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It had been nearly two years since Hector stepped foot onto the grounds of the Kalospíti, this time with a purpose far different than his last. As far as his superior officer was concerned, it was the Lieutenant's first time ever passing through the gates of the Xanthos estate within Arcana. It was meant as a treat and an honor for the young man who achieved his officer position at the age of twenty-two.
The rise in rank had saved his family, put food on the table for his two girls, now in their second year of life and growing like weeds. It was all due to a kind word that he did not deserve.
For Hector, though, the simple task of delivering reports to the Queen set his shoulders stiff with anxiousness. As if to overcompensate for the pit of dread that formed in his gut, swirling like spiraling sinkholes that drained the marshes every few years, Hector set his jaw to block any external show of emotion that could present itself.
He was quite a sight, the vision of shining stoicism despite his common birth. It was miraculous what a new suit of armor and heraldry for his new position could do, making him seem to stand taller than usual. He felt much like one of the statues in the square, honoring the fallen of Arcana who served in wars past to defend the Kingdom.
Catching his reflection in a decorative looking glass as he entered the manor proper, it eased his inner turmoil, if only slightly. For a brief moment, he looked the part and that in its turn made him feel the part.
How would Queen Lucille respond upon seeing him? Would he even be recognized?
Would she...smile at him, seeing how far he had come?
Through her kindness, the Queen of Athenia had created a new man that night, and had garnered his loyalty and distant idolization, without having seen her again. Her features were permanently emblazoned in his mind - dark hair, honeyed eyes, lips that were set firm but spoke with cool grace, even as he held a knife to her and issued threats.
He could have killed the Queen that night.
The thought horrified and humiliated him beyond words, and it was a burden he carried silently and though on every time he prepared a meal for his girls.
Catching himself within his thoughts and raising his own nerves, he cleared his throat and was greeted by the Steward of Arcana, a kind, older man who informed him that the Queen was preoccupied and that he would accept the missives on her behalf.
Part of Hector's mind felt utter relief while the other inexplicably felt disappointment. It confused him, as the embarrassment of seeing Queen Lucille should have overpowered all thought as it had for nearly the entire ride up to the manor, but now, at the thought of not seeing her, there as a tinge of sadness.
Hector had wanted to see the Queen.
In that moment, he could not fathom the reason. Did he wish to show her how far he had come? Did he hope to actually apologize for what he had done - or nearly done - a year ago? Did he...simply just want to look upon her once again?
Either way, the moment passed, and with a bow, the valet began to lead him away, though offered him a moment to warm by the fire.
The winter winds of Apellaios were not as harsh as he heard they could be in other Kingdoms, but with a roaring hearthfire in the main entryway, Hector graciously accepted a few moments by the fire before setting back out the slope against the wind sheer.
Once led closer to the fire, he noted a young girl crossing the foyer, graceful and poised, flanked by a maidservant. It took a moment for his memory to recognize the profile of her cheek and the soft pout of her lip, mirroring that of her mother. The valet began to bow and Hector followed suit, both of them greeting Princess Persephone with a soft, “Your Highness.”
Hector eyes quickly flicked up from his bow, watching her face a moment. By the gods, she looked like her mother. Hector smiled softly, watching as she passed, nervously shifting a moment as her paced slowed.
The sinkhole in his stomach formed again as she paused in her step.
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Dec 29, 2019 19:33:03 GMT
Posted In Crossed Paths on Dec 29, 2019 19:33:03 GMT
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It had been nearly two years since Hector stepped foot onto the grounds of the Kalospíti, this time with a purpose far different than his last. As far as his superior officer was concerned, it was the Lieutenant's first time ever passing through the gates of the Xanthos estate within Arcana. It was meant as a treat and an honor for the young man who achieved his officer position at the age of twenty-two.
The rise in rank had saved his family, put food on the table for his two girls, now in their second year of life and growing like weeds. It was all due to a kind word that he did not deserve.
For Hector, though, the simple task of delivering reports to the Queen set his shoulders stiff with anxiousness. As if to overcompensate for the pit of dread that formed in his gut, swirling like spiraling sinkholes that drained the marshes every few years, Hector set his jaw to block any external show of emotion that could present itself.
He was quite a sight, the vision of shining stoicism despite his common birth. It was miraculous what a new suit of armor and heraldry for his new position could do, making him seem to stand taller than usual. He felt much like one of the statues in the square, honoring the fallen of Arcana who served in wars past to defend the Kingdom.
Catching his reflection in a decorative looking glass as he entered the manor proper, it eased his inner turmoil, if only slightly. For a brief moment, he looked the part and that in its turn made him feel the part.
How would Queen Lucille respond upon seeing him? Would he even be recognized?
Would she...smile at him, seeing how far he had come?
Through her kindness, the Queen of Athenia had created a new man that night, and had garnered his loyalty and distant idolization, without having seen her again. Her features were permanently emblazoned in his mind - dark hair, honeyed eyes, lips that were set firm but spoke with cool grace, even as he held a knife to her and issued threats.
He could have killed the Queen that night.
The thought horrified and humiliated him beyond words, and it was a burden he carried silently and though on every time he prepared a meal for his girls.
Catching himself within his thoughts and raising his own nerves, he cleared his throat and was greeted by the Steward of Arcana, a kind, older man who informed him that the Queen was preoccupied and that he would accept the missives on her behalf.
Part of Hector's mind felt utter relief while the other inexplicably felt disappointment. It confused him, as the embarrassment of seeing Queen Lucille should have overpowered all thought as it had for nearly the entire ride up to the manor, but now, at the thought of not seeing her, there as a tinge of sadness.
Hector had wanted to see the Queen.
In that moment, he could not fathom the reason. Did he wish to show her how far he had come? Did he hope to actually apologize for what he had done - or nearly done - a year ago? Did he...simply just want to look upon her once again?
Either way, the moment passed, and with a bow, the valet began to lead him away, though offered him a moment to warm by the fire.
The winter winds of Apellaios were not as harsh as he heard they could be in other Kingdoms, but with a roaring hearthfire in the main entryway, Hector graciously accepted a few moments by the fire before setting back out the slope against the wind sheer.
Once led closer to the fire, he noted a young girl crossing the foyer, graceful and poised, flanked by a maidservant. It took a moment for his memory to recognize the profile of her cheek and the soft pout of her lip, mirroring that of her mother. The valet began to bow and Hector followed suit, both of them greeting Princess Persephone with a soft, “Your Highness.”
Hector eyes quickly flicked up from his bow, watching her face a moment. By the gods, she looked like her mother. Hector smiled softly, watching as she passed, nervously shifting a moment as her paced slowed.
The sinkhole in his stomach formed again as she paused in her step.
It had been nearly two years since Hector stepped foot onto the grounds of the Kalospíti, this time with a purpose far different than his last. As far as his superior officer was concerned, it was the Lieutenant's first time ever passing through the gates of the Xanthos estate within Arcana. It was meant as a treat and an honor for the young man who achieved his officer position at the age of twenty-two.
The rise in rank had saved his family, put food on the table for his two girls, now in their second year of life and growing like weeds. It was all due to a kind word that he did not deserve.
For Hector, though, the simple task of delivering reports to the Queen set his shoulders stiff with anxiousness. As if to overcompensate for the pit of dread that formed in his gut, swirling like spiraling sinkholes that drained the marshes every few years, Hector set his jaw to block any external show of emotion that could present itself.
He was quite a sight, the vision of shining stoicism despite his common birth. It was miraculous what a new suit of armor and heraldry for his new position could do, making him seem to stand taller than usual. He felt much like one of the statues in the square, honoring the fallen of Arcana who served in wars past to defend the Kingdom.
Catching his reflection in a decorative looking glass as he entered the manor proper, it eased his inner turmoil, if only slightly. For a brief moment, he looked the part and that in its turn made him feel the part.
