavriil walked with a surprisingly light step for a man with his frame. He was not as tall as Achilleas, but he was broad and his presence often made him seem to be quite a bit bigger than he really was. Being an archer and a hunter, Gavriil moved in near perfect silence; a habit formed long, long ago. They went swiftly through the rooms and into a different part of the house, toward Gavriil’s study.
He went in first and then waited until Achilleas had entered before he shut the door. Rather than go immediately to the desk and leave Achilleas to sit in the chair opposite it, Gavriil motioned toward the fireplace, where a fire was working on burning itself out in the grate. Two chairs were positioned in front of it and Gavriil thought this would be more ideal to speak out whatever it was Achilleas wanted.
Taking his preferred seat, he left the one closest to the door to Achilleas. “I will admit that this visit concerns me a little,” Gavriil said as he settled in. Unlike Irakles, Gavriil had no health complaints. He was an active person and did not move with the slowness that others of his age seemed to do. His face was weathered but his body was as strong as ever. Unlike Achilleas’s father, Gavriil had never retired into the sedentary life of a politician.
“The way you said that he doesn’t know you’re here suggests to me that you do not wish him to know.” Gavriil was not afraid to get on Irakles’s bad side, but he would need a very, very good reason to do so. He wasn’t an idiot and he didn’t want to put his family in danger over some random issue. Though he didn’t know Achilleas well, he had a high opinion of him and didn’t think that Achilleas was prone to silliness or flights of fancy; thus, he was allowing this meeting. If he’d thought he was getting in the middle of some family squabble, he’d turn Achilleas out and tell him to sort it out himself. Thankfully, that wouldn’t be the case and Gavriil looked at Achilleas, waiting for the man to begin.
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Gavriil didn’t miss Achilleas’s eyes cutting back to him after his comment. He wasn’t privy to the strained relationship between father and son, but the way the other man acted, he figured something wasn’t quite right between the two. Though, he’d never have expected how deep the breach went. His relationship with his children was as close as any parent could be and he did not belittle them the way Irakles did to Achilleas and Emilios when others weren’t around. Had Gavriil known that such a blunt statement would have bothered Achilleas, he might have chosen different words, but, from his perspective, he couldn’t see any other reason for the eldest of Irakles’s sons to drop by unannounced. Especially when he’d never done so before.
Achilleas’s sharp eye didn’t ruffle Gavriil, who looked steadily back at him. Waiting. Finally, Achilleas spoke.
“No, my Lord. He does not know I am here. I hoped I might steal a moment of your time, if it is not too much of an ask.”
Gavriil didn’t like the sound of that. It had the ring of secrecy to it. Like the new regent wouldn’t like it if he knew where his eldest was at this very moment. All of these clandestine meetings. They were fatiguing and why Gavriil usually preferred to stay away from Vasiliadon. He was already being tainted by shadows.
“Here,” he said, holding out his bow to no one. Within seconds, a new servant appeared from behind Achilleas as though he’d been simply waiting for his master’s call. Which, of course, he had been. The man took the bow from Gavriil and waited for the older man to unshoulder his quiver and arrows, and hand those over too. Gavriil then removed the bracers from his forearms and the archer’s tab, and handed those off as well. The archer’s tab took the longest to remove, but it was arguably one of his more important items. Alexa had one too. It was a sheath that fit over three fingers and protected those fingers from the bowstring, allowing the wearer to not have to worry about slicing into the meat of their own fingers after repeatedly drawing the bowstring back.
“This way,” Gavriil gestured back into the house after the servant went to put the bow and quiver away. Achilleas appeared to be on edge and Gavriil didn’t like that, either. It bespoke what he was beginning to have serious misgivings about - the king’s disappearance. The inquest prior to that. The suddenness of the Creed’s return after so long an absence.
Moving around Achilleas, Gavriil walked with a surprisingly light step for a man with his frame. He was not as tall as Achilleas, but he was broad and his presence often made him seem to be quite a bit bigger than he really was. Being an archer and a hunter, Gavriil moved in near perfect silence; a habit formed long, long ago. They went swiftly through the rooms and into a different part of the house, toward Gavriil’s study.
He went in first and then waited until Achilleas had entered before he shut the door. Rather than go immediately to the desk and leave Achilleas to sit in the chair opposite it, Gavriil motioned toward the fireplace, where a fire was working on burning itself out in the grate. Two chairs were positioned in front of it and Gavriil thought this would be more ideal to speak out whatever it was Achilleas wanted.
Taking his preferred seat, he left the one closest to the door to Achilleas. “I will admit that this visit concerns me a little,” Gavriil said as he settled in. Unlike Irakles, Gavriil had no health complaints. He was an active person and did not move with the slowness that others of his age seemed to do. His face was weathered but his body was as strong as ever. Unlike Achilleas’s father, Gavriil had never retired into the sedentary life of a politician.
“The way you said that he doesn’t know you’re here suggests to me that you do not wish him to know.” Gavriil was not afraid to get on Irakles’s bad side, but he would need a very, very good reason to do so. He wasn’t an idiot and he didn’t want to put his family in danger over some random issue. Though he didn’t know Achilleas well, he had a high opinion of him and didn’t think that Achilleas was prone to silliness or flights of fancy; thus, he was allowing this meeting. If he’d thought he was getting in the middle of some family squabble, he’d turn Achilleas out and tell him to sort it out himself. Thankfully, that wouldn’t be the case and Gavriil looked at Achilleas, waiting for the man to begin.
Gavriil didn’t miss Achilleas’s eyes cutting back to him after his comment. He wasn’t privy to the strained relationship between father and son, but the way the other man acted, he figured something wasn’t quite right between the two. Though, he’d never have expected how deep the breach went. His relationship with his children was as close as any parent could be and he did not belittle them the way Irakles did to Achilleas and Emilios when others weren’t around. Had Gavriil known that such a blunt statement would have bothered Achilleas, he might have chosen different words, but, from his perspective, he couldn’t see any other reason for the eldest of Irakles’s sons to drop by unannounced. Especially when he’d never done so before.
Achilleas’s sharp eye didn’t ruffle Gavriil, who looked steadily back at him. Waiting. Finally, Achilleas spoke.
“No, my Lord. He does not know I am here. I hoped I might steal a moment of your time, if it is not too much of an ask.”
Gavriil didn’t like the sound of that. It had the ring of secrecy to it. Like the new regent wouldn’t like it if he knew where his eldest was at this very moment. All of these clandestine meetings. They were fatiguing and why Gavriil usually preferred to stay away from Vasiliadon. He was already being tainted by shadows.
“Here,” he said, holding out his bow to no one. Within seconds, a new servant appeared from behind Achilleas as though he’d been simply waiting for his master’s call. Which, of course, he had been. The man took the bow from Gavriil and waited for the older man to unshoulder his quiver and arrows, and hand those over too. Gavriil then removed the bracers from his forearms and the archer’s tab, and handed those off as well. The archer’s tab took the longest to remove, but it was arguably one of his more important items. Alexa had one too. It was a sheath that fit over three fingers and protected those fingers from the bowstring, allowing the wearer to not have to worry about slicing into the meat of their own fingers after repeatedly drawing the bowstring back.
“This way,” Gavriil gestured back into the house after the servant went to put the bow and quiver away. Achilleas appeared to be on edge and Gavriil didn’t like that, either. It bespoke what he was beginning to have serious misgivings about - the king’s disappearance. The inquest prior to that. The suddenness of the Creed’s return after so long an absence.
Moving around Achilleas, Gavriil walked with a surprisingly light step for a man with his frame. He was not as tall as Achilleas, but he was broad and his presence often made him seem to be quite a bit bigger than he really was. Being an archer and a hunter, Gavriil moved in near perfect silence; a habit formed long, long ago. They went swiftly through the rooms and into a different part of the house, toward Gavriil’s study.
He went in first and then waited until Achilleas had entered before he shut the door. Rather than go immediately to the desk and leave Achilleas to sit in the chair opposite it, Gavriil motioned toward the fireplace, where a fire was working on burning itself out in the grate. Two chairs were positioned in front of it and Gavriil thought this would be more ideal to speak out whatever it was Achilleas wanted.
Taking his preferred seat, he left the one closest to the door to Achilleas. “I will admit that this visit concerns me a little,” Gavriil said as he settled in. Unlike Irakles, Gavriil had no health complaints. He was an active person and did not move with the slowness that others of his age seemed to do. His face was weathered but his body was as strong as ever. Unlike Achilleas’s father, Gavriil had never retired into the sedentary life of a politician.
“The way you said that he doesn’t know you’re here suggests to me that you do not wish him to know.” Gavriil was not afraid to get on Irakles’s bad side, but he would need a very, very good reason to do so. He wasn’t an idiot and he didn’t want to put his family in danger over some random issue. Though he didn’t know Achilleas well, he had a high opinion of him and didn’t think that Achilleas was prone to silliness or flights of fancy; thus, he was allowing this meeting. If he’d thought he was getting in the middle of some family squabble, he’d turn Achilleas out and tell him to sort it out himself. Thankfully, that wouldn’t be the case and Gavriil looked at Achilleas, waiting for the man to begin.
Achilleas waited for the older man to be rid of his archery equipment, and tried not to read anything into the silence that had met his request. The Lord Gavriil was a man of few words, he reminded himself, though he was perceptive enough to read what seemed like a faint disapproval in the lengthy gaze that was rested upon him. Achilleas glanced away and shot an apologetic smile at Alexa for being the one to interrupt her time with her father. She seemed entirely at ease with the man, and the Lord Mikaelidas would be lying if he said he did not harbour some envy toward that relationship. The fact did not escape him that if he were able to lay claim to such closeness with his own father then he would have no need to be here at all.
As his host bid him to return to the house, Achilleas gave a farewell nod to Alexa before shifting to follow Lord Gavriil, walking just a pace or two behind the man as he led them indoors. It seemed there was not to be any conversation as they walked, Achilleas left to consider how he might frame his questions as the pair moved to a part of the manor he had not passed on his way in. When Lord Gavriil paused and opened one of the doors off the long hallway, Achilleas stepped into the room after him, pausing as the other man stopped to close the door behind him when and when he did his eyes swept around what was clearly the man’s study.
He was glad when the Lord did not choose the desk as the venue for their conversation, but instead led him to over where two seats were positioned around the hearth. It seemed less formal, less serious. But as Achilleas sat, the Dimitrou man’s words stole away that little bit of comfort he had taken, andhe looked away as he considered how he might answer. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the other man, his expression earnest, if a little weary.
“You must understand, my Lord . It is not that I have any direct wish to keep it from him. More that I had hoped you might speak frankly with me where he will not. He has been...busy and less than inclined to confide in me of late.” The Mikaelidas heir paused as if to see how his words settled, guaging their reception before he went on. “I have no objection to him knowing I was here, if you would prefer it so”.
Which wasn’t entirely true, because it was unusual for Achilleas to call on his mother’s family and for once, he did not want his father’s attention too closely focused on him. Not when he was still cautiously trying to establish the facts around everything that happened. But equally, he did not want to make things difficult for the man before him, and so he offered Gavriil an opportunity to end this before it began, if he so wished. “Of course, I can leave if you rather and we can forget I ever came. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”
Perhaps if the Dimitrou Head of House was so perturbed by the idea of speaking with him then he was not the right man to speak to anyway. If he was so keen not to put Irakles’ nose out of joint then mayhaps Achilleas had misjudged Lord Gavriil. He found the thought disheartening as he waited for the man to make his mind up as to whether he’d had a wasted journey or not.
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Achilleas waited for the older man to be rid of his archery equipment, and tried not to read anything into the silence that had met his request. The Lord Gavriil was a man of few words, he reminded himself, though he was perceptive enough to read what seemed like a faint disapproval in the lengthy gaze that was rested upon him. Achilleas glanced away and shot an apologetic smile at Alexa for being the one to interrupt her time with her father. She seemed entirely at ease with the man, and the Lord Mikaelidas would be lying if he said he did not harbour some envy toward that relationship. The fact did not escape him that if he were able to lay claim to such closeness with his own father then he would have no need to be here at all.
As his host bid him to return to the house, Achilleas gave a farewell nod to Alexa before shifting to follow Lord Gavriil, walking just a pace or two behind the man as he led them indoors. It seemed there was not to be any conversation as they walked, Achilleas left to consider how he might frame his questions as the pair moved to a part of the manor he had not passed on his way in. When Lord Gavriil paused and opened one of the doors off the long hallway, Achilleas stepped into the room after him, pausing as the other man stopped to close the door behind him when and when he did his eyes swept around what was clearly the man’s study.