How would Queen Lucille respond upon seeing him? Would he even be recognized?
Would she...smile at him, seeing how far he had come?
Through her kindness, the Queen of Athenia had created a new man that night, and had garnered his loyalty and distant idolization, without having seen her again. Her features were permanently emblazoned in his mind - dark hair, honeyed eyes, lips that were set firm but spoke with cool grace, even as he held a knife to her and issued threats.
He could have killed the Queen that night.
The thought horrified and humiliated him beyond words, and it was a burden he carried silently and though on every time he prepared a meal for his girls.
Catching himself within his thoughts and raising his own nerves, he cleared his throat and was greeted by the Steward of Arcana, a kind, older man who informed him that the Queen was preoccupied and that he would accept the missives on her behalf.
Part of Hector's mind felt utter relief while the other inexplicably felt disappointment. It confused him, as the embarrassment of seeing Queen Lucille should have overpowered all thought as it had for nearly the entire ride up to the manor, but now, at the thought of not seeing her, there as a tinge of sadness.
Hector had wanted to see the Queen.
In that moment, he could not fathom the reason. Did he wish to show her how far he had come? Did he hope to actually apologize for what he had done - or nearly done - a year ago? Did he...simply just want to look upon her once again?
Either way, the moment passed, and with a bow, the valet began to lead him away, though offered him a moment to warm by the fire.
The winter winds of Apellaios were not as harsh as he heard they could be in other Kingdoms, but with a roaring hearthfire in the main entryway, Hector graciously accepted a few moments by the fire before setting back out the slope against the wind sheer.
Once led closer to the fire, he noted a young girl crossing the foyer, graceful and poised, flanked by a maidservant. It took a moment for his memory to recognize the profile of her cheek and the soft pout of her lip, mirroring that of her mother. The valet began to bow and Hector followed suit, both of them greeting Princess Persephone with a soft, “Your Highness.”
Hector eyes quickly flicked up from his bow, watching her face a moment. By the gods, she looked like her mother. Hector smiled softly, watching as she passed, nervously shifting a moment as her paced slowed.
The sinkhole in his stomach formed again as she paused in her step.
Like her mother, Persephone most assuredly was. Despite being only six years of age, the young princess had already started to form features resembling that of the Queen Lucille. With her face slowly forming from generic baby roundness into a softer oval and her eyes still a little too large for her face, she retained her innocent and nubile appearance whilst also hinting at how she would grow to mimic her maternal parent. Her mouth was wider, her lips pert and shapely. Her lashes were dark and her brows had already started to be shaped by her lady’s maids into a fine and graceful arch similar to the Queen's. Her hair was the same shade and her skin glowed as brightly as Lucille's. But above all else, Persephone appeared born with the kind of grace and poise that others took years to accomplish. The same grace and poise that her mother was so famed for in her descendance of the Leventi family of Taengea.
The only truly clear distinction between Persephone and her mother, other than the years of age, was that of her eyes. Whilst the Queen's eyes were a pale brown - the soft colour of cinnamon or honey - Persephone had inherited her father's gaze; one of dark chocolate, rich and deep.
Regardless of physical appearance, however, Persephone was very much her own person and had already been for over a year now. This development had been expediated by the birth of her sister, who was now but a babe only just since celebrating her first birthday. With two children to the crown, there was now a need for Persephone to find her own identity beyond that of 'princess' - a term no longer solely laid claim to by herself.
It was with Emilia that Lucille was with that afternoon and her reason for being indisposed. As Emilia now crawled and was attempting to take her first steps at times, the Queen spent much of her time with the young one.
Which didn't upset Persephone.
Much.
The young princess was already at an age where she was learning that to be royal meant to make sacrifices. And with a second princess to the kingdom now born - one who needed to learn to walk and talk as she had - it was important that she sacrifice time with her mother in order for the lands her father ruled to not have a second princess still drooling at the age of thirty.
Or at least, that was how Persephone's childlike mind seemed to qualify it.
And so, that afternoon, Persephone had resolutely and with only a little disquiet and irritation that she did not hide as well as she thought she did, accepted the company of her serving maid Issa for the rest of the day. She would, after all, see her mother and baby sister again at the evening repast.
Initially walking along with her hand in Issa's, Persephone remembered in her own time to drop it as soon as they came within earshot of voices in the foyer. For a princess did not need to hold someone's hand like a baby. They did not need help.
Straightening her back in a way that was already familiar but not yet habit for the young girl, Persephone walked gracefully through the foyer of the estate, having been intent on attending the library and requesting that Issa read to her. Her progress was stopped, however, when she noted a man who - from her six-year-old height - appeared impossibly tall and dressed like a soldier. He and the man he spoke with looked her way and both bowed towards her, which she acknowledged with the small and practiced nod that her mother had taught her.
As all six-year-olds did, Persephone's actions were a touch exaggerated than they should be, the maturity of age not yet turning them into subtle dignity. Now, they simply appeared as a young girl focusing very hard on the appropriate duties of her rank.
The reason her feet had slowed upon noticing the man through the doorway that led into a quiet reading chamber, was a flicker of memory that was unfamiliar to Persephone. Too young to remember faces from more than six months passed, this one was not one of the paintings that she was presented with every other morning or so in order for her to learn and recite their names, ranks and immediate family members. He was a stranger. But held a flicker of reminder about him.
With her brows turning into a petite, little frown and her feet carrying her across the foyer and through the door of the chamber, at six years old, Persephone was not yet experienced enough to make her query polite nor delicate. Instead, she simply spoke with a tone and word choice that implied maturity beyond her years but the curious intention of a normal child her age.
"I believe I have met you before." She told the man, her words clipped and dignified and leaving her lips with clearly deliberate and careful consideration. "Please tell me when we- when last it was that we met." She accompanied the question with a stare of inquisitive youth that almost dared the man to blink first.
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Like her mother, Persephone most assuredly was. Despite being only six years of age, the young princess had already started to form features resembling that of the Queen Lucille. With her face slowly forming from generic baby roundness into a softer oval and her eyes still a little too large for her face, she retained her innocent and nubile appearance whilst also hinting at how she would grow to mimic her maternal parent. Her mouth was wider, her lips pert and shapely. Her lashes were dark and her brows had already started to be shaped by her lady’s maids into a fine and graceful arch similar to the Queen's. Her hair was the same shade and her skin glowed as brightly as Lucille's. But above all else, Persephone appeared born with the kind of grace and poise that others took years to accomplish. The same grace and poise that her mother was so famed for in her descendance of the Leventi family of Taengea.
The only truly clear distinction between Persephone and her mother, other than the years of age, was that of her eyes. Whilst the Queen's eyes were a pale brown - the soft colour of cinnamon or honey - Persephone had inherited her father's gaze; one of dark chocolate, rich and deep.
Regardless of physical appearance, however, Persephone was very much her own person and had already been for over a year now. This development had been expediated by the birth of her sister, who was now but a babe only just since celebrating her first birthday. With two children to the crown, there was now a need for Persephone to find her own identity beyond that of 'princess' - a term no longer solely laid claim to by herself.
It was with Emilia that Lucille was with that afternoon and her reason for being indisposed. As Emilia now crawled and was attempting to take her first steps at times, the Queen spent much of her time with the young one.
Which didn't upset Persephone.
Much.
The young princess was already at an age where she was learning that to be royal meant to make sacrifices. And with a second princess to the kingdom now born - one who needed to learn to walk and talk as she had - it was important that she sacrifice time with her mother in order for the lands her father ruled to not have a second princess still drooling at the age of thirty.
Or at least, that was how Persephone's childlike mind seemed to qualify it.
And so, that afternoon, Persephone had resolutely and with only a little disquiet and irritation that she did not hide as well as she thought she did, accepted the company of her serving maid Issa for the rest of the day. She would, after all, see her mother and baby sister again at the evening repast.