He was glad when the Lord did not choose the desk as the venue for their conversation, but instead led him to over where two seats were positioned around the hearth. It seemed less formal, less serious. But as Achilleas sat, the Dimitrou man’s words stole away that little bit of comfort he had taken, andhe looked away as he considered how he might answer. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the other man, his expression earnest, if a little weary.
“You must understand, my Lord . It is not that I have any direct wish to keep it from him. More that I had hoped you might speak frankly with me where he will not. He has been...busy and less than inclined to confide in me of late.” The Mikaelidas heir paused as if to see how his words settled, guaging their reception before he went on. “I have no objection to him knowing I was here, if you would prefer it so”.
Which wasn’t entirely true, because it was unusual for Achilleas to call on his mother’s family and for once, he did not want his father’s attention too closely focused on him. Not when he was still cautiously trying to establish the facts around everything that happened. But equally, he did not want to make things difficult for the man before him, and so he offered Gavriil an opportunity to end this before it began, if he so wished. “Of course, I can leave if you rather and we can forget I ever came. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”
Perhaps if the Dimitrou Head of House was so perturbed by the idea of speaking with him then he was not the right man to speak to anyway. If he was so keen not to put Irakles’ nose out of joint then mayhaps Achilleas had misjudged Lord Gavriil. He found the thought disheartening as he waited for the man to make his mind up as to whether he’d had a wasted journey or not.
Achilleas waited for the older man to be rid of his archery equipment, and tried not to read anything into the silence that had met his request. The Lord Gavriil was a man of few words, he reminded himself, though he was perceptive enough to read what seemed like a faint disapproval in the lengthy gaze that was rested upon him. Achilleas glanced away and shot an apologetic smile at Alexa for being the one to interrupt her time with her father. She seemed entirely at ease with the man, and the Lord Mikaelidas would be lying if he said he did not harbour some envy toward that relationship. The fact did not escape him that if he were able to lay claim to such closeness with his own father then he would have no need to be here at all.
As his host bid him to return to the house, Achilleas gave a farewell nod to Alexa before shifting to follow Lord Gavriil, walking just a pace or two behind the man as he led them indoors. It seemed there was not to be any conversation as they walked, Achilleas left to consider how he might frame his questions as the pair moved to a part of the manor he had not passed on his way in. When Lord Gavriil paused and opened one of the doors off the long hallway, Achilleas stepped into the room after him, pausing as the other man stopped to close the door behind him when and when he did his eyes swept around what was clearly the man’s study.
He was glad when the Lord did not choose the desk as the venue for their conversation, but instead led him to over where two seats were positioned around the hearth. It seemed less formal, less serious. But as Achilleas sat, the Dimitrou man’s words stole away that little bit of comfort he had taken, andhe looked away as he considered how he might answer. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the other man, his expression earnest, if a little weary.
“You must understand, my Lord . It is not that I have any direct wish to keep it from him. More that I had hoped you might speak frankly with me where he will not. He has been...busy and less than inclined to confide in me of late.” The Mikaelidas heir paused as if to see how his words settled, guaging their reception before he went on. “I have no objection to him knowing I was here, if you would prefer it so”.
Which wasn’t entirely true, because it was unusual for Achilleas to call on his mother’s family and for once, he did not want his father’s attention too closely focused on him. Not when he was still cautiously trying to establish the facts around everything that happened. But equally, he did not want to make things difficult for the man before him, and so he offered Gavriil an opportunity to end this before it began, if he so wished. “Of course, I can leave if you rather and we can forget I ever came. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”
Perhaps if the Dimitrou Head of House was so perturbed by the idea of speaking with him then he was not the right man to speak to anyway. If he was so keen not to put Irakles’ nose out of joint then mayhaps Achilleas had misjudged Lord Gavriil. He found the thought disheartening as he waited for the man to make his mind up as to whether he’d had a wasted journey or not.
He did not need to wait long for Achilleas to begin, but he couldn’t help but notice that Achilleas looked ill at ease. Whether that was due to his own words or something else entirely, he did not know and did not pry. At first, the younger man sat and did not speak right away. His gaze was elsewhere and when he did finally speak, it was with a very slight peevishness, almost defensive.
“You must understand, my Lord . It is not that I have any direct wish to keep it from him. More that I had hoped you might speak frankly with me where he will not. He has been...busy and less than inclined to confide in me of late.”
The lines on Gavriil’s face deepened as he listened without the need to interject, even during Achilleas’s pause as he appeared to struggle to find the more delicate way of phrasing what he wanted to say. Gavriil knew that trouble well. He didn’t read much into what Achilleas was saying, because he didn’t have to. There were rumors all a flurry that even he, who avoided gossip, had overheard. The Prince Regent did not trust his sons, but that had been obvious for years. It was just coming to the fore, now.
When he did not react with anything other than a slight nod, Lord Achilleas continued. “I have no objection to him knowing I was here, if you would prefer it so.”
At the risk of offending Prince Irakles’s son, Gavriil’s frown deepened further. The corners of his mouth twisted in distaste and he looked steadily at Achilleas while his poor aunt’s predicament drifted through his mind. “I have nothing to say to His Highness at present.” That should give enough of his low opinion of the prince’s behavior toward Myrto thus far. Politics aside, Gavriil did not like Irakles. The man was cold and unfeeling towards his own family and that was a man that was hard to respect.
“Of course, I can leave if you rather and we can forget I ever came. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”
He knew that Lord Achilleas only meant to be kind, but it was here that Gavriil lost patience with the conversation dancing around what it was actually supposed to be about. His tone was gruff, though bore no malice inside it as he spoke. “My lord, we both know that would be a wasted trip and I have no time to be wasted. Say to me what it is you came to say. It must be of some import, else you would not desire such privacy as we now have. This room is safe, as is this house. What is it?”
His frown relaxed and he folded his hands on his lap, at ease in his own home, beside his own fire. Probably he should, but he did not fear Irakles and he definitely did not fear the man in front of him. There was no reason for Gavriil to be in any way uncomfortable, and he was not. Wood cracked and split in the grate, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney. The brief flare of the flame cast half his face in shadow and gave the other half a cozy glow, before the light dimmed again and they were left with what afternoon light the windows permitted.
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He did not need to wait long for Achilleas to begin, but he couldn’t help but notice that Achilleas looked ill at ease. Whether that was due to his own words or something else entirely, he did not know and did not pry. At first, the younger man sat and did not speak right away. His gaze was elsewhere and when he did finally speak, it was with a very slight peevishness, almost defensive.
“You must understand, my Lord . It is not that I have any direct wish to keep it from him. More that I had hoped you might speak frankly with me where he will not. He has been...busy and less than inclined to confide in me of late.”
The lines on Gavriil’s face deepened as he listened without the need to interject, even during Achilleas’s pause as he appeared to struggle to find the more delicate way of phrasing what he wanted to say. Gavriil knew that trouble well. He didn’t read much into what Achilleas was saying, because he didn’t have to. There were rumors all a flurry that even he, who avoided gossip, had overheard. The Prince Regent did not trust his sons, but that had been obvious for years. It was just coming to the fore, now.
When he did not react with anything other than a slight nod, Lord Achilleas continued. “I have no objection to him knowing I was here, if you would prefer it so.”
At the risk of offending Prince Irakles’s son, Gavriil’s frown deepened further. The corners of his mouth twisted in distaste and he looked steadily at Achilleas while his poor aunt’s predicament drifted through his mind. “I have nothing to say to His Highness at present.” That should give enough of his low opinion of the prince’s behavior toward Myrto thus far. Politics aside, Gavriil did not like Irakles. The man was cold and unfeeling towards his own family and that was a man that was hard to respect.
“Of course, I can leave if you rather and we can forget I ever came. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”
He knew that Lord Achilleas only meant to be kind, but it was here that Gavriil lost patience with the conversation dancing around what it was actually supposed to be about. His tone was gruff, though bore no malice inside it as he spoke. “My lord, we both know that would be a wasted trip and I have no time to be wasted. Say to me what it is you came to say. It must be of some import, else you would not desire such privacy as we now have. This room is safe, as is this house. What is it?”
His frown relaxed and he folded his hands on his lap, at ease in his own home, beside his own fire. Probably he should, but he did not fear Irakles and he definitely did not fear the man in front of him. There was no reason for Gavriil to be in any way uncomfortable, and he was not. Wood cracked and split in the grate, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney. The brief flare of the flame cast half his face in shadow and gave the other half a cozy glow, before the light dimmed again and they were left with what afternoon light the windows permitted.
He did not need to wait long for Achilleas to begin, but he couldn’t help but notice that Achilleas looked ill at ease. Whether that was due to his own words or something else entirely, he did not know and did not pry. At first, the younger man sat and did not speak right away. His gaze was elsewhere and when he did finally speak, it was with a very slight peevishness, almost defensive.
“You must understand, my Lord . It is not that I have any direct wish to keep it from him. More that I had hoped you might speak frankly with me where he will not. He has been...busy and less than inclined to confide in me of late.”
The lines on Gavriil’s face deepened as he listened without the need to interject, even during Achilleas’s pause as he appeared to struggle to find the more delicate way of phrasing what he wanted to say. Gavriil knew that trouble well. He didn’t read much into what Achilleas was saying, because he didn’t have to. There were rumors all a flurry that even he, who avoided gossip, had overheard. The Prince Regent did not trust his sons, but that had been obvious for years. It was just coming to the fore, now.
When he did not react with anything other than a slight nod, Lord Achilleas continued. “I have no objection to him knowing I was here, if you would prefer it so.”
At the risk of offending Prince Irakles’s son, Gavriil’s frown deepened further. The corners of his mouth twisted in distaste and he looked steadily at Achilleas while his poor aunt’s predicament drifted through his mind. “I have nothing to say to His Highness at present.” That should give enough of his low opinion of the prince’s behavior toward Myrto thus far. Politics aside, Gavriil did not like Irakles. The man was cold and unfeeling towards his own family and that was a man that was hard to respect.
“Of course, I can leave if you rather and we can forget I ever came. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”
He knew that Lord Achilleas only meant to be kind, but it was here that Gavriil lost patience with the conversation dancing around what it was actually supposed to be about. His tone was gruff, though bore no malice inside it as he spoke. “My lord, we both know that would be a wasted trip and I have no time to be wasted. Say to me what it is you came to say. It must be of some import, else you would not desire such privacy as we now have. This room is safe, as is this house. What is it?”
His frown relaxed and he folded his hands on his lap, at ease in his own home, beside his own fire. Probably he should, but he did not fear Irakles and he definitely did not fear the man in front of him. There was no reason for Gavriil to be in any way uncomfortable, and he was not. Wood cracked and split in the grate, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney. The brief flare of the flame cast half his face in shadow and gave the other half a cozy glow, before the light dimmed again and they were left with what afternoon light the windows permitted.
Achilleas had watched with some growing reservation as the frown etched across the Dimitrou Lord’s face had deepened the further he spoke. It was not reassuring him that he had made the right choice in coming to the man, and he wondered if he had misjudged, if perhaps his Mother’s cousin had fallen under his father’s sway too. So when Lord Gavriil spoke seemingly to the contrary, there was almost a sense of relief.
‘I have nothing to say to his highness’
Achilleas met the man’s gaze, tried to read what was not being said. He had learnt over the past weeks that there was a reluctance people had to being honest with him, that his obedience to his father over the years had a price. It had shocked him a little that even those he would have considered to know him had doubts as to how trustworthy he was, thought that he would run back to Irakles with news of any word spoken against him.
And though it stung a little, Achilleas knew he could hardly blame them- there was not much he had done in the past to suggest otherwise. He had always tried to please his father, had done as he was bid. Right up until it had meant condemning his own cousin, his friend, for something he was certain the man had not done. And now, as he tried to unpick the tangle of lies from truths, the eldest of Irakles’ sons was certainly not doing as he was bit.
It still felt alien and uncomfortable for Achilleas to be tugging at threads of things that his father had deliberately chosen not to share with him, and his reticence must have been showing because the usually stoic Dimitrou Lord felt it necessary to prompt him. And though he was certain it was not intended, the Mikaelidas heir felt chastened. He had made the decision to come here, he should stand by it now and not delay and second guess himself. Gods knows his father did that enough for the both of them.