Initially walking along with her hand in Issa's, Persephone remembered in her own time to drop it as soon as they came within earshot of voices in the foyer. For a princess did not need to hold someone's hand like a baby. They did not need help.
Straightening her back in a way that was already familiar but not yet habit for the young girl, Persephone walked gracefully through the foyer of the estate, having been intent on attending the library and requesting that Issa read to her. Her progress was stopped, however, when she noted a man who - from her six-year-old height - appeared impossibly tall and dressed like a soldier. He and the man he spoke with looked her way and both bowed towards her, which she acknowledged with the small and practiced nod that her mother had taught her.
As all six-year-olds did, Persephone's actions were a touch exaggerated than they should be, the maturity of age not yet turning them into subtle dignity. Now, they simply appeared as a young girl focusing very hard on the appropriate duties of her rank.
The reason her feet had slowed upon noticing the man through the doorway that led into a quiet reading chamber, was a flicker of memory that was unfamiliar to Persephone. Too young to remember faces from more than six months passed, this one was not one of the paintings that she was presented with every other morning or so in order for her to learn and recite their names, ranks and immediate family members. He was a stranger. But held a flicker of reminder about him.
With her brows turning into a petite, little frown and her feet carrying her across the foyer and through the door of the chamber, at six years old, Persephone was not yet experienced enough to make her query polite nor delicate. Instead, she simply spoke with a tone and word choice that implied maturity beyond her years but the curious intention of a normal child her age.
"I believe I have met you before." She told the man, her words clipped and dignified and leaving her lips with clearly deliberate and careful consideration. "Please tell me when we- when last it was that we met." She accompanied the question with a stare of inquisitive youth that almost dared the man to blink first.
Like her mother, Persephone most assuredly was. Despite being only six years of age, the young princess had already started to form features resembling that of the Queen Lucille. With her face slowly forming from generic baby roundness into a softer oval and her eyes still a little too large for her face, she retained her innocent and nubile appearance whilst also hinting at how she would grow to mimic her maternal parent. Her mouth was wider, her lips pert and shapely. Her lashes were dark and her brows had already started to be shaped by her lady’s maids into a fine and graceful arch similar to the Queen's. Her hair was the same shade and her skin glowed as brightly as Lucille's. But above all else, Persephone appeared born with the kind of grace and poise that others took years to accomplish. The same grace and poise that her mother was so famed for in her descendance of the Leventi family of Taengea.
The only truly clear distinction between Persephone and her mother, other than the years of age, was that of her eyes. Whilst the Queen's eyes were a pale brown - the soft colour of cinnamon or honey - Persephone had inherited her father's gaze; one of dark chocolate, rich and deep.
Regardless of physical appearance, however, Persephone was very much her own person and had already been for over a year now. This development had been expediated by the birth of her sister, who was now but a babe only just since celebrating her first birthday. With two children to the crown, there was now a need for Persephone to find her own identity beyond that of 'princess' - a term no longer solely laid claim to by herself.
It was with Emilia that Lucille was with that afternoon and her reason for being indisposed. As Emilia now crawled and was attempting to take her first steps at times, the Queen spent much of her time with the young one.
Which didn't upset Persephone.
Much.
The young princess was already at an age where she was learning that to be royal meant to make sacrifices. And with a second princess to the kingdom now born - one who needed to learn to walk and talk as she had - it was important that she sacrifice time with her mother in order for the lands her father ruled to not have a second princess still drooling at the age of thirty.
Or at least, that was how Persephone's childlike mind seemed to qualify it.
And so, that afternoon, Persephone had resolutely and with only a little disquiet and irritation that she did not hide as well as she thought she did, accepted the company of her serving maid Issa for the rest of the day. She would, after all, see her mother and baby sister again at the evening repast.
Initially walking along with her hand in Issa's, Persephone remembered in her own time to drop it as soon as they came within earshot of voices in the foyer. For a princess did not need to hold someone's hand like a baby. They did not need help.
Straightening her back in a way that was already familiar but not yet habit for the young girl, Persephone walked gracefully through the foyer of the estate, having been intent on attending the library and requesting that Issa read to her. Her progress was stopped, however, when she noted a man who - from her six-year-old height - appeared impossibly tall and dressed like a soldier. He and the man he spoke with looked her way and both bowed towards her, which she acknowledged with the small and practiced nod that her mother had taught her.
As all six-year-olds did, Persephone's actions were a touch exaggerated than they should be, the maturity of age not yet turning them into subtle dignity. Now, they simply appeared as a young girl focusing very hard on the appropriate duties of her rank.
The reason her feet had slowed upon noticing the man through the doorway that led into a quiet reading chamber, was a flicker of memory that was unfamiliar to Persephone. Too young to remember faces from more than six months passed, this one was not one of the paintings that she was presented with every other morning or so in order for her to learn and recite their names, ranks and immediate family members. He was a stranger. But held a flicker of reminder about him.
With her brows turning into a petite, little frown and her feet carrying her across the foyer and through the door of the chamber, at six years old, Persephone was not yet experienced enough to make her query polite nor delicate. Instead, she simply spoke with a tone and word choice that implied maturity beyond her years but the curious intention of a normal child her age.
"I believe I have met you before." She told the man, her words clipped and dignified and leaving her lips with clearly deliberate and careful consideration. "Please tell me when we- when last it was that we met." She accompanied the question with a stare of inquisitive youth that almost dared the man to blink first.
Hector felt the slightest constriction in his throat as he watched Princess Persephone come to a stop at the doorway of the foyer, redirecting her path. Still, he he held his expression carefully and did his best to tamp down the concern that simmered right beneath his ribcage.
Her question, both expected and unexpected, sent his mind racing through a short circuit of options as far as how to proceed. Did he simply introduce himself and deny that their paths had crossed before now? His face could easily be explained away in the various formal surveys that the King and Queen would perform when venturing through the provinces of the Kingdom, right?
The young princess' unyielding eye-contact with him spoke of her mind. Even though his two girls were too young to rationalize through the logic of conversation, they had already managed to develop the cleverness to spot minor deceptions, like when he hid one of their toys and pretended it disappeared. If they were able to do so with what limited time he was able to spend with them, then someone such as the princess who had exponentially more at her disposal would see right through any lie he could tell.
"We have, Your Highness," Hector offered, quietly, a soft smile trying to cover up the embarrassment that he felt over the circumstances in which they had met. "On the grounds here, about a year hence." Hector swallowed hard a moment, leaving his words as vague as possible as he glanced sidelong at the valet. The slight lilt of the man's curious brow and questioning narrowed eyes was noted before he excused himself from this conversation. Hector was left before the Princess and her handmaiden.
The guilt of how close he had come to changed all of their lives irreparably in a moment of desperation seemed to claw at his gut. He glanced around the all but empty foyer before taking a deep breath to steady himself. As he exhaled, he lowered himself to his knee, putting him on eye level with the young princess, instead of towering over her as he did.
A soft, sad smile curled at his lips as he glanced down a moment before catching the girl's eyes again.
"My daughters enjoyed the apricots you gave us, Princess," he all but whispered, the low timbre of his voice still managing to echo inaudibly against the marble and carved stone of the foyer, "Our house is never without them, now."
There was a soft emotion behind his eyes, as he knew that the princess would likely not understand the impact of sharing her favorite fruit with a family on the edge of starvation. Though her eyes never moved away from him, he found he could not look at her directly for too long, his eyes still shifting away to the ground or the hearth a moment more before bringing them again to her.
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Jan 19, 2020 17:16:31 GMT
Posted In Crossed Paths on Jan 19, 2020 17:16:31 GMT
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Hector felt the slightest constriction in his throat as he watched Princess Persephone come to a stop at the doorway of the foyer, redirecting her path. Still, he he held his expression carefully and did his best to tamp down the concern that simmered right beneath his ribcage.