“You are right” He smiled, faintly apologetic. He took a breath, and without further ado cut to the heart of the reason for his visit.
“You were summoned to a meet with my father were you not? You, and Lord Leventi, and House Condos? I would like to know what you discussed. It clearly had some urgency about it and I am tired, my Lord, of having to go off whispers and gossip to learn what is happening within my own kingdom.”
What exactly was his father up to? It was more than a little galling that Achilleas was forced to seek his answers elsewhere, and it spoke more to his relationship with the man than the lord would have chosen to share, but beggars could not be choosers it was said. He kept his face still as he awaited either an answer or to be told to mind his own business, still not at all confident which way Lord Gavriil would lean.
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Achilleas had watched with some growing reservation as the frown etched across the Dimitrou Lord’s face had deepened the further he spoke. It was not reassuring him that he had made the right choice in coming to the man, and he wondered if he had misjudged, if perhaps his Mother’s cousin had fallen under his father’s sway too. So when Lord Gavriil spoke seemingly to the contrary, there was almost a sense of relief.
‘I have nothing to say to his highness’
Achilleas met the man’s gaze, tried to read what was not being said. He had learnt over the past weeks that there was a reluctance people had to being honest with him, that his obedience to his father over the years had a price. It had shocked him a little that even those he would have considered to know him had doubts as to how trustworthy he was, thought that he would run back to Irakles with news of any word spoken against him.
And though it stung a little, Achilleas knew he could hardly blame them- there was not much he had done in the past to suggest otherwise. He had always tried to please his father, had done as he was bid. Right up until it had meant condemning his own cousin, his friend, for something he was certain the man had not done. And now, as he tried to unpick the tangle of lies from truths, the eldest of Irakles’ sons was certainly not doing as he was bit.
It still felt alien and uncomfortable for Achilleas to be tugging at threads of things that his father had deliberately chosen not to share with him, and his reticence must have been showing because the usually stoic Dimitrou Lord felt it necessary to prompt him. And though he was certain it was not intended, the Mikaelidas heir felt chastened. He had made the decision to come here, he should stand by it now and not delay and second guess himself. Gods knows his father did that enough for the both of them.
“You are right” He smiled, faintly apologetic. He took a breath, and without further ado cut to the heart of the reason for his visit.
“You were summoned to a meet with my father were you not? You, and Lord Leventi, and House Condos? I would like to know what you discussed. It clearly had some urgency about it and I am tired, my Lord, of having to go off whispers and gossip to learn what is happening within my own kingdom.”
What exactly was his father up to? It was more than a little galling that Achilleas was forced to seek his answers elsewhere, and it spoke more to his relationship with the man than the lord would have chosen to share, but beggars could not be choosers it was said. He kept his face still as he awaited either an answer or to be told to mind his own business, still not at all confident which way Lord Gavriil would lean.
Achilleas had watched with some growing reservation as the frown etched across the Dimitrou Lord’s face had deepened the further he spoke. It was not reassuring him that he had made the right choice in coming to the man, and he wondered if he had misjudged, if perhaps his Mother’s cousin had fallen under his father’s sway too. So when Lord Gavriil spoke seemingly to the contrary, there was almost a sense of relief.
‘I have nothing to say to his highness’
Achilleas met the man’s gaze, tried to read what was not being said. He had learnt over the past weeks that there was a reluctance people had to being honest with him, that his obedience to his father over the years had a price. It had shocked him a little that even those he would have considered to know him had doubts as to how trustworthy he was, thought that he would run back to Irakles with news of any word spoken against him.
And though it stung a little, Achilleas knew he could hardly blame them- there was not much he had done in the past to suggest otherwise. He had always tried to please his father, had done as he was bid. Right up until it had meant condemning his own cousin, his friend, for something he was certain the man had not done. And now, as he tried to unpick the tangle of lies from truths, the eldest of Irakles’ sons was certainly not doing as he was bit.
It still felt alien and uncomfortable for Achilleas to be tugging at threads of things that his father had deliberately chosen not to share with him, and his reticence must have been showing because the usually stoic Dimitrou Lord felt it necessary to prompt him. And though he was certain it was not intended, the Mikaelidas heir felt chastened. He had made the decision to come here, he should stand by it now and not delay and second guess himself. Gods knows his father did that enough for the both of them.
“You are right” He smiled, faintly apologetic. He took a breath, and without further ado cut to the heart of the reason for his visit.
“You were summoned to a meet with my father were you not? You, and Lord Leventi, and House Condos? I would like to know what you discussed. It clearly had some urgency about it and I am tired, my Lord, of having to go off whispers and gossip to learn what is happening within my own kingdom.”
What exactly was his father up to? It was more than a little galling that Achilleas was forced to seek his answers elsewhere, and it spoke more to his relationship with the man than the lord would have chosen to share, but beggars could not be choosers it was said. He kept his face still as he awaited either an answer or to be told to mind his own business, still not at all confident which way Lord Gavriil would lean.
Though he likely did not mean to, Achilleas reminded Gavriil strongly of a lost child. Not in physical form or appearance. Achilleas was a grown adult and no one would ever mistake him for otherwise. It wasn’t his face, but his eyes and the far away expression floating in their depths. This was exactly the kind of look that Iason had taken on when he was younger, when he’d encountered something troubling and puzzling in equal measure. He half expected the other man to look up at him, the way Iason had done, with that silent pleading ‘what now?’ written into his features. But Achilleas did not do that. He blinked and the effect was gone, replaced by someone much older and a lot less innocent; someone who knew too much and yet not enough at the same time.
“You are right,” he said, smiling a little and then drawing in a deep breath, as though preparing for what he wanted to say next. “You were summoned to a meet with my father were you not? You, and Lord Leventi, and House Condos? I would like to know what you discussed. It clearly had some urgency about it and I am tired, my Lord, of having to go off whispers and gossip to learn what is happening within my own kingdom.”
Gavriil did not blink in surprise at the blunt nature of the questions. Nor did he immediately make any move to answer. He watched Achilleas for a moment, assessing him the way he did when deer crossed his path in the forest. His entire being was perfectly still and self contained, giving off no hint of his real thoughts.
He sighed, pushed up from his chair, and walked around his desk to the window behind it. Opening the window, he looked out below the sill. No one there ‘gardening’. Moving back inside, he shut and latched the window. His steps took him to the study door, where he found a servant cleaning just outside. Whether this was by coincidence or design, he didn’t know, but he sent the girl skittering away with an impatient wave and shut the door again.
Clearing his throat, Gavriil returned to his chair and sat heavily down into it, staring at the fire for a long time that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Achilleas was impatient for an answer. The thing was, that meeting was supposed to have remained a secret, but again, he’d have assumed that Prince, regent, king, whatever Irakles was posing as, would have told his eldest son - arguably his most important ally. It was becoming rapidly clear that Achilleas was no such person to his father and perhaps, the same was true on the other side.
“I was summoned,” he began in a voice so low that Achilleas would need to lean forward to hear him clearly. “The morning after King Stephanos’s disappearance. Before I arrived, I did not know the king was missing, nor his wife. When I arrived, I was second after Lord Fotios and Lord Nikos arrived after, in place of his father.”
Up until now, Gavriil had been speaking to the fire. Now he dragged his gaze to Achilleas, the way one dragged a net through a river bed to dredge it of impurities. His eyes were unyielding and hard. If his companion wanted the truth, he’d get it.
“We were informed that the king had disappeared. To where, no one knew. I have never seen your father so out of sorts. He looked fatigued. This alone made me think that he is innocent of the king’s disappearance.” Gavriil stuck mostly to facts, only interjecting some absolvement of the acting king because he felt it necessary and fair. There was no point jumping to conclusions without proof. “Lord Fotios then produced documents that enacted Prince Irakles as regent, and, in essence, king, while signing another cutting off his majesty, King Stephanos, from the throne. His child cannot inherit.”
Gavriil kept his attention on Achilleas, never wavering. “I am exceedingly troubled in my spirit over it,” he confessed and then finally turned back to the fire.
There were things about that meeting that he could not prove, all of them feelings and inklings ignorable in his day to day activities but they crept up at night when he was alone. Did he believe that Prince Irakles had killed King Stephanos? No. Especially not after learning that a good deal of the Colchis party had left abruptly. It didn’t take a genius to make that leap. But to already have a document ready taking Stephanos out of the line of succession? That smacked of pre-planning and did not fit in the current narrative of keeping Irakles guiltless.
Such a thing could have been drawn up as an eventuality of the pending court case, for example. He had thought of that, as well as the document to place Irakles into power. For Fotios to have those with him, though, also meant that he had some foreknowledge that he himself and Lord Nikos did not. That, in itself, troubled him too.
The most troubling part was having a man with Irakles’s ambition and evident immorality on the throne. The gods knew that Stephanos was not the man Gavriil would have chosen to rule Taengea, but he certainly never would have picked Irakles either - except that he’d been forced to. He hated it.
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Though he likely did not mean to, Achilleas reminded Gavriil strongly of a lost child. Not in physical form or appearance. Achilleas was a grown adult and no one would ever mistake him for otherwise. It wasn’t his face, but his eyes and the far away expression floating in their depths. This was exactly the kind of look that Iason had taken on when he was younger, when he’d encountered something troubling and puzzling in equal measure. He half expected the other man to look up at him, the way Iason had done, with that silent pleading ‘what now?’ written into his features. But Achilleas did not do that. He blinked and the effect was gone, replaced by someone much older and a lot less innocent; someone who knew too much and yet not enough at the same time.
“You are right,” he said, smiling a little and then drawing in a deep breath, as though preparing for what he wanted to say next. “You were summoned to a meet with my father were you not? You, and Lord Leventi, and House Condos? I would like to know what you discussed. It clearly had some urgency about it and I am tired, my Lord, of having to go off whispers and gossip to learn what is happening within my own kingdom.”
Gavriil did not blink in surprise at the blunt nature of the questions. Nor did he immediately make any move to answer. He watched Achilleas for a moment, assessing him the way he did when deer crossed his path in the forest. His entire being was perfectly still and self contained, giving off no hint of his real thoughts.
He sighed, pushed up from his chair, and walked around his desk to the window behind it. Opening the window, he looked out below the sill. No one there ‘gardening’. Moving back inside, he shut and latched the window. His steps took him to the study door, where he found a servant cleaning just outside. Whether this was by coincidence or design, he didn’t know, but he sent the girl skittering away with an impatient wave and shut the door again.
Clearing his throat, Gavriil returned to his chair and sat heavily down into it, staring at the fire for a long time that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Achilleas was impatient for an answer. The thing was, that meeting was supposed to have remained a secret, but again, he’d have assumed that Prince, regent, king, whatever Irakles was posing as, would have told his eldest son - arguably his most important ally. It was becoming rapidly clear that Achilleas was no such person to his father and perhaps, the same was true on the other side.
“I was summoned,” he began in a voice so low that Achilleas would need to lean forward to hear him clearly. “The morning after King Stephanos’s disappearance. Before I arrived, I did not know the king was missing, nor his wife. When I arrived, I was second after Lord Fotios and Lord Nikos arrived after, in place of his father.”
Up until now, Gavriil had been speaking to the fire. Now he dragged his gaze to Achilleas, the way one dragged a net through a river bed to dredge it of impurities. His eyes were unyielding and hard. If his companion wanted the truth, he’d get it.
“We were informed that the king had disappeared. To where, no one knew. I have never seen your father so out of sorts. He looked fatigued. This alone made me think that he is innocent of the king’s disappearance.” Gavriil stuck mostly to facts, only interjecting some absolvement of the acting king because he felt it necessary and fair. There was no point jumping to conclusions without proof. “Lord Fotios then produced documents that enacted Prince Irakles as regent, and, in essence, king, while signing another cutting off his majesty, King Stephanos, from the throne. His child cannot inherit.”
Gavriil kept his attention on Achilleas, never wavering. “I am exceedingly troubled in my spirit over it,” he confessed and then finally turned back to the fire.
There were things about that meeting that he could not prove, all of them feelings and inklings ignorable in his day to day activities but they crept up at night when he was alone. Did he believe that Prince Irakles had killed King Stephanos? No. Especially not after learning that a good deal of the Colchis party had left abruptly. It didn’t take a genius to make that leap. But to already have a document ready taking Stephanos out of the line of succession? That smacked of pre-planning and did not fit in the current narrative of keeping Irakles guiltless.
Such a thing could have been drawn up as an eventuality of the pending court case, for example. He had thought of that, as well as the document to place Irakles into power. For Fotios to have those with him, though, also meant that he had some foreknowledge that he himself and Lord Nikos did not. That, in itself, troubled him too.
The most troubling part was having a man with Irakles’s ambition and evident immorality on the throne. The gods knew that Stephanos was not the man Gavriil would have chosen to rule Taengea, but he certainly never would have picked Irakles either - except that he’d been forced to. He hated it.
Though he likely did not mean to, Achilleas reminded Gavriil strongly of a lost child. Not in physical form or appearance. Achilleas was a grown adult and no one would ever mistake him for otherwise. It wasn’t his face, but his eyes and the far away expression floating in their depths. This was exactly the kind of look that Iason had taken on when he was younger, when he’d encountered something troubling and puzzling in equal measure. He half expected the other man to look up at him, the way Iason had done, with that silent pleading ‘what now?’ written into his features. But Achilleas did not do that. He blinked and the effect was gone, replaced by someone much older and a lot less innocent; someone who knew too much and yet not enough at the same time.
“You are right,” he said, smiling a little and then drawing in a deep breath, as though preparing for what he wanted to say next. “You were summoned to a meet with my father were you not? You, and Lord Leventi, and House Condos? I would like to know what you discussed. It clearly had some urgency about it and I am tired, my Lord, of having to go off whispers and gossip to learn what is happening within my own kingdom.”
Gavriil did not blink in surprise at the blunt nature of the questions. Nor did he immediately make any move to answer. He watched Achilleas for a moment, assessing him the way he did when deer crossed his path in the forest. His entire being was perfectly still and self contained, giving off no hint of his real thoughts.
He sighed, pushed up from his chair, and walked around his desk to the window behind it. Opening the window, he looked out below the sill. No one there ‘gardening’. Moving back inside, he shut and latched the window. His steps took him to the study door, where he found a servant cleaning just outside. Whether this was by coincidence or design, he didn’t know, but he sent the girl skittering away with an impatient wave and shut the door again.
Clearing his throat, Gavriil returned to his chair and sat heavily down into it, staring at the fire for a long time that he wouldn’t have been surprised if Achilleas was impatient for an answer. The thing was, that meeting was supposed to have remained a secret, but again, he’d have assumed that Prince, regent, king, whatever Irakles was posing as, would have told his eldest son - arguably his most important ally. It was becoming rapidly clear that Achilleas was no such person to his father and perhaps, the same was true on the other side.
“I was summoned,” he began in a voice so low that Achilleas would need to lean forward to hear him clearly. “The morning after King Stephanos’s disappearance. Before I arrived, I did not know the king was missing, nor his wife. When I arrived, I was second after Lord Fotios and Lord Nikos arrived after, in place of his father.”
Up until now, Gavriil had been speaking to the fire. Now he dragged his gaze to Achilleas, the way one dragged a net through a river bed to dredge it of impurities. His eyes were unyielding and hard. If his companion wanted the truth, he’d get it.
“We were informed that the king had disappeared. To where, no one knew. I have never seen your father so out of sorts. He looked fatigued. This alone made me think that he is innocent of the king’s disappearance.” Gavriil stuck mostly to facts, only interjecting some absolvement of the acting king because he felt it necessary and fair. There was no point jumping to conclusions without proof. “Lord Fotios then produced documents that enacted Prince Irakles as regent, and, in essence, king, while signing another cutting off his majesty, King Stephanos, from the throne. His child cannot inherit.”
Gavriil kept his attention on Achilleas, never wavering. “I am exceedingly troubled in my spirit over it,” he confessed and then finally turned back to the fire.
There were things about that meeting that he could not prove, all of them feelings and inklings ignorable in his day to day activities but they crept up at night when he was alone. Did he believe that Prince Irakles had killed King Stephanos? No. Especially not after learning that a good deal of the Colchis party had left abruptly. It didn’t take a genius to make that leap. But to already have a document ready taking Stephanos out of the line of succession? That smacked of pre-planning and did not fit in the current narrative of keeping Irakles guiltless.
Such a thing could have been drawn up as an eventuality of the pending court case, for example. He had thought of that, as well as the document to place Irakles into power. For Fotios to have those with him, though, also meant that he had some foreknowledge that he himself and Lord Nikos did not. That, in itself, troubled him too.
The most troubling part was having a man with Irakles’s ambition and evident immorality on the throne. The gods knew that Stephanos was not the man Gavriil would have chosen to rule Taengea, but he certainly never would have picked Irakles either - except that he’d been forced to. He hated it.
A less honest man might have found it uncomfortable to sit under the unwavering gaze of the Dimitrou Head of House. But for Achilleas, here at least, he was being honest, was not having to hide his frustrations with the secrecy and subterfuge that had been shoved in his face over the past days. The Mikaelidas heir did not shift under the scrutiny, his expression open and his own gaze meeting that of the older man steadily.
When Gavriil stood, Achilleas tracked his path across the room, a brief flicker of surprise at the man’s caution and a slightly foreboding feeling that whatever had transpired in that meeting heralded such secrecy still. He remained still and silent, letting his host find his own way to offering him an answer, if indeed he intended to. But the moments stretched, and after a while, even Achilleas grew restless, worried at what would call forth such reticence. He had toyed with scenarios he imagined might have transpired in that meet, at the fate of his cousin, if it was as had been said, and the King had vanished. If he’d been able to he would have spoken to his brother to see if he knew anymore, thinking perhaps Stephanos might have confided in him, but Emilios had been scarce and so Achilleas was left with only what he could glean from the gossip of courtiers and commonborn alike.
At last, just as the baron was about to speak and offer some prompt to the older man, Lord Gavriil broke the silence. He spoke so softly that the low tone of his voice barely carried, and Achilleas shifted, braced his elbows on his knees so he might better hear, his focus sharp. There was an almost nod, an impatient urging for Gavriiil to speak on and past what Achilleas had deduced for himself, and he swallowed reflexively when he got what he sought.
Was it relief that flickered across the Lord’s face when Gavriil spoke of Irakles’ perceived innocence? Achilleas could not guard his expression well enough to hide that feeling, he did not want to believe the worst of the man he had spent so many years trying to impress, to satisfy. Where would it leave him, if he had been so blind to the nature of his own father? But there was hardly time for the feeling to permeate, because now he had begun, the Dimitrou Lord was not holding back in his revelations, information falling thick and fast. The younger man frowned, because it was so fast. There had been no trial, and he wondered if Stephanos had even considered how he painted himself in guilt by fleeing as he had.
“Hold a moment…these papers are signed and sealed already?” He wasn’t certain if that was what the Lord meant, though it certainly sounded that way. He sat back heavily, thoughts racing. Confirmation that his father would have sought to take the throne was not really surprising: Taengea could not exist leaderless, but to alter the line of succession? That had a permanence that did not speak to his cousin having any opportunity to assert his innocence and Lord Gavriil was not alone in feeling troubled at such developments.
“….it is done then.” Achilleas’ voice spoke a dismay he would never let his father hear. Irakles had repeatedly made it clear to his son that he had no time for loyalties to any other that his vision for their Kingdom. He would not care for his eldest’s reluctance to be part of a shift that promoted his own interest at the expense of one he held dear. He had said as much in the missive that still sat in Achilleas’ study, ‘I’ve reminded you of the need to place the importance of Taengea and the glory of the kingdom beyond flippant relations you pursue with your cousins’
That had been followed by a taster of what he might expect should he decide to disregard the man’s will, and Achilleas had been scrabbling to try and pacify the man since. Or at least it had been his intent, if not always the resulting outcome of his efforts. He had decided that outwardly he needed to continue to tow the line, and what he could do quietly, subtly to aid his cousin he would do. But this news changed everything.
“I appreciate your being so forthcoming, my Lord, even if what you tell does not gladden me.” And because he wasn’t sure how everything had progressed so rapidly, he went on, less gentle in his enquiry than perhaps he might have been had he not been so injured on his cousin’s behalf. “If it grieved you, Lord Gavriil, then please explain to me…why sign something that is so permanent in it’s damnation of King Stephanos? There has been no trial to prove his guilt, and we do not know the nature of his disappearance. Why did both of these things need to come to pass so quickly?”
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A less honest man might have found it uncomfortable to sit under the unwavering gaze of the Dimitrou Head of House. But for Achilleas, here at least, he was being honest, was not having to hide his frustrations with the secrecy and subterfuge that had been shoved in his face over the past days. The Mikaelidas heir did not shift under the scrutiny, his expression open and his own gaze meeting that of the older man steadily.
When Gavriil stood, Achilleas tracked his path across the room, a brief flicker of surprise at the man’s caution and a slightly foreboding feeling that whatever had transpired in that meeting heralded such secrecy still. He remained still and silent, letting his host find his own way to offering him an answer, if indeed he intended to. But the moments stretched, and after a while, even Achilleas grew restless, worried at what would call forth such reticence. He had toyed with scenarios he imagined might have transpired in that meet, at the fate of his cousin, if it was as had been said, and the King had vanished. If he’d been able to he would have spoken to his brother to see if he knew anymore, thinking perhaps Stephanos might have confided in him, but Emilios had been scarce and so Achilleas was left with only what he could glean from the gossip of courtiers and commonborn alike.
At last, just as the baron was about to speak and offer some prompt to the older man, Lord Gavriil broke the silence. He spoke so softly that the low tone of his voice barely carried, and Achilleas shifted, braced his elbows on his knees so he might better hear, his focus sharp. There was an almost nod, an impatient urging for Gavriiil to speak on and past what Achilleas had deduced for himself, and he swallowed reflexively when he got what he sought.
Was it relief that flickered across the Lord’s face when Gavriil spoke of Irakles’ perceived innocence? Achilleas could not guard his expression well enough to hide that feeling, he did not want to believe the worst of the man he had spent so many years trying to impress, to satisfy. Where would it leave him, if he had been so blind to the nature of his own father? But there was hardly time for the feeling to permeate, because now he had begun, the Dimitrou Lord was not holding back in his revelations, information falling thick and fast. The younger man frowned, because it was so fast. There had been no trial, and he wondered if Stephanos had even considered how he painted himself in guilt by fleeing as he had.
“Hold a moment…these papers are signed and sealed already?” He wasn’t certain if that was what the Lord meant, though it certainly sounded that way. He sat back heavily, thoughts racing. Confirmation that his father would have sought to take the throne was not really surprising: Taengea could not exist leaderless, but to alter the line of succession? That had a permanence that did not speak to his cousin having any opportunity to assert his innocence and Lord Gavriil was not alone in feeling troubled at such developments.
“….it is done then.” Achilleas’ voice spoke a dismay he would never let his father hear. Irakles had repeatedly made it clear to his son that he had no time for loyalties to any other that his vision for their Kingdom. He would not care for his eldest’s reluctance to be part of a shift that promoted his own interest at the expense of one he held dear. He had said as much in the missive that still sat in Achilleas’ study, ‘I’ve reminded you of the need to place the importance of Taengea and the glory of the kingdom beyond flippant relations you pursue with your cousins’
That had been followed by a taster of what he might expect should he decide to disregard the man’s will, and Achilleas had been scrabbling to try and pacify the man since. Or at least it had been his intent, if not always the resulting outcome of his efforts. He had decided that outwardly he needed to continue to tow the line, and what he could do quietly, subtly to aid his cousin he would do. But this news changed everything.
“I appreciate your being so forthcoming, my Lord, even if what you tell does not gladden me.” And because he wasn’t sure how everything had progressed so rapidly, he went on, less gentle in his enquiry than perhaps he might have been had he not been so injured on his cousin’s behalf. “If it grieved you, Lord Gavriil, then please explain to me…why sign something that is so permanent in it’s damnation of King Stephanos? There has been no trial to prove his guilt, and we do not know the nature of his disappearance. Why did both of these things need to come to pass so quickly?”
A less honest man might have found it uncomfortable to sit under the unwavering gaze of the Dimitrou Head of House. But for Achilleas, here at least, he was being honest, was not having to hide his frustrations with the secrecy and subterfuge that had been shoved in his face over the past days. The Mikaelidas heir did not shift under the scrutiny, his expression open and his own gaze meeting that of the older man steadily.