Her question, both expected and unexpected, sent his mind racing through a short circuit of options as far as how to proceed. Did he simply introduce himself and deny that their paths had crossed before now? His face could easily be explained away in the various formal surveys that the King and Queen would perform when venturing through the provinces of the Kingdom, right?
The young princess' unyielding eye-contact with him spoke of her mind. Even though his two girls were too young to rationalize through the logic of conversation, they had already managed to develop the cleverness to spot minor deceptions, like when he hid one of their toys and pretended it disappeared. If they were able to do so with what limited time he was able to spend with them, then someone such as the princess who had exponentially more at her disposal would see right through any lie he could tell.
"We have, Your Highness," Hector offered, quietly, a soft smile trying to cover up the embarrassment that he felt over the circumstances in which they had met. "On the grounds here, about a year hence." Hector swallowed hard a moment, leaving his words as vague as possible as he glanced sidelong at the valet. The slight lilt of the man's curious brow and questioning narrowed eyes was noted before he excused himself from this conversation. Hector was left before the Princess and her handmaiden.
The guilt of how close he had come to changed all of their lives irreparably in a moment of desperation seemed to claw at his gut. He glanced around the all but empty foyer before taking a deep breath to steady himself. As he exhaled, he lowered himself to his knee, putting him on eye level with the young princess, instead of towering over her as he did.
A soft, sad smile curled at his lips as he glanced down a moment before catching the girl's eyes again.
"My daughters enjoyed the apricots you gave us, Princess," he all but whispered, the low timbre of his voice still managing to echo inaudibly against the marble and carved stone of the foyer, "Our house is never without them, now."
There was a soft emotion behind his eyes, as he knew that the princess would likely not understand the impact of sharing her favorite fruit with a family on the edge of starvation. Though her eyes never moved away from him, he found he could not look at her directly for too long, his eyes still shifting away to the ground or the hearth a moment more before bringing them again to her.
Hector felt the slightest constriction in his throat as he watched Princess Persephone come to a stop at the doorway of the foyer, redirecting her path. Still, he he held his expression carefully and did his best to tamp down the concern that simmered right beneath his ribcage.
Her question, both expected and unexpected, sent his mind racing through a short circuit of options as far as how to proceed. Did he simply introduce himself and deny that their paths had crossed before now? His face could easily be explained away in the various formal surveys that the King and Queen would perform when venturing through the provinces of the Kingdom, right?
The young princess' unyielding eye-contact with him spoke of her mind. Even though his two girls were too young to rationalize through the logic of conversation, they had already managed to develop the cleverness to spot minor deceptions, like when he hid one of their toys and pretended it disappeared. If they were able to do so with what limited time he was able to spend with them, then someone such as the princess who had exponentially more at her disposal would see right through any lie he could tell.
"We have, Your Highness," Hector offered, quietly, a soft smile trying to cover up the embarrassment that he felt over the circumstances in which they had met. "On the grounds here, about a year hence." Hector swallowed hard a moment, leaving his words as vague as possible as he glanced sidelong at the valet. The slight lilt of the man's curious brow and questioning narrowed eyes was noted before he excused himself from this conversation. Hector was left before the Princess and her handmaiden.
The guilt of how close he had come to changed all of their lives irreparably in a moment of desperation seemed to claw at his gut. He glanced around the all but empty foyer before taking a deep breath to steady himself. As he exhaled, he lowered himself to his knee, putting him on eye level with the young princess, instead of towering over her as he did.
A soft, sad smile curled at his lips as he glanced down a moment before catching the girl's eyes again.
"My daughters enjoyed the apricots you gave us, Princess," he all but whispered, the low timbre of his voice still managing to echo inaudibly against the marble and carved stone of the foyer, "Our house is never without them, now."
There was a soft emotion behind his eyes, as he knew that the princess would likely not understand the impact of sharing her favorite fruit with a family on the edge of starvation. Though her eyes never moved away from him, he found he could not look at her directly for too long, his eyes still shifting away to the ground or the hearth a moment more before bringing them again to her.
The man was correct in his assessment that Persephone was astute. While she had not the maturity of mind to recognise a full lie or settle upon suspicions of what such a lie might be hiding, she was intuitive enough to know when something was wrong. Say, when she walked in upon her parents talking and it had been a conversation she was not supposed to hear. Or the way in which her father always hid when he had a cold or her mother the nausea she experienced when her sister was still young and growing in her belly. Persephone knew when something was not right or was off but her six-year-old intelligence only covered so many possibilities for the reasons behind such feelings.
Yet, such assumptions were not necessary as the man before her confirmed their previous meeting a year ago and commented upon their meeting here at the estate. In truth, Persephone did not remember, though the previous meeting that they had shared had already won over a sense of familiarity and trust in the stranger before her. She had met him once before and he had returned to the household which meant that he could not be a man of danger or threat. Or, at least so Persephone was led to believe by the simplicity of her world logic.
When the man came to kneel before her, Persephone felt her shoulders straighten and her chin come up, as if she took minor offence at him feeling the need to lower himself like she was a child. But then, she could not help but allow that it did help with the craning of her neck that he was now upon eye level with her. Her gaze raked his face and how it was rough and worn with the harshities of common life and yet his eyes were not tired. They seemed bright and engaged and... warm.
As soon as the man mentioned the fruit that she had given him and the daughters who had enjoyed the consumption of it, Persephone's entire being seemed to change, like a veil of formality being lifted. Her six-year-old self came through to the surface, pushing aside the civilities of her role as princess.
"I like apricots!" She said with a bright smile and engaged excitement that only one her age could possess. She could not remember the encounter they had had before and the fact that the fruits were her favourites being the very reason for her giving them to him, but it did not matter. The information was to be repeated as so many conversations with the young are. "What are your daughter's names?" This last was queried with bright interest at the idea of other girls her own age for, as a princess, Persephone was often starved of such female company. Perhaps a man who appeared not much younger than her father would possess young girls like her?
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Jan 21, 2020 16:51:39 GMT
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The man was correct in his assessment that Persephone was astute. While she had not the maturity of mind to recognise a full lie or settle upon suspicions of what such a lie might be hiding, she was intuitive enough to know when something was wrong. Say, when she walked in upon her parents talking and it had been a conversation she was not supposed to hear. Or the way in which her father always hid when he had a cold or her mother the nausea she experienced when her sister was still young and growing in her belly. Persephone knew when something was not right or was off but her six-year-old intelligence only covered so many possibilities for the reasons behind such feelings.
Yet, such assumptions were not necessary as the man before her confirmed their previous meeting a year ago and commented upon their meeting here at the estate. In truth, Persephone did not remember, though the previous meeting that they had shared had already won over a sense of familiarity and trust in the stranger before her. She had met him once before and he had returned to the household which meant that he could not be a man of danger or threat. Or, at least so Persephone was led to believe by the simplicity of her world logic.
When the man came to kneel before her, Persephone felt her shoulders straighten and her chin come up, as if she took minor offence at him feeling the need to lower himself like she was a child. But then, she could not help but allow that it did help with the craning of her neck that he was now upon eye level with her. Her gaze raked his face and how it was rough and worn with the harshities of common life and yet his eyes were not tired. They seemed bright and engaged and... warm.
As soon as the man mentioned the fruit that she had given him and the daughters who had enjoyed the consumption of it, Persephone's entire being seemed to change, like a veil of formality being lifted. Her six-year-old self came through to the surface, pushing aside the civilities of her role as princess.
"I like apricots!" She said with a bright smile and engaged excitement that only one her age could possess. She could not remember the encounter they had had before and the fact that the fruits were her favourites being the very reason for her giving them to him, but it did not matter. The information was to be repeated as so many conversations with the young are. "What are your daughter's names?" This last was queried with bright interest at the idea of other girls her own age for, as a princess, Persephone was often starved of such female company. Perhaps a man who appeared not much younger than her father would possess young girls like her?