When Gavriil stood, Achilleas tracked his path across the room, a brief flicker of surprise at the man’s caution and a slightly foreboding feeling that whatever had transpired in that meeting heralded such secrecy still. He remained still and silent, letting his host find his own way to offering him an answer, if indeed he intended to. But the moments stretched, and after a while, even Achilleas grew restless, worried at what would call forth such reticence. He had toyed with scenarios he imagined might have transpired in that meet, at the fate of his cousin, if it was as had been said, and the King had vanished. If he’d been able to he would have spoken to his brother to see if he knew anymore, thinking perhaps Stephanos might have confided in him, but Emilios had been scarce and so Achilleas was left with only what he could glean from the gossip of courtiers and commonborn alike.
At last, just as the baron was about to speak and offer some prompt to the older man, Lord Gavriil broke the silence. He spoke so softly that the low tone of his voice barely carried, and Achilleas shifted, braced his elbows on his knees so he might better hear, his focus sharp. There was an almost nod, an impatient urging for Gavriiil to speak on and past what Achilleas had deduced for himself, and he swallowed reflexively when he got what he sought.
Was it relief that flickered across the Lord’s face when Gavriil spoke of Irakles’ perceived innocence? Achilleas could not guard his expression well enough to hide that feeling, he did not want to believe the worst of the man he had spent so many years trying to impress, to satisfy. Where would it leave him, if he had been so blind to the nature of his own father? But there was hardly time for the feeling to permeate, because now he had begun, the Dimitrou Lord was not holding back in his revelations, information falling thick and fast. The younger man frowned, because it was so fast. There had been no trial, and he wondered if Stephanos had even considered how he painted himself in guilt by fleeing as he had.
“Hold a moment…these papers are signed and sealed already?” He wasn’t certain if that was what the Lord meant, though it certainly sounded that way. He sat back heavily, thoughts racing. Confirmation that his father would have sought to take the throne was not really surprising: Taengea could not exist leaderless, but to alter the line of succession? That had a permanence that did not speak to his cousin having any opportunity to assert his innocence and Lord Gavriil was not alone in feeling troubled at such developments.
“….it is done then.” Achilleas’ voice spoke a dismay he would never let his father hear. Irakles had repeatedly made it clear to his son that he had no time for loyalties to any other that his vision for their Kingdom. He would not care for his eldest’s reluctance to be part of a shift that promoted his own interest at the expense of one he held dear. He had said as much in the missive that still sat in Achilleas’ study, ‘I’ve reminded you of the need to place the importance of Taengea and the glory of the kingdom beyond flippant relations you pursue with your cousins’
That had been followed by a taster of what he might expect should he decide to disregard the man’s will, and Achilleas had been scrabbling to try and pacify the man since. Or at least it had been his intent, if not always the resulting outcome of his efforts. He had decided that outwardly he needed to continue to tow the line, and what he could do quietly, subtly to aid his cousin he would do. But this news changed everything.
“I appreciate your being so forthcoming, my Lord, even if what you tell does not gladden me.” And because he wasn’t sure how everything had progressed so rapidly, he went on, less gentle in his enquiry than perhaps he might have been had he not been so injured on his cousin’s behalf. “If it grieved you, Lord Gavriil, then please explain to me…why sign something that is so permanent in it’s damnation of King Stephanos? There has been no trial to prove his guilt, and we do not know the nature of his disappearance. Why did both of these things need to come to pass so quickly?”
Truly, Gavriil felt a little empathy for Achilleas. The man’s sudden impatience for him to stop so that the other could sift through what was being said made the patriarch pause and watch as Irakles’s son attempted to figure out whether or not his father was guilty or not guilty of treason. There were arguments to be made on both sides and Gavriil had yet to reach a satisfying conclusion. If Irakles was, indeed guilty, that meant he’d had help. Who knew how much? And how many lords were in on it. Or servants. Or both. There was no way to know for sure and an investigation like that was out of Gavriil’s abilities. He simply didn’t have that many friends or the kind of network it would take to launch such an investigation.
There was the added problem that, while he did not at all support Irakles’s claim, should treason be the case, he was more than happy with the heir sitting across from him. To remove Irakles and reinstate Stephanos? Gavriil didn’t know how much confidence he had that Stephanos would prove to be a good king. From what he’d seen, perhaps Stephanos would have stepped into that role, given enough time, but to lead a revolution to put him back on the throne just on the chance that he might be a good king? That was asking a bit much. It was safer to keep things as they were and to know that there was a definite leader in Achilleas.
Stephanos had proved himself in battle but politics were an entirely different beast.
“Hold a moment…these papers are signed and sealed already?” Achilleas checked and Gavriil nodded. “….it is done then.”
“It is,” Gavriil agreed gravely.
“I appreciate your being so forthcoming, my Lord, even if what you tell does not gladden me.”
“It would do you a great disservice in my eyes if it did gladden your heart,” Gavriil said bluntly. “But it is done.”
“If it grieved you, Lord Gavriil, then please explain to me…why sign something that is so permanent in it’s damnation of King Stephanos? There has been no trial to prove his guilt, and we do not know the nature of his disappearance. Why did both of these things need to come to pass so quickly?”
“I did not say it grieved me,” his stony expression did not falter as he surveyed Achilleas. The boy was merely attempting to make sense of an issue that was so convoluted, no one truly understood it, as of yet. “I said I found it troubling. They are not the same.”
To the rest of what Achilleas asked, Gavriil curled his hand over his mouth and watched Achilleas, contemplating him and what to say. The words were not on the tip of his tongue the way he wished them to be. It always took him time to come up with diplomatic ways to put things he’d much rather just be callously blunt about.
“The country needed a leader. Otherwise a power vacuum will be created. If there was a stitch of doubt as to who should be in line for the succession, Condos could have fought. The last thing we need is a civil war because of ambiguity. The laws can be rewritten if our exiled king decides to show his face, but it does not look good for him at the moment. Why run? It compounds his guilt, Achilleas, and though I do not believe him capable to slay his brother and father for the throne, his disappearance might mean he hasn’t run at all. This might have been the natural course anyway.”
He sat back in his chair, regarding Achilleas from under heavy brows. “I do not say I am comfortable with this choice. But I am comfortable with the heir to it. It was for you that I signed.” That was the truest part. If the choice was between Irakles and Emilios, or reinstating Stephanos, Gavriil would have chosen the latter. But because Achilleas’s name was in the new line of succession, he felt that signing would be better than not.
“I am afraid that if you are looking for a right and wrong in this situation, your highness, you’ll find that those options are far more complicated than they appear,” he said gravely. “Now, as to why they needed to come to pass so quickly? They did not need to, but I do not believe that if I had fought hard in that room, you and I would not be sitting across from each other to have this conversation. Some accident might have befallen me and I am much more useful to you and to our exiled king alive than not. So I signed.”
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Truly, Gavriil felt a little empathy for Achilleas. The man’s sudden impatience for him to stop so that the other could sift through what was being said made the patriarch pause and watch as Irakles’s son attempted to figure out whether or not his father was guilty or not guilty of treason. There were arguments to be made on both sides and Gavriil had yet to reach a satisfying conclusion. If Irakles was, indeed guilty, that meant he’d had help. Who knew how much? And how many lords were in on it. Or servants. Or both. There was no way to know for sure and an investigation like that was out of Gavriil’s abilities. He simply didn’t have that many friends or the kind of network it would take to launch such an investigation.
There was the added problem that, while he did not at all support Irakles’s claim, should treason be the case, he was more than happy with the heir sitting across from him. To remove Irakles and reinstate Stephanos? Gavriil didn’t know how much confidence he had that Stephanos would prove to be a good king. From what he’d seen, perhaps Stephanos would have stepped into that role, given enough time, but to lead a revolution to put him back on the throne just on the chance that he might be a good king? That was asking a bit much. It was safer to keep things as they were and to know that there was a definite leader in Achilleas.
Stephanos had proved himself in battle but politics were an entirely different beast.
“Hold a moment…these papers are signed and sealed already?” Achilleas checked and Gavriil nodded. “….it is done then.”
“It is,” Gavriil agreed gravely.
“I appreciate your being so forthcoming, my Lord, even if what you tell does not gladden me.”
“It would do you a great disservice in my eyes if it did gladden your heart,” Gavriil said bluntly. “But it is done.”
“If it grieved you, Lord Gavriil, then please explain to me…why sign something that is so permanent in it’s damnation of King Stephanos? There has been no trial to prove his guilt, and we do not know the nature of his disappearance. Why did both of these things need to come to pass so quickly?”
“I did not say it grieved me,” his stony expression did not falter as he surveyed Achilleas. The boy was merely attempting to make sense of an issue that was so convoluted, no one truly understood it, as of yet. “I said I found it troubling. They are not the same.”
To the rest of what Achilleas asked, Gavriil curled his hand over his mouth and watched Achilleas, contemplating him and what to say. The words were not on the tip of his tongue the way he wished them to be. It always took him time to come up with diplomatic ways to put things he’d much rather just be callously blunt about.
“The country needed a leader. Otherwise a power vacuum will be created. If there was a stitch of doubt as to who should be in line for the succession, Condos could have fought. The last thing we need is a civil war because of ambiguity. The laws can be rewritten if our exiled king decides to show his face, but it does not look good for him at the moment. Why run? It compounds his guilt, Achilleas, and though I do not believe him capable to slay his brother and father for the throne, his disappearance might mean he hasn’t run at all. This might have been the natural course anyway.”
He sat back in his chair, regarding Achilleas from under heavy brows. “I do not say I am comfortable with this choice. But I am comfortable with the heir to it. It was for you that I signed.” That was the truest part. If the choice was between Irakles and Emilios, or reinstating Stephanos, Gavriil would have chosen the latter. But because Achilleas’s name was in the new line of succession, he felt that signing would be better than not.
“I am afraid that if you are looking for a right and wrong in this situation, your highness, you’ll find that those options are far more complicated than they appear,” he said gravely. “Now, as to why they needed to come to pass so quickly? They did not need to, but I do not believe that if I had fought hard in that room, you and I would not be sitting across from each other to have this conversation. Some accident might have befallen me and I am much more useful to you and to our exiled king alive than not. So I signed.”
Truly, Gavriil felt a little empathy for Achilleas. The man’s sudden impatience for him to stop so that the other could sift through what was being said made the patriarch pause and watch as Irakles’s son attempted to figure out whether or not his father was guilty or not guilty of treason. There were arguments to be made on both sides and Gavriil had yet to reach a satisfying conclusion. If Irakles was, indeed guilty, that meant he’d had help. Who knew how much? And how many lords were in on it. Or servants. Or both. There was no way to know for sure and an investigation like that was out of Gavriil’s abilities. He simply didn’t have that many friends or the kind of network it would take to launch such an investigation.
There was the added problem that, while he did not at all support Irakles’s claim, should treason be the case, he was more than happy with the heir sitting across from him. To remove Irakles and reinstate Stephanos? Gavriil didn’t know how much confidence he had that Stephanos would prove to be a good king. From what he’d seen, perhaps Stephanos would have stepped into that role, given enough time, but to lead a revolution to put him back on the throne just on the chance that he might be a good king? That was asking a bit much. It was safer to keep things as they were and to know that there was a definite leader in Achilleas.
Stephanos had proved himself in battle but politics were an entirely different beast.
“Hold a moment…these papers are signed and sealed already?” Achilleas checked and Gavriil nodded. “….it is done then.”
“It is,” Gavriil agreed gravely.
“I appreciate your being so forthcoming, my Lord, even if what you tell does not gladden me.”
“It would do you a great disservice in my eyes if it did gladden your heart,” Gavriil said bluntly. “But it is done.”
“If it grieved you, Lord Gavriil, then please explain to me…why sign something that is so permanent in it’s damnation of King Stephanos? There has been no trial to prove his guilt, and we do not know the nature of his disappearance. Why did both of these things need to come to pass so quickly?”
“I did not say it grieved me,” his stony expression did not falter as he surveyed Achilleas. The boy was merely attempting to make sense of an issue that was so convoluted, no one truly understood it, as of yet. “I said I found it troubling. They are not the same.”
To the rest of what Achilleas asked, Gavriil curled his hand over his mouth and watched Achilleas, contemplating him and what to say. The words were not on the tip of his tongue the way he wished them to be. It always took him time to come up with diplomatic ways to put things he’d much rather just be callously blunt about.
“The country needed a leader. Otherwise a power vacuum will be created. If there was a stitch of doubt as to who should be in line for the succession, Condos could have fought. The last thing we need is a civil war because of ambiguity. The laws can be rewritten if our exiled king decides to show his face, but it does not look good for him at the moment. Why run? It compounds his guilt, Achilleas, and though I do not believe him capable to slay his brother and father for the throne, his disappearance might mean he hasn’t run at all. This might have been the natural course anyway.”