The man was correct in his assessment that Persephone was astute. While she had not the maturity of mind to recognise a full lie or settle upon suspicions of what such a lie might be hiding, she was intuitive enough to know when something was wrong. Say, when she walked in upon her parents talking and it had been a conversation she was not supposed to hear. Or the way in which her father always hid when he had a cold or her mother the nausea she experienced when her sister was still young and growing in her belly. Persephone knew when something was not right or was off but her six-year-old intelligence only covered so many possibilities for the reasons behind such feelings.
Yet, such assumptions were not necessary as the man before her confirmed their previous meeting a year ago and commented upon their meeting here at the estate. In truth, Persephone did not remember, though the previous meeting that they had shared had already won over a sense of familiarity and trust in the stranger before her. She had met him once before and he had returned to the household which meant that he could not be a man of danger or threat. Or, at least so Persephone was led to believe by the simplicity of her world logic.
When the man came to kneel before her, Persephone felt her shoulders straighten and her chin come up, as if she took minor offence at him feeling the need to lower himself like she was a child. But then, she could not help but allow that it did help with the craning of her neck that he was now upon eye level with her. Her gaze raked his face and how it was rough and worn with the harshities of common life and yet his eyes were not tired. They seemed bright and engaged and... warm.
As soon as the man mentioned the fruit that she had given him and the daughters who had enjoyed the consumption of it, Persephone's entire being seemed to change, like a veil of formality being lifted. Her six-year-old self came through to the surface, pushing aside the civilities of her role as princess.
"I like apricots!" She said with a bright smile and engaged excitement that only one her age could possess. She could not remember the encounter they had had before and the fact that the fruits were her favourites being the very reason for her giving them to him, but it did not matter. The information was to be repeated as so many conversations with the young are. "What are your daughter's names?" This last was queried with bright interest at the idea of other girls her own age for, as a princess, Persephone was often starved of such female company. Perhaps a man who appeared not much younger than her father would possess young girls like her?
Still a young man in many ways, Hector felt more doubt than he would like to admit most days. He doubted his role as a young father, as a supportive brother, and only until recently, his ability to be soldier worth any salt. Every day, he feared some setback in their lives, having to resort to his juvenile ways of providing for his family - as small and broken as it was.
Other men had a wife who helped care for the children and maintain the home. Instead, the role fell to him or to the handful of women in Arcana who could assist, either out of kindness and pity or for a few of the rare coins he had to spare. Thinking back to just a few years ago, as desperate as those times had been - it was as if he had fallen asleep when the girls had just been born and given to him, then he awoke and they were nearing the age of three. How had that happened? He hardly recalled anything in that time - except he could clearly remember that one night, the last time he had seen Persephone of Xanthos, her round, amber-brown eyes still unchanged.
The fervor in which she expressed her love for apricots caught him off guard, sending his brows sky high for a moment before the corners of his lips follow suit, in a broad, uninhibited grin. A soft, breathy laugh escaped him as he offered, "Well, they are most delicious, aren't they?"
Hector was not nearly as familiar with talking to a child her age - Ismene and Ariadne could form sentences to get out basic thoughts and needs. Additionally, the two had seemed to form some sort of babbling language that only the two of them could understand and he had all but given up trying to decipher.
The princess, though, was not only more composed and well-spoken given her age, but also given her upbringing. Tutors, likely more than one, and general exposure to propriety gave her an edge that his daughters would never know and might one day even leave him feeling far below and lacking. Still, as her she spoke, the intellect behind her eyes shining as much as her curiosity, he could still tell she was just a child who had questions - and was privileged to get all the answers she would ever require.
"They are both two, nearly three in a few months time. They are twins," he explained, pausing a moment before explaining, "Born on the same day. Their names are Ariadne and Ismene, Your Highness." He watched her reactions, his own curiosity piquing as he lightly offered, "Some day, if Her Majesty allows it, I am certain they would love to meet you. They are younger than you, Princess, but they walk and talk on their own and enjoy playing outside...and eating sweet treats."
Hector paused, realizing he might have been rambling on a bit, as he often did over his girls, glancing away slightly to recompose himself before looking to her again, "If you wish it, of course, Your Highness."
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Feb 22, 2020 18:37:45 GMT
Posted In Crossed Paths on Feb 22, 2020 18:37:45 GMT
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Still a young man in many ways, Hector felt more doubt than he would like to admit most days. He doubted his role as a young father, as a supportive brother, and only until recently, his ability to be soldier worth any salt. Every day, he feared some setback in their lives, having to resort to his juvenile ways of providing for his family - as small and broken as it was.
Other men had a wife who helped care for the children and maintain the home. Instead, the role fell to him or to the handful of women in Arcana who could assist, either out of kindness and pity or for a few of the rare coins he had to spare. Thinking back to just a few years ago, as desperate as those times had been - it was as if he had fallen asleep when the girls had just been born and given to him, then he awoke and they were nearing the age of three. How had that happened? He hardly recalled anything in that time - except he could clearly remember that one night, the last time he had seen Persephone of Xanthos, her round, amber-brown eyes still unchanged.
The fervor in which she expressed her love for apricots caught him off guard, sending his brows sky high for a moment before the corners of his lips follow suit, in a broad, uninhibited grin. A soft, breathy laugh escaped him as he offered, "Well, they are most delicious, aren't they?"
Hector was not nearly as familiar with talking to a child her age - Ismene and Ariadne could form sentences to get out basic thoughts and needs. Additionally, the two had seemed to form some sort of babbling language that only the two of them could understand and he had all but given up trying to decipher.
The princess, though, was not only more composed and well-spoken given her age, but also given her upbringing. Tutors, likely more than one, and general exposure to propriety gave her an edge that his daughters would never know and might one day even leave him feeling far below and lacking. Still, as her she spoke, the intellect behind her eyes shining as much as her curiosity, he could still tell she was just a child who had questions - and was privileged to get all the answers she would ever require.
"They are both two, nearly three in a few months time. They are twins," he explained, pausing a moment before explaining, "Born on the same day. Their names are Ariadne and Ismene, Your Highness." He watched her reactions, his own curiosity piquing as he lightly offered, "Some day, if Her Majesty allows it, I am certain they would love to meet you. They are younger than you, Princess, but they walk and talk on their own and enjoy playing outside...and eating sweet treats."
Hector paused, realizing he might have been rambling on a bit, as he often did over his girls, glancing away slightly to recompose himself before looking to her again, "If you wish it, of course, Your Highness."
Still a young man in many ways, Hector felt more doubt than he would like to admit most days. He doubted his role as a young father, as a supportive brother, and only until recently, his ability to be soldier worth any salt. Every day, he feared some setback in their lives, having to resort to his juvenile ways of providing for his family - as small and broken as it was.
Other men had a wife who helped care for the children and maintain the home. Instead, the role fell to him or to the handful of women in Arcana who could assist, either out of kindness and pity or for a few of the rare coins he had to spare. Thinking back to just a few years ago, as desperate as those times had been - it was as if he had fallen asleep when the girls had just been born and given to him, then he awoke and they were nearing the age of three. How had that happened? He hardly recalled anything in that time - except he could clearly remember that one night, the last time he had seen Persephone of Xanthos, her round, amber-brown eyes still unchanged.
The fervor in which she expressed her love for apricots caught him off guard, sending his brows sky high for a moment before the corners of his lips follow suit, in a broad, uninhibited grin. A soft, breathy laugh escaped him as he offered, "Well, they are most delicious, aren't they?"
Hector was not nearly as familiar with talking to a child her age - Ismene and Ariadne could form sentences to get out basic thoughts and needs. Additionally, the two had seemed to form some sort of babbling language that only the two of them could understand and he had all but given up trying to decipher.