He sat back in his chair, regarding Achilleas from under heavy brows. “I do not say I am comfortable with this choice. But I am comfortable with the heir to it. It was for you that I signed.” That was the truest part. If the choice was between Irakles and Emilios, or reinstating Stephanos, Gavriil would have chosen the latter. But because Achilleas’s name was in the new line of succession, he felt that signing would be better than not.
“I am afraid that if you are looking for a right and wrong in this situation, your highness, you’ll find that those options are far more complicated than they appear,” he said gravely. “Now, as to why they needed to come to pass so quickly? They did not need to, but I do not believe that if I had fought hard in that room, you and I would not be sitting across from each other to have this conversation. Some accident might have befallen me and I am much more useful to you and to our exiled king alive than not. So I signed.”
Achilleas was coming to realise that the Lord Gavriil’s steady regard was not leaving him. Not as he raced through processing all that the Dimitrou Head of House had revealed, nor as the man bluntly corrected Achilleas’ own interpretation of the words spoken. Not even when the Mikaelidas Lord questioned the decision that the older man had taken.
All the while, the man’s gaze was on him, quietly noting each reaction, and it almost reminded him of his own father. Except, there was less criticism implicit in the Lord’s Gavriil’s still expression, and Achilleas was not made nervous by it in the same way. It was long a source of irritation, the ability that his father had to send him stumbling over his words like some idiot youth, despite Achilleas long having left such behaviour behind him when anyone else was involved.
He did not stumble now though, as he pushed as to why such drastic measures had been implicated so hastily, rulings that would – for he could see no other end to it – bring only conflict to their Kingdom. Achilleas knew his cousin, and as he wanted to believe that Stephanos had fled to Colchis and not been victim of anything more sinister, he could not imagine the hot-headed King accepting dissolution of his claim to the throne with anything other than a furious rebuttal. The Senate had shown that their confidence did not lie with Stephanos, but he could not believe there would be not those that would rally to him. What of their Colchian neighbours, if that was indeed where the King and Queen had been offered refuge? The potential for issues arising from this decision was not insubstantial.
Troubling, indeed.
As Lord Gavriil went on to explain his reasoning, Achilleas found that sound too. Whatever might be said of his father, the man was no fool, and it made sense to close ranks as Mikaelidas, rather than leave a weak spot that could see further any discussion between the Royal houses and the right to rule. Even Stephanos would likely understand it, once his initial outrage had been vented. Perhaps. Achilleas pressed his fingers into his temples, wishing things had not gotten so damned complicated.
But when Gavriil spoke again, the younger man lifted his gaze from where it had come to rest upon the dancing flames of the fire to find the face of the other man, surprise evident on his features. That was an endorsement he had neither looked for nor expected, and he was not quite sure what to say in the face of it.He glanced away from the Dimitrou Lord as he let that sink in.
Achilleas had never thought of himself as King. There should have been, and had been, enough distance between he and the throne of Taengea that there was no need to contemplate it. He was the son of a prince, son of the great General Irakles, so there were expectations on his shoulders, but he was a soldier, senator. Those were his roles. And one day, he fully expected to step up to become Head of House, like the man opposite him. But King? That had never featured in his imagined future. The past months and all that had befallen their Kingdom had seen those layers between he and the crown peeled away one by one though, and now, he realised with a jolt, it really was only one remaining.
“I see” was what he settled on, a short sharp nod as if to confirm his understanding, wanting to quash the childish pleasure that came with the implicit approval in the other man’s words. The last of it swept away on a sigh, on a pressed-lipped acknowledgement of the complexity of it all, the shades of grey that made Achilleas uncomfortable, and that he suspected had the same effect on the man who spoke, and the Mikaelidas Lord looked displeased at the notion that any divergence of opinion would have been met with brutality. Or perhaps more displeased at the fact that the idea could not be dismissed.
“I understand” he said, tone subdued. “It is foreboding that such a thing is believable, but it would be naive not to consider it. I fear I have been naive too long already.”
And then blue eyes settled keenly on Lord Gavriil, the Crown Prince as he now was suddenly sharpening his focus down to a point. He wet his lips with his tongue before he spoke. “If it were to come to anything...if we can find some way to assert Stephanos’ innocence. Would you stand with me in the Senate?” The against my father was unspoken and yet heavy in the pause that followed Achilleas’ question. For even if the son was not quite ready to believe that his father had schemed his way to seize the throne, he knew the man well enough to know that he would not want to give it up now that he was there.
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Achilleas was coming to realise that the Lord Gavriil’s steady regard was not leaving him. Not as he raced through processing all that the Dimitrou Head of House had revealed, nor as the man bluntly corrected Achilleas’ own interpretation of the words spoken. Not even when the Mikaelidas Lord questioned the decision that the older man had taken.
All the while, the man’s gaze was on him, quietly noting each reaction, and it almost reminded him of his own father. Except, there was less criticism implicit in the Lord’s Gavriil’s still expression, and Achilleas was not made nervous by it in the same way. It was long a source of irritation, the ability that his father had to send him stumbling over his words like some idiot youth, despite Achilleas long having left such behaviour behind him when anyone else was involved.
He did not stumble now though, as he pushed as to why such drastic measures had been implicated so hastily, rulings that would – for he could see no other end to it – bring only conflict to their Kingdom. Achilleas knew his cousin, and as he wanted to believe that Stephanos had fled to Colchis and not been victim of anything more sinister, he could not imagine the hot-headed King accepting dissolution of his claim to the throne with anything other than a furious rebuttal. The Senate had shown that their confidence did not lie with Stephanos, but he could not believe there would be not those that would rally to him. What of their Colchian neighbours, if that was indeed where the King and Queen had been offered refuge? The potential for issues arising from this decision was not insubstantial.
Troubling, indeed.
As Lord Gavriil went on to explain his reasoning, Achilleas found that sound too. Whatever might be said of his father, the man was no fool, and it made sense to close ranks as Mikaelidas, rather than leave a weak spot that could see further any discussion between the Royal houses and the right to rule. Even Stephanos would likely understand it, once his initial outrage had been vented. Perhaps. Achilleas pressed his fingers into his temples, wishing things had not gotten so damned complicated.
But when Gavriil spoke again, the younger man lifted his gaze from where it had come to rest upon the dancing flames of the fire to find the face of the other man, surprise evident on his features. That was an endorsement he had neither looked for nor expected, and he was not quite sure what to say in the face of it.He glanced away from the Dimitrou Lord as he let that sink in.
Achilleas had never thought of himself as King. There should have been, and had been, enough distance between he and the throne of Taengea that there was no need to contemplate it. He was the son of a prince, son of the great General Irakles, so there were expectations on his shoulders, but he was a soldier, senator. Those were his roles. And one day, he fully expected to step up to become Head of House, like the man opposite him. But King? That had never featured in his imagined future. The past months and all that had befallen their Kingdom had seen those layers between he and the crown peeled away one by one though, and now, he realised with a jolt, it really was only one remaining.
“I see” was what he settled on, a short sharp nod as if to confirm his understanding, wanting to quash the childish pleasure that came with the implicit approval in the other man’s words. The last of it swept away on a sigh, on a pressed-lipped acknowledgement of the complexity of it all, the shades of grey that made Achilleas uncomfortable, and that he suspected had the same effect on the man who spoke, and the Mikaelidas Lord looked displeased at the notion that any divergence of opinion would have been met with brutality. Or perhaps more displeased at the fact that the idea could not be dismissed.
“I understand” he said, tone subdued. “It is foreboding that such a thing is believable, but it would be naive not to consider it. I fear I have been naive too long already.”
And then blue eyes settled keenly on Lord Gavriil, the Crown Prince as he now was suddenly sharpening his focus down to a point. He wet his lips with his tongue before he spoke. “If it were to come to anything...if we can find some way to assert Stephanos’ innocence. Would you stand with me in the Senate?” The against my father was unspoken and yet heavy in the pause that followed Achilleas’ question. For even if the son was not quite ready to believe that his father had schemed his way to seize the throne, he knew the man well enough to know that he would not want to give it up now that he was there.
Achilleas was coming to realise that the Lord Gavriil’s steady regard was not leaving him. Not as he raced through processing all that the Dimitrou Head of House had revealed, nor as the man bluntly corrected Achilleas’ own interpretation of the words spoken. Not even when the Mikaelidas Lord questioned the decision that the older man had taken.
All the while, the man’s gaze was on him, quietly noting each reaction, and it almost reminded him of his own father. Except, there was less criticism implicit in the Lord’s Gavriil’s still expression, and Achilleas was not made nervous by it in the same way. It was long a source of irritation, the ability that his father had to send him stumbling over his words like some idiot youth, despite Achilleas long having left such behaviour behind him when anyone else was involved.
He did not stumble now though, as he pushed as to why such drastic measures had been implicated so hastily, rulings that would – for he could see no other end to it – bring only conflict to their Kingdom. Achilleas knew his cousin, and as he wanted to believe that Stephanos had fled to Colchis and not been victim of anything more sinister, he could not imagine the hot-headed King accepting dissolution of his claim to the throne with anything other than a furious rebuttal. The Senate had shown that their confidence did not lie with Stephanos, but he could not believe there would be not those that would rally to him. What of their Colchian neighbours, if that was indeed where the King and Queen had been offered refuge? The potential for issues arising from this decision was not insubstantial.
Troubling, indeed.
As Lord Gavriil went on to explain his reasoning, Achilleas found that sound too. Whatever might be said of his father, the man was no fool, and it made sense to close ranks as Mikaelidas, rather than leave a weak spot that could see further any discussion between the Royal houses and the right to rule. Even Stephanos would likely understand it, once his initial outrage had been vented. Perhaps. Achilleas pressed his fingers into his temples, wishing things had not gotten so damned complicated.
But when Gavriil spoke again, the younger man lifted his gaze from where it had come to rest upon the dancing flames of the fire to find the face of the other man, surprise evident on his features. That was an endorsement he had neither looked for nor expected, and he was not quite sure what to say in the face of it.He glanced away from the Dimitrou Lord as he let that sink in.
Achilleas had never thought of himself as King. There should have been, and had been, enough distance between he and the throne of Taengea that there was no need to contemplate it. He was the son of a prince, son of the great General Irakles, so there were expectations on his shoulders, but he was a soldier, senator. Those were his roles. And one day, he fully expected to step up to become Head of House, like the man opposite him. But King? That had never featured in his imagined future. The past months and all that had befallen their Kingdom had seen those layers between he and the crown peeled away one by one though, and now, he realised with a jolt, it really was only one remaining.
“I see” was what he settled on, a short sharp nod as if to confirm his understanding, wanting to quash the childish pleasure that came with the implicit approval in the other man’s words. The last of it swept away on a sigh, on a pressed-lipped acknowledgement of the complexity of it all, the shades of grey that made Achilleas uncomfortable, and that he suspected had the same effect on the man who spoke, and the Mikaelidas Lord looked displeased at the notion that any divergence of opinion would have been met with brutality. Or perhaps more displeased at the fact that the idea could not be dismissed.
“I understand” he said, tone subdued. “It is foreboding that such a thing is believable, but it would be naive not to consider it. I fear I have been naive too long already.”
And then blue eyes settled keenly on Lord Gavriil, the Crown Prince as he now was suddenly sharpening his focus down to a point. He wet his lips with his tongue before he spoke. “If it were to come to anything...if we can find some way to assert Stephanos’ innocence. Would you stand with me in the Senate?” The against my father was unspoken and yet heavy in the pause that followed Achilleas’ question. For even if the son was not quite ready to believe that his father had schemed his way to seize the throne, he knew the man well enough to know that he would not want to give it up now that he was there.
He liked how long it took for Achilleas to think about the things he was being told. The newly minted prince was handsome, in a chiseled sort of way, as Irakles was. He had a clear gaze that told Gavriil that, while yes, Achilleas had been naive for too long (there could be no two opinions on that score), he was quite capable of learning. The man was tall, cut an impressive figure on the battlefield and at court, had a sound mind and had thus far displayed sound judgement. At Stephanos’s ‘hearing’, Achilleas had at least gone against his father in however minute a way it had been. That spoke volumes. To Gavriil, this was what a king should be. More than that, Achilleas was young enough on top of it that he could rule for the next fifty years, if he took care of himself. To set that kind of lineage, and have a fiance of childbearing years, this was the sort of monarchy that he’d hoped for.