The princess, though, was not only more composed and well-spoken given her age, but also given her upbringing. Tutors, likely more than one, and general exposure to propriety gave her an edge that his daughters would never know and might one day even leave him feeling far below and lacking. Still, as her she spoke, the intellect behind her eyes shining as much as her curiosity, he could still tell she was just a child who had questions - and was privileged to get all the answers she would ever require.
"They are both two, nearly three in a few months time. They are twins," he explained, pausing a moment before explaining, "Born on the same day. Their names are Ariadne and Ismene, Your Highness." He watched her reactions, his own curiosity piquing as he lightly offered, "Some day, if Her Majesty allows it, I am certain they would love to meet you. They are younger than you, Princess, but they walk and talk on their own and enjoy playing outside...and eating sweet treats."
Hector paused, realizing he might have been rambling on a bit, as he often did over his girls, glancing away slightly to recompose himself before looking to her again, "If you wish it, of course, Your Highness."
The first response from the lips of the soldier before her seemed obvious to Persephone and therefore redundant of needing too much attention. A simple nod of agreement, was all she offered in exchange for his rave review of her gifted fruit.
His second topic of chatter served almost as poorly but the moment Persephone discovered the girls to be more than a simple few years younger than her, the topic of his daughters - barring the strangeness of their simultaneous birth - became of little interest to her. This was less to do with the engagement she held for the man and that of girls her own age and more the natural repulsion that older children felt when expected to play with those who they still considered to be babies - those who had yet to escape the early years that children headed for double digits in age liked to proudly and defiantly remove themselves from.
No insult or offensive response left Persephone's features or vocals, however, for her child-like tongue was stilled when she spotted the weaponry sheath at his hip. Her eyes widened a little - for she had not yet mastered the art of a complete social mask - and her eyes remained fixed on the elements of militant about the man.
"You are a soldier?" She asked him, her gaze intense and not in the least bit off put by so violent an occupation. In fact, bizarrely she seemed almost eager for him to confirm her assumption as reality, a little wrinkle of query digging between her brows as she awaited his answer.
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The first response from the lips of the soldier before her seemed obvious to Persephone and therefore redundant of needing too much attention. A simple nod of agreement, was all she offered in exchange for his rave review of her gifted fruit.
His second topic of chatter served almost as poorly but the moment Persephone discovered the girls to be more than a simple few years younger than her, the topic of his daughters - barring the strangeness of their simultaneous birth - became of little interest to her. This was less to do with the engagement she held for the man and that of girls her own age and more the natural repulsion that older children felt when expected to play with those who they still considered to be babies - those who had yet to escape the early years that children headed for double digits in age liked to proudly and defiantly remove themselves from.
No insult or offensive response left Persephone's features or vocals, however, for her child-like tongue was stilled when she spotted the weaponry sheath at his hip. Her eyes widened a little - for she had not yet mastered the art of a complete social mask - and her eyes remained fixed on the elements of militant about the man.
"You are a soldier?" She asked him, her gaze intense and not in the least bit off put by so violent an occupation. In fact, bizarrely she seemed almost eager for him to confirm her assumption as reality, a little wrinkle of query digging between her brows as she awaited his answer.
The first response from the lips of the soldier before her seemed obvious to Persephone and therefore redundant of needing too much attention. A simple nod of agreement, was all she offered in exchange for his rave review of her gifted fruit.
His second topic of chatter served almost as poorly but the moment Persephone discovered the girls to be more than a simple few years younger than her, the topic of his daughters - barring the strangeness of their simultaneous birth - became of little interest to her. This was less to do with the engagement she held for the man and that of girls her own age and more the natural repulsion that older children felt when expected to play with those who they still considered to be babies - those who had yet to escape the early years that children headed for double digits in age liked to proudly and defiantly remove themselves from.
No insult or offensive response left Persephone's features or vocals, however, for her child-like tongue was stilled when she spotted the weaponry sheath at his hip. Her eyes widened a little - for she had not yet mastered the art of a complete social mask - and her eyes remained fixed on the elements of militant about the man.
"You are a soldier?" She asked him, her gaze intense and not in the least bit off put by so violent an occupation. In fact, bizarrely she seemed almost eager for him to confirm her assumption as reality, a little wrinkle of query digging between her brows as she awaited his answer.
Hector felt a bubble of uncertainty form at the base of this throat as he watched the young royal's features. His only interaction with children had been with his own, and only recently had they started to take on their little streaks of independence.
Princess Persephone was well beyond that point in her life, and completely unfamiliar with what children knew at this point in age, he felt like perhaps his tone had been been targeted poorly. That was not a great impression. His mind lobbed thoughts of his own idiocy at the back of his skull for a moment, and he cleared his throat as her expression did not react nearly as excitedly as it did when initially talking about the apricots.
Hector followed the line of her eyes as they bore on his sword and his half-cuirass, his own brow raising at this apparent spark of interest. There was a thought forming behind her eyes, that much he could see. Having just second-guessed his responses to the young princess already, he at least knew he could answer these things honestly without posturing.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, nodding. His hand instinctively reached up to the crest emblazoned on his cuirass which bore the Xanthos crest against a white-fielded shield and tapped against it, as if using that as proof. Realizing that introductions had not been formally made, he inclined into a semblance of an introductory bow from where he knelt, arm saluted across his chest. "Lieutenant Hector of the White Shields, Arcana's military force. At your service, Princess."
It was all formality for a moment, but as he glanced up again, he saw an unspoken question fluttering behind her eyes.
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Mar 22, 2020 16:27:55 GMT
Posted In Crossed Paths on Mar 22, 2020 16:27:55 GMT
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Hector felt a bubble of uncertainty form at the base of this throat as he watched the young royal's features. His only interaction with children had been with his own, and only recently had they started to take on their little streaks of independence.
Princess Persephone was well beyond that point in her life, and completely unfamiliar with what children knew at this point in age, he felt like perhaps his tone had been been targeted poorly. That was not a great impression. His mind lobbed thoughts of his own idiocy at the back of his skull for a moment, and he cleared his throat as her expression did not react nearly as excitedly as it did when initially talking about the apricots.
Hector followed the line of her eyes as they bore on his sword and his half-cuirass, his own brow raising at this apparent spark of interest. There was a thought forming behind her eyes, that much he could see. Having just second-guessed his responses to the young princess already, he at least knew he could answer these things honestly without posturing.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, nodding. His hand instinctively reached up to the crest emblazoned on his cuirass which bore the Xanthos crest against a white-fielded shield and tapped against it, as if using that as proof. Realizing that introductions had not been formally made, he inclined into a semblance of an introductory bow from where he knelt, arm saluted across his chest. "Lieutenant Hector of the White Shields, Arcana's military force. At your service, Princess."
It was all formality for a moment, but as he glanced up again, he saw an unspoken question fluttering behind her eyes.
Hector felt a bubble of uncertainty form at the base of this throat as he watched the young royal's features. His only interaction with children had been with his own, and only recently had they started to take on their little streaks of independence.
Princess Persephone was well beyond that point in her life, and completely unfamiliar with what children knew at this point in age, he felt like perhaps his tone had been been targeted poorly. That was not a great impression. His mind lobbed thoughts of his own idiocy at the back of his skull for a moment, and he cleared his throat as her expression did not react nearly as excitedly as it did when initially talking about the apricots.
Hector followed the line of her eyes as they bore on his sword and his half-cuirass, his own brow raising at this apparent spark of interest. There was a thought forming behind her eyes, that much he could see. Having just second-guessed his responses to the young princess already, he at least knew he could answer these things honestly without posturing.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replied, nodding. His hand instinctively reached up to the crest emblazoned on his cuirass which bore the Xanthos crest against a white-fielded shield and tapped against it, as if using that as proof. Realizing that introductions had not been formally made, he inclined into a semblance of an introductory bow from where he knelt, arm saluted across his chest. "Lieutenant Hector of the White Shields, Arcana's military force. At your service, Princess."