Stephanos’s set up had been very similar, and with a wife already pregnant. The problem was that he’d just required so much of Irakles’s help and it was well known that the dowager queen hadn’t even though enough of her own son to let him be a man and do things on his own. No. Achilleas was far more ideal, which was why Gavriil stared hard at him when Achilleas put out the nearly hesitant idea of possibly exonerating Stephanos.
“Stephanos.” The name came out gruff and Gavriil’s entire face closed. His eyebrows sank, his mouth turned down, his eyes narrowed. “Stephanos.” He said again, dismissively, though considering. Then, Gavriil exhaled. His eyebrows returned from the deep frown into a more moderate one and he clasped his rough fingers together as his gaze sought the fire, rather than Achilleas.
“It does you credit that you think of your cousin,” he said at last, though he was less than thrilled about this turn in the conversation. “I don’t believe he killed his family,” Gavriil said towards the flames licking the wood in the grate. “But he-” he stopped for a moment, trying to consider his words but decided that he’d rather be blunt in this case. “Was he a fit king? Your father practically had to hold his hand. For everything. And there were rumors that he stayed up until all hours, fighting and carrying on and carousing until who knows when.”
Gavriil shifted in his chair to look at Achilleas. “I think you’d be more stable,” he said. “But if you truly believe that you cannot sit on that throne with a clear conscience, I will stand with you.”
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He liked how long it took for Achilleas to think about the things he was being told. The newly minted prince was handsome, in a chiseled sort of way, as Irakles was. He had a clear gaze that told Gavriil that, while yes, Achilleas had been naive for too long (there could be no two opinions on that score), he was quite capable of learning. The man was tall, cut an impressive figure on the battlefield and at court, had a sound mind and had thus far displayed sound judgement. At Stephanos’s ‘hearing’, Achilleas had at least gone against his father in however minute a way it had been. That spoke volumes. To Gavriil, this was what a king should be. More than that, Achilleas was young enough on top of it that he could rule for the next fifty years, if he took care of himself. To set that kind of lineage, and have a fiance of childbearing years, this was the sort of monarchy that he’d hoped for.
Stephanos’s set up had been very similar, and with a wife already pregnant. The problem was that he’d just required so much of Irakles’s help and it was well known that the dowager queen hadn’t even though enough of her own son to let him be a man and do things on his own. No. Achilleas was far more ideal, which was why Gavriil stared hard at him when Achilleas put out the nearly hesitant idea of possibly exonerating Stephanos.
“Stephanos.” The name came out gruff and Gavriil’s entire face closed. His eyebrows sank, his mouth turned down, his eyes narrowed. “Stephanos.” He said again, dismissively, though considering. Then, Gavriil exhaled. His eyebrows returned from the deep frown into a more moderate one and he clasped his rough fingers together as his gaze sought the fire, rather than Achilleas.
“It does you credit that you think of your cousin,” he said at last, though he was less than thrilled about this turn in the conversation. “I don’t believe he killed his family,” Gavriil said towards the flames licking the wood in the grate. “But he-” he stopped for a moment, trying to consider his words but decided that he’d rather be blunt in this case. “Was he a fit king? Your father practically had to hold his hand. For everything. And there were rumors that he stayed up until all hours, fighting and carrying on and carousing until who knows when.”
Gavriil shifted in his chair to look at Achilleas. “I think you’d be more stable,” he said. “But if you truly believe that you cannot sit on that throne with a clear conscience, I will stand with you.”
He liked how long it took for Achilleas to think about the things he was being told. The newly minted prince was handsome, in a chiseled sort of way, as Irakles was. He had a clear gaze that told Gavriil that, while yes, Achilleas had been naive for too long (there could be no two opinions on that score), he was quite capable of learning. The man was tall, cut an impressive figure on the battlefield and at court, had a sound mind and had thus far displayed sound judgement. At Stephanos’s ‘hearing’, Achilleas had at least gone against his father in however minute a way it had been. That spoke volumes. To Gavriil, this was what a king should be. More than that, Achilleas was young enough on top of it that he could rule for the next fifty years, if he took care of himself. To set that kind of lineage, and have a fiance of childbearing years, this was the sort of monarchy that he’d hoped for.
Stephanos’s set up had been very similar, and with a wife already pregnant. The problem was that he’d just required so much of Irakles’s help and it was well known that the dowager queen hadn’t even though enough of her own son to let him be a man and do things on his own. No. Achilleas was far more ideal, which was why Gavriil stared hard at him when Achilleas put out the nearly hesitant idea of possibly exonerating Stephanos.
“Stephanos.” The name came out gruff and Gavriil’s entire face closed. His eyebrows sank, his mouth turned down, his eyes narrowed. “Stephanos.” He said again, dismissively, though considering. Then, Gavriil exhaled. His eyebrows returned from the deep frown into a more moderate one and he clasped his rough fingers together as his gaze sought the fire, rather than Achilleas.
“It does you credit that you think of your cousin,” he said at last, though he was less than thrilled about this turn in the conversation. “I don’t believe he killed his family,” Gavriil said towards the flames licking the wood in the grate. “But he-” he stopped for a moment, trying to consider his words but decided that he’d rather be blunt in this case. “Was he a fit king? Your father practically had to hold his hand. For everything. And there were rumors that he stayed up until all hours, fighting and carrying on and carousing until who knows when.”
Gavriil shifted in his chair to look at Achilleas. “I think you’d be more stable,” he said. “But if you truly believe that you cannot sit on that throne with a clear conscience, I will stand with you.”
Achilleas met Gavriil’s stare steadily; he wasn’t prepared to consign his cousin to being named traitor when there had been no trial, no chance for him to defend himself. Even in the senate meeting, Stephanos had been silenced, partly what had led to his loss of control. And if the man had really been in fear for his life, for the safety of his wife and unborn child then who could blame him for taking them to safety.
He listened to what the Dimitrou Lord had to say, did not dismiss the man’s concerns out of hand because he knew that was a real issue, the senate did not have confidence in the disgraced King. They would need to discredit the mud that had been slung at Stephanos, and at the moment, Achilleas did not know how to achieve that. But even if they could, it would mean little if there was no support to try and win over the Barons and Lords who had already made their minds up that Stephanos was guilty. Or, as Gavriil seemed to fear, inept.
“I wonder now, how much help my father was actually being” Achilleas observed unhappily. “And you forget, Stephanos proved himself against the Creed.” It had not been without cost, but his cousin had seen a fit retribution was rained upon those cowardlyThe Mikaelidas man paused and appeared to consider Gavriil’s question, a muscle flickering in the sharp cut line of his jaw. He sighed quietly before offering a response.
“I would not be the kind of leader I would like to be if I closed my eyes to what may still have been a great injustice, Lord Gavriil. But, rest assured, I will not ask this of you unless I have enough to make it a viable defence.”
It would do no good to discredit themselves in their attempt to clear Stephanos’ name, Achilleas had been clear about that when he had spoken to Princess Xene. He was not in a position, after all, to risk angering his father anymore than he already had, not without just cause. But until they could turn up anything of note, it was immaterial anyway.
He was glad he had come, his reservations about having made the right choice in seeking out Lord Gavriil laid to rest with the frank and open nature of their conversation. That, and the man’s subsequent assurance that he would be willing to stand beside him if Achilleas could find enough to warrant challenging the rule of treason that had been laid down upon his cousin. He had not been wrong to place his trust in the Dimitrou Lord,at least.
“Thank you, my Lord, for your candour here. It has been difficult finding fact in other sources, and I hope that we might continue to speak like this henceforth. I would like to strengthen the bonds between us, for we are kin and perhaps I have been lax in not reaching out previously.”
Indeed, Achilleas had been rather insular in the preceding weeks, a fact that he sought to remedy now. “There has been worrying news from Athenia, I hope that you have heard from Iason and that he is well?”
Having established their mutual positions in their own political storm, it left moment to consider that of their neighbouring Kingdom, and indeed Gavriil’s own heir. Iason had been set to wed a Queen who at the last, Achilleas had heard was missing. Neither of them were men much fond of small talk though, the Crown Prince surmised, and so when he was assured of his cousin Iason’s wellbeing, Achilleas nodded.
“You will forgive me the unscheduled intrusion upon your time, my Lord, and please pass my apologies on to the Lady Alexa also. I will leave you now to your day, and hope to see you at our home for the wedding celebration if not before.”
He had stood, his height making him imposing even when the mild expression upon his face did not. He clasped the man’s arm briefly in farewell before leaving the manor, a little wiser perhaps, and certainly with a greater insight into his mother’s cousin. The Dimitrou Lord had left Achilleas with plenty to think about, and perhaps a new ally.
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Achilleas met Gavriil’s stare steadily; he wasn’t prepared to consign his cousin to being named traitor when there had been no trial, no chance for him to defend himself. Even in the senate meeting, Stephanos had been silenced, partly what had led to his loss of control. And if the man had really been in fear for his life, for the safety of his wife and unborn child then who could blame him for taking them to safety.
He listened to what the Dimitrou Lord had to say, did not dismiss the man’s concerns out of hand because he knew that was a real issue, the senate did not have confidence in the disgraced King. They would need to discredit the mud that had been slung at Stephanos, and at the moment, Achilleas did not know how to achieve that. But even if they could, it would mean little if there was no support to try and win over the Barons and Lords who had already made their minds up that Stephanos was guilty. Or, as Gavriil seemed to fear, inept.
“I wonder now, how much help my father was actually being” Achilleas observed unhappily. “And you forget, Stephanos proved himself against the Creed.” It had not been without cost, but his cousin had seen a fit retribution was rained upon those cowardlyThe Mikaelidas man paused and appeared to consider Gavriil’s question, a muscle flickering in the sharp cut line of his jaw. He sighed quietly before offering a response.
“I would not be the kind of leader I would like to be if I closed my eyes to what may still have been a great injustice, Lord Gavriil. But, rest assured, I will not ask this of you unless I have enough to make it a viable defence.”
It would do no good to discredit themselves in their attempt to clear Stephanos’ name, Achilleas had been clear about that when he had spoken to Princess Xene. He was not in a position, after all, to risk angering his father anymore than he already had, not without just cause. But until they could turn up anything of note, it was immaterial anyway.
He was glad he had come, his reservations about having made the right choice in seeking out Lord Gavriil laid to rest with the frank and open nature of their conversation. That, and the man’s subsequent assurance that he would be willing to stand beside him if Achilleas could find enough to warrant challenging the rule of treason that had been laid down upon his cousin. He had not been wrong to place his trust in the Dimitrou Lord,at least.
“Thank you, my Lord, for your candour here. It has been difficult finding fact in other sources, and I hope that we might continue to speak like this henceforth. I would like to strengthen the bonds between us, for we are kin and perhaps I have been lax in not reaching out previously.”
Indeed, Achilleas had been rather insular in the preceding weeks, a fact that he sought to remedy now. “There has been worrying news from Athenia, I hope that you have heard from Iason and that he is well?”
Having established their mutual positions in their own political storm, it left moment to consider that of their neighbouring Kingdom, and indeed Gavriil’s own heir. Iason had been set to wed a Queen who at the last, Achilleas had heard was missing. Neither of them were men much fond of small talk though, the Crown Prince surmised, and so when he was assured of his cousin Iason’s wellbeing, Achilleas nodded.
“You will forgive me the unscheduled intrusion upon your time, my Lord, and please pass my apologies on to the Lady Alexa also. I will leave you now to your day, and hope to see you at our home for the wedding celebration if not before.”
He had stood, his height making him imposing even when the mild expression upon his face did not. He clasped the man’s arm briefly in farewell before leaving the manor, a little wiser perhaps, and certainly with a greater insight into his mother’s cousin. The Dimitrou Lord had left Achilleas with plenty to think about, and perhaps a new ally.
Achilleas met Gavriil’s stare steadily; he wasn’t prepared to consign his cousin to being named traitor when there had been no trial, no chance for him to defend himself. Even in the senate meeting, Stephanos had been silenced, partly what had led to his loss of control. And if the man had really been in fear for his life, for the safety of his wife and unborn child then who could blame him for taking them to safety.
He listened to what the Dimitrou Lord had to say, did not dismiss the man’s concerns out of hand because he knew that was a real issue, the senate did not have confidence in the disgraced King. They would need to discredit the mud that had been slung at Stephanos, and at the moment, Achilleas did not know how to achieve that. But even if they could, it would mean little if there was no support to try and win over the Barons and Lords who had already made their minds up that Stephanos was guilty. Or, as Gavriil seemed to fear, inept.