It was all formality for a moment, but as he glanced up again, he saw an unspoken question fluttering behind her eyes.
Persephone was not an arrogant child by nature. In fact, she had grown up to be surprisingly less egotistical than her childhood might have otherwise moulded her into being. For, as a princess, she was given more or less anything that her heart desired and it would have been abundantly easy for her to fall into a path of personality development that left her self-centred and self-focused. And, as with all children, there were times where she was just that - the centre of her own world. But, generally, Persephone's father and mother had made it so clear to her, over and over, that her role as princess was a serious one - a duty and responsibility that she would have to live up to in the future - that she felt more burdened than privileged on a number of occasions. As if she were looking to a future that would limit her choices rather than open doors of opportunity. That her fine dresses and fine foods were simply a more palatable exchange for the life she would have to eventually lead in the service of others.
Yet, in this moment, at only six years old, it was understandable that Persephone was still prone to her moments of childish selfishness; the desires that all infants possessed, manifested from their survival instincts, and combined - in Persephone's case - combined with lessons in authoritative etiquette.
"You are a soldier in my family's province." She stated with a boldness that young ones always achieve when they are certain of their facts. For Arcana was a name that she knew well enough and had always been promised would one day be her own to rule - that it was being held by a steward currently for when she was of age. She was in complete assurance that the province belonged to Xanthos. "Which means you are to follow me."
And with that, Persephone turned with the grace of a dancer and began headed back into the foyer and down the left-hand corridor that she had appeared from. At the front of the arrow head she formed with her two followers, Persephone led her lady’s maid and the lieutenant into the belly of the household. Her back was incredibly straight, her posture almost perfect and her refusal to look behind her spoke volumes of her assumptions that the Lieutenant would obey her commands without question.
It was only as the princess led the two of them through the corridors of guest chambers and solar rooms and closer towards the personal chambers of the family that she glanced over her shoulder to ensure that Hector was within hearing distance of her next words.
"My father, the King, has taught me that soldiers are to be shown as much respect as they give. Because soldiers are the men that are the bravest of the kingdom." She glanced at Hector, as if to challenge this assessment by reading his features, but she didn't wait for a response one way or the other, as she looked back ahead of her. "If soldiers are the bravest of men then I have a task that only you can do for me." She stated simply, before turning down a side corridor. This hallway led around the personal chambers of the Xanthos and out towards the gardens and grounds of the palati...
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Posted In Crossed Paths on Apr 12, 2020 11:47:30 GMT
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Persephone was not an arrogant child by nature. In fact, she had grown up to be surprisingly less egotistical than her childhood might have otherwise moulded her into being. For, as a princess, she was given more or less anything that her heart desired and it would have been abundantly easy for her to fall into a path of personality development that left her self-centred and self-focused. And, as with all children, there were times where she was just that - the centre of her own world. But, generally, Persephone's father and mother had made it so clear to her, over and over, that her role as princess was a serious one - a duty and responsibility that she would have to live up to in the future - that she felt more burdened than privileged on a number of occasions. As if she were looking to a future that would limit her choices rather than open doors of opportunity. That her fine dresses and fine foods were simply a more palatable exchange for the life she would have to eventually lead in the service of others.
Yet, in this moment, at only six years old, it was understandable that Persephone was still prone to her moments of childish selfishness; the desires that all infants possessed, manifested from their survival instincts, and combined - in Persephone's case - combined with lessons in authoritative etiquette.
"You are a soldier in my family's province." She stated with a boldness that young ones always achieve when they are certain of their facts. For Arcana was a name that she knew well enough and had always been promised would one day be her own to rule - that it was being held by a steward currently for when she was of age. She was in complete assurance that the province belonged to Xanthos. "Which means you are to follow me."
And with that, Persephone turned with the grace of a dancer and began headed back into the foyer and down the left-hand corridor that she had appeared from. At the front of the arrow head she formed with her two followers, Persephone led her lady’s maid and the lieutenant into the belly of the household. Her back was incredibly straight, her posture almost perfect and her refusal to look behind her spoke volumes of her assumptions that the Lieutenant would obey her commands without question.
It was only as the princess led the two of them through the corridors of guest chambers and solar rooms and closer towards the personal chambers of the family that she glanced over her shoulder to ensure that Hector was within hearing distance of her next words.
"My father, the King, has taught me that soldiers are to be shown as much respect as they give. Because soldiers are the men that are the bravest of the kingdom." She glanced at Hector, as if to challenge this assessment by reading his features, but she didn't wait for a response one way or the other, as she looked back ahead of her. "If soldiers are the bravest of men then I have a task that only you can do for me." She stated simply, before turning down a side corridor. This hallway led around the personal chambers of the Xanthos and out towards the gardens and grounds of the palati...
Persephone was not an arrogant child by nature. In fact, she had grown up to be surprisingly less egotistical than her childhood might have otherwise moulded her into being. For, as a princess, she was given more or less anything that her heart desired and it would have been abundantly easy for her to fall into a path of personality development that left her self-centred and self-focused. And, as with all children, there were times where she was just that - the centre of her own world. But, generally, Persephone's father and mother had made it so clear to her, over and over, that her role as princess was a serious one - a duty and responsibility that she would have to live up to in the future - that she felt more burdened than privileged on a number of occasions. As if she were looking to a future that would limit her choices rather than open doors of opportunity. That her fine dresses and fine foods were simply a more palatable exchange for the life she would have to eventually lead in the service of others.
Yet, in this moment, at only six years old, it was understandable that Persephone was still prone to her moments of childish selfishness; the desires that all infants possessed, manifested from their survival instincts, and combined - in Persephone's case - combined with lessons in authoritative etiquette.
"You are a soldier in my family's province." She stated with a boldness that young ones always achieve when they are certain of their facts. For Arcana was a name that she knew well enough and had always been promised would one day be her own to rule - that it was being held by a steward currently for when she was of age. She was in complete assurance that the province belonged to Xanthos. "Which means you are to follow me."
And with that, Persephone turned with the grace of a dancer and began headed back into the foyer and down the left-hand corridor that she had appeared from. At the front of the arrow head she formed with her two followers, Persephone led her lady’s maid and the lieutenant into the belly of the household. Her back was incredibly straight, her posture almost perfect and her refusal to look behind her spoke volumes of her assumptions that the Lieutenant would obey her commands without question.
It was only as the princess led the two of them through the corridors of guest chambers and solar rooms and closer towards the personal chambers of the family that she glanced over her shoulder to ensure that Hector was within hearing distance of her next words.
"My father, the King, has taught me that soldiers are to be shown as much respect as they give. Because soldiers are the men that are the bravest of the kingdom." She glanced at Hector, as if to challenge this assessment by reading his features, but she didn't wait for a response one way or the other, as she looked back ahead of her. "If soldiers are the bravest of men then I have a task that only you can do for me." She stated simply, before turning down a side corridor. This hallway led around the personal chambers of the Xanthos and out towards the gardens and grounds of the palati...
As an adolescent, Hector once questioned the differences between those with noble blood and those without. Reasons varying from the preferences of the gods to their wealth, quite simply. Being a man well-devoted and perhaps even a touch on the superstitious end, Hector tended to lean towards the gods-blessed answers. After all, the more he thought about the tasks of management that now rested on his soldier as a Lieutenant, he imagined that he would be thoroughly overwhelmed by tasks such as running a province - or in the case of the royals, a Kingdom.
As such, Hector did not envy those of higher status the way many did. His hands were full to an extent that was already maddening, but the recent promotion helped alleviate some of that. It was truly surprising how much the extra coin helped in his household, though it was still stretched as thin as he could manage, leaving little room for luxuries, which was fine by him. He liked simplicity best.