“I wonder now, how much help my father was actually being” Achilleas observed unhappily. “And you forget, Stephanos proved himself against the Creed.” It had not been without cost, but his cousin had seen a fit retribution was rained upon those cowardlyThe Mikaelidas man paused and appeared to consider Gavriil’s question, a muscle flickering in the sharp cut line of his jaw. He sighed quietly before offering a response.
“I would not be the kind of leader I would like to be if I closed my eyes to what may still have been a great injustice, Lord Gavriil. But, rest assured, I will not ask this of you unless I have enough to make it a viable defence.”
It would do no good to discredit themselves in their attempt to clear Stephanos’ name, Achilleas had been clear about that when he had spoken to Princess Xene. He was not in a position, after all, to risk angering his father anymore than he already had, not without just cause. But until they could turn up anything of note, it was immaterial anyway.
He was glad he had come, his reservations about having made the right choice in seeking out Lord Gavriil laid to rest with the frank and open nature of their conversation. That, and the man’s subsequent assurance that he would be willing to stand beside him if Achilleas could find enough to warrant challenging the rule of treason that had been laid down upon his cousin. He had not been wrong to place his trust in the Dimitrou Lord,at least.
“Thank you, my Lord, for your candour here. It has been difficult finding fact in other sources, and I hope that we might continue to speak like this henceforth. I would like to strengthen the bonds between us, for we are kin and perhaps I have been lax in not reaching out previously.”
Indeed, Achilleas had been rather insular in the preceding weeks, a fact that he sought to remedy now. “There has been worrying news from Athenia, I hope that you have heard from Iason and that he is well?”
Having established their mutual positions in their own political storm, it left moment to consider that of their neighbouring Kingdom, and indeed Gavriil’s own heir. Iason had been set to wed a Queen who at the last, Achilleas had heard was missing. Neither of them were men much fond of small talk though, the Crown Prince surmised, and so when he was assured of his cousin Iason’s wellbeing, Achilleas nodded.
“You will forgive me the unscheduled intrusion upon your time, my Lord, and please pass my apologies on to the Lady Alexa also. I will leave you now to your day, and hope to see you at our home for the wedding celebration if not before.”
He had stood, his height making him imposing even when the mild expression upon his face did not. He clasped the man’s arm briefly in farewell before leaving the manor, a little wiser perhaps, and certainly with a greater insight into his mother’s cousin. The Dimitrou Lord had left Achilleas with plenty to think about, and perhaps a new ally.
“I wonder now, how much help my father was actually being,” Achilleas said. “And you forget, Stephanos proved himself against the Creed.”
Gavriil sat back in his chair, sighing deeply, suddenly being reminded that he was speaking to not only the disgraced former king’s cousin, but friend as well. They were young and they did not look at things the same. Gavriil chose not to argue with Achilleas about Irakles, though he did file that away for his own use, later. There was much to think on in those few short words and he would like to discuss it, but not now. Not while Achilleas was so bent on defending Stephanos.
He motioned in slow gestures, with his palms down, like he was calming Achilleas, which he was, and said, “I am not arguing his victory or military mind. No one will dispute it.” As much as he wanted to keep going on that thought, to bring it back around to his questioning of Stephanos’s political aptitude, he refrained.
“I would not be the kind of leader I would like to be if I closed my eyes to what may still have been a great injustice, Lord Gavriil. But, rest assured, I will not ask this of you unless I have enough to make it a viable defence.” Achilleas persisted and, here again, Gavriil did not argue.
“We are in agreement then,” he said, privately relieved he wasn’t being begged to lead a crusade on behalf of the man’s cousin. Liking a person’s company and wanting them to be king were very different things. It was wise of the newly crowned prince not to rush into a foolhardy mission. While it was extremely doubtful, there was still the possibility, however slim, that Stephanos might be guilty and they had to at least rule it out completely.
“Thank you, my Lord, for your candour here. It has been difficult finding fact in other sources, and I hope that we might continue to speak like this henceforth. I would like to strengthen the bonds between us, for we are kin and perhaps I have been lax in not reaching out previously.”
Gavriil merely nodded to this. There was nothing to add. They were kin, their relationship thus far had been lax, though on both sides. He couldn’t pretend that the current king didn’t have anything to do with that, but with this conversation assuring him that Achilleas wasn’t some pawn of his father’s, or wouldn’t always be, at least, he was more comfortable in the connection. He also had no doubts about Achilleas not getting straight answers from his peers. Bunch of fearful old men and while some had good reason to fear, other than being called a traitor for discussing this, his own record was completely clean.
“There has been worrying news from Athenia, I hope that you have heard from Iason and that he is well?” Achilleas suddenly asked and Gavriil stared at him for a second. Then, “Yes. He is well and out of harm’s way. Thank you.” A natural question, because of course, Achilleas and Iason knew each other. Natural. Obviously. He forced himself to keep his steady gaze on Achilleas and not look elsewhere like he wanted to.
Thankfully, that seemed to be the end of Achilleas’s question, because he was then making his excuses to leave and standing up. Gavriil followed suit, very happy to put an end to it, especially the last bit. No one needed to know his son and the wanted queen were in Taengea. Under his roof. Right now. Gavriil had to look up at Achilleas just a little bit, now that they were standing close enough for Achilleas to clasp his arm and he was reminded that he wasn’t young, like this man. He was shorter than he used to be, and it took this moment for him to be reminded. They said nothing more to each other and Gavriil went back out to where Alexa was still practicing with her bow.
“All well, papa?” she asked, not looking at him and instead focusing on the target. He waited until she’d released the shot and missed.
“Nothing’s ever all well,” he said, nocking his own arrow, taking aim, and shooting a perfect bull’s eye. He lowered the bow and looked down at his youngest daughter. “But it’s well enough, little one.”
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“I wonder now, how much help my father was actually being,” Achilleas said. “And you forget, Stephanos proved himself against the Creed.”
Gavriil sat back in his chair, sighing deeply, suddenly being reminded that he was speaking to not only the disgraced former king’s cousin, but friend as well. They were young and they did not look at things the same. Gavriil chose not to argue with Achilleas about Irakles, though he did file that away for his own use, later. There was much to think on in those few short words and he would like to discuss it, but not now. Not while Achilleas was so bent on defending Stephanos.
He motioned in slow gestures, with his palms down, like he was calming Achilleas, which he was, and said, “I am not arguing his victory or military mind. No one will dispute it.” As much as he wanted to keep going on that thought, to bring it back around to his questioning of Stephanos’s political aptitude, he refrained.
“I would not be the kind of leader I would like to be if I closed my eyes to what may still have been a great injustice, Lord Gavriil. But, rest assured, I will not ask this of you unless I have enough to make it a viable defence.” Achilleas persisted and, here again, Gavriil did not argue.
“We are in agreement then,” he said, privately relieved he wasn’t being begged to lead a crusade on behalf of the man’s cousin. Liking a person’s company and wanting them to be king were very different things. It was wise of the newly crowned prince not to rush into a foolhardy mission. While it was extremely doubtful, there was still the possibility, however slim, that Stephanos might be guilty and they had to at least rule it out completely.
“Thank you, my Lord, for your candour here. It has been difficult finding fact in other sources, and I hope that we might continue to speak like this henceforth. I would like to strengthen the bonds between us, for we are kin and perhaps I have been lax in not reaching out previously.”
Gavriil merely nodded to this. There was nothing to add. They were kin, their relationship thus far had been lax, though on both sides. He couldn’t pretend that the current king didn’t have anything to do with that, but with this conversation assuring him that Achilleas wasn’t some pawn of his father’s, or wouldn’t always be, at least, he was more comfortable in the connection. He also had no doubts about Achilleas not getting straight answers from his peers. Bunch of fearful old men and while some had good reason to fear, other than being called a traitor for discussing this, his own record was completely clean.
“There has been worrying news from Athenia, I hope that you have heard from Iason and that he is well?” Achilleas suddenly asked and Gavriil stared at him for a second. Then, “Yes. He is well and out of harm’s way. Thank you.” A natural question, because of course, Achilleas and Iason knew each other. Natural. Obviously. He forced himself to keep his steady gaze on Achilleas and not look elsewhere like he wanted to.
Thankfully, that seemed to be the end of Achilleas’s question, because he was then making his excuses to leave and standing up. Gavriil followed suit, very happy to put an end to it, especially the last bit. No one needed to know his son and the wanted queen were in Taengea. Under his roof. Right now. Gavriil had to look up at Achilleas just a little bit, now that they were standing close enough for Achilleas to clasp his arm and he was reminded that he wasn’t young, like this man. He was shorter than he used to be, and it took this moment for him to be reminded. They said nothing more to each other and Gavriil went back out to where Alexa was still practicing with her bow.
“All well, papa?” she asked, not looking at him and instead focusing on the target. He waited until she’d released the shot and missed.
“Nothing’s ever all well,” he said, nocking his own arrow, taking aim, and shooting a perfect bull’s eye. He lowered the bow and looked down at his youngest daughter. “But it’s well enough, little one.”
“I wonder now, how much help my father was actually being,” Achilleas said. “And you forget, Stephanos proved himself against the Creed.”
Gavriil sat back in his chair, sighing deeply, suddenly being reminded that he was speaking to not only the disgraced former king’s cousin, but friend as well. They were young and they did not look at things the same. Gavriil chose not to argue with Achilleas about Irakles, though he did file that away for his own use, later. There was much to think on in those few short words and he would like to discuss it, but not now. Not while Achilleas was so bent on defending Stephanos.
He motioned in slow gestures, with his palms down, like he was calming Achilleas, which he was, and said, “I am not arguing his victory or military mind. No one will dispute it.” As much as he wanted to keep going on that thought, to bring it back around to his questioning of Stephanos’s political aptitude, he refrained.
“I would not be the kind of leader I would like to be if I closed my eyes to what may still have been a great injustice, Lord Gavriil. But, rest assured, I will not ask this of you unless I have enough to make it a viable defence.” Achilleas persisted and, here again, Gavriil did not argue.
“We are in agreement then,” he said, privately relieved he wasn’t being begged to lead a crusade on behalf of the man’s cousin. Liking a person’s company and wanting them to be king were very different things. It was wise of the newly crowned prince not to rush into a foolhardy mission. While it was extremely doubtful, there was still the possibility, however slim, that Stephanos might be guilty and they had to at least rule it out completely.
“Thank you, my Lord, for your candour here. It has been difficult finding fact in other sources, and I hope that we might continue to speak like this henceforth. I would like to strengthen the bonds between us, for we are kin and perhaps I have been lax in not reaching out previously.”
Gavriil merely nodded to this. There was nothing to add. They were kin, their relationship thus far had been lax, though on both sides. He couldn’t pretend that the current king didn’t have anything to do with that, but with this conversation assuring him that Achilleas wasn’t some pawn of his father’s, or wouldn’t always be, at least, he was more comfortable in the connection. He also had no doubts about Achilleas not getting straight answers from his peers. Bunch of fearful old men and while some had good reason to fear, other than being called a traitor for discussing this, his own record was completely clean.
“There has been worrying news from Athenia, I hope that you have heard from Iason and that he is well?” Achilleas suddenly asked and Gavriil stared at him for a second. Then, “Yes. He is well and out of harm’s way. Thank you.” A natural question, because of course, Achilleas and Iason knew each other. Natural. Obviously. He forced himself to keep his steady gaze on Achilleas and not look elsewhere like he wanted to.
Thankfully, that seemed to be the end of Achilleas’s question, because he was then making his excuses to leave and standing up. Gavriil followed suit, very happy to put an end to it, especially the last bit. No one needed to know his son and the wanted queen were in Taengea. Under his roof. Right now. Gavriil had to look up at Achilleas just a little bit, now that they were standing close enough for Achilleas to clasp his arm and he was reminded that he wasn’t young, like this man. He was shorter than he used to be, and it took this moment for him to be reminded. They said nothing more to each other and Gavriil went back out to where Alexa was still practicing with her bow.
“All well, papa?” she asked, not looking at him and instead focusing on the target. He waited until she’d released the shot and missed.
“Nothing’s ever all well,” he said, nocking his own arrow, taking aim, and shooting a perfect bull’s eye. He lowered the bow and looked down at his youngest daughter. “But it’s well enough, little one.”