Seeing the poise of the young princess before him reinforced his thoughts on the differences in their blood. Even though his girls were several years younger than her, Hector could not imagine them standing so straight - or still! - whereas Princess Persephone before him managed to do so with ease. Even some of the newest unit recruits struggled to stand at attention without fidgeting.
He blinked once an a single brow raised as she made her comment and then issued the 'order' to follow him. As she passed by him, entirely intending for him to follow, Hector could not help but look around at the Princess' handmaid, who simply offered similar shrug.
As they walked through the Kalospíti Lefkó, Hector could not help his wandering eyes. The young Lieutenant had never seen past the foyer and the main studies. Now, as they passed through corridors and solar rooms, he could not help but compare the size of the home to his own modest one. His family home had passed through two generations now, and it was cozy with four people within it's walls - five or six would become snug, and he could not imagine. He wondered if some of the rooms here were the size of his entire home - did they have a grand hall? That would do it. The natural prickle of jealousy tugged at the corner of his lips, but his expression shifted once again into suspicious curiosity as he heard the princess speak.
What could a six year old princess need the 'bravest' of men for?
The royal child was starkly serious, which in itself was highly amusing, and only when she returned her gaze forward did he struggle to suppress the amused smile on his face, as it squirmed up and down, overcompensating as he tried to match the seriousness of her tone with his own reply.
"On my honor, it will be done, Your Highness," he assured, solidly. Gods, he sure hoped what she asked was not something too...beyond his capabilities. In that moment, he wished he had not actually responded, but it was too late now. Still, what could a six year old ask that would be out of his power, right?
For a moment, his mind cleared as he saw the grounds for the first time in two years. When events were held in Arcana, he and his fellow soldiers served as Kingsguard, ensuring the security of those events with their presence. Two years ago, Hector took advantage of his knowledge there...and he remembered every moment of that night as if it were yesterday. His chest felt unnaturally tight at the sight of the storehouse across the grounds, and the tall rough-stone wall by it. He remembered how it had scraped the palms of his hands scaling it...
His thoughts were interrupted as they came to a stop near an elaborately decorated open well. Blinking a few times, he raised a brow and looked to the Princess, knowing the young royal would have the explanation...but already, Hector had a feeling that he would likely have quite the time explaining the state of his uniform upon return to the barracks.
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Jul 18, 2020 13:16:53 GMT
Posted In Crossed Paths on Jul 18, 2020 13:16:53 GMT
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As an adolescent, Hector once questioned the differences between those with noble blood and those without. Reasons varying from the preferences of the gods to their wealth, quite simply. Being a man well-devoted and perhaps even a touch on the superstitious end, Hector tended to lean towards the gods-blessed answers. After all, the more he thought about the tasks of management that now rested on his soldier as a Lieutenant, he imagined that he would be thoroughly overwhelmed by tasks such as running a province - or in the case of the royals, a Kingdom.
As such, Hector did not envy those of higher status the way many did. His hands were full to an extent that was already maddening, but the recent promotion helped alleviate some of that. It was truly surprising how much the extra coin helped in his household, though it was still stretched as thin as he could manage, leaving little room for luxuries, which was fine by him. He liked simplicity best.
Seeing the poise of the young princess before him reinforced his thoughts on the differences in their blood. Even though his girls were several years younger than her, Hector could not imagine them standing so straight - or still! - whereas Princess Persephone before him managed to do so with ease. Even some of the newest unit recruits struggled to stand at attention without fidgeting.
He blinked once an a single brow raised as she made her comment and then issued the 'order' to follow him. As she passed by him, entirely intending for him to follow, Hector could not help but look around at the Princess' handmaid, who simply offered similar shrug.
As they walked through the Kalospíti Lefkó, Hector could not help his wandering eyes. The young Lieutenant had never seen past the foyer and the main studies. Now, as they passed through corridors and solar rooms, he could not help but compare the size of the home to his own modest one. His family home had passed through two generations now, and it was cozy with four people within it's walls - five or six would become snug, and he could not imagine. He wondered if some of the rooms here were the size of his entire home - did they have a grand hall? That would do it. The natural prickle of jealousy tugged at the corner of his lips, but his expression shifted once again into suspicious curiosity as he heard the princess speak.
What could a six year old princess need the 'bravest' of men for?
The royal child was starkly serious, which in itself was highly amusing, and only when she returned her gaze forward did he struggle to suppress the amused smile on his face, as it squirmed up and down, overcompensating as he tried to match the seriousness of her tone with his own reply.
"On my honor, it will be done, Your Highness," he assured, solidly. Gods, he sure hoped what she asked was not something too...beyond his capabilities. In that moment, he wished he had not actually responded, but it was too late now. Still, what could a six year old ask that would be out of his power, right?
For a moment, his mind cleared as he saw the grounds for the first time in two years. When events were held in Arcana, he and his fellow soldiers served as Kingsguard, ensuring the security of those events with their presence. Two years ago, Hector took advantage of his knowledge there...and he remembered every moment of that night as if it were yesterday. His chest felt unnaturally tight at the sight of the storehouse across the grounds, and the tall rough-stone wall by it. He remembered how it had scraped the palms of his hands scaling it...
His thoughts were interrupted as they came to a stop near an elaborately decorated open well. Blinking a few times, he raised a brow and looked to the Princess, knowing the young royal would have the explanation...but already, Hector had a feeling that he would likely have quite the time explaining the state of his uniform upon return to the barracks.
As an adolescent, Hector once questioned the differences between those with noble blood and those without. Reasons varying from the preferences of the gods to their wealth, quite simply. Being a man well-devoted and perhaps even a touch on the superstitious end, Hector tended to lean towards the gods-blessed answers. After all, the more he thought about the tasks of management that now rested on his soldier as a Lieutenant, he imagined that he would be thoroughly overwhelmed by tasks such as running a province - or in the case of the royals, a Kingdom.
As such, Hector did not envy those of higher status the way many did. His hands were full to an extent that was already maddening, but the recent promotion helped alleviate some of that. It was truly surprising how much the extra coin helped in his household, though it was still stretched as thin as he could manage, leaving little room for luxuries, which was fine by him. He liked simplicity best.
Seeing the poise of the young princess before him reinforced his thoughts on the differences in their blood. Even though his girls were several years younger than her, Hector could not imagine them standing so straight - or still! - whereas Princess Persephone before him managed to do so with ease. Even some of the newest unit recruits struggled to stand at attention without fidgeting.
He blinked once an a single brow raised as she made her comment and then issued the 'order' to follow him. As she passed by him, entirely intending for him to follow, Hector could not help but look around at the Princess' handmaid, who simply offered similar shrug.
As they walked through the Kalospíti Lefkó, Hector could not help his wandering eyes. The young Lieutenant had never seen past the foyer and the main studies. Now, as they passed through corridors and solar rooms, he could not help but compare the size of the home to his own modest one. His family home had passed through two generations now, and it was cozy with four people within it's walls - five or six would become snug, and he could not imagine. He wondered if some of the rooms here were the size of his entire home - did they have a grand hall? That would do it. The natural prickle of jealousy tugged at the corner of his lips, but his expression shifted once again into suspicious curiosity as he heard the princess speak.
What could a six year old princess need the 'bravest' of men for?
The royal child was starkly serious, which in itself was highly amusing, and only when she returned her gaze forward did he struggle to suppress the amused smile on his face, as it squirmed up and down, overcompensating as he tried to match the seriousness of her tone with his own reply.
"On my honor, it will be done, Your Highness," he assured, solidly. Gods, he sure hoped what she asked was not something too...beyond his capabilities. In that moment, he wished he had not actually responded, but it was too late now. Still, what could a six year old ask that would be out of his power, right?
For a moment, his mind cleared as he saw the grounds for the first time in two years. When events were held in Arcana, he and his fellow soldiers served as Kingsguard, ensuring the security of those events with their presence. Two years ago, Hector took advantage of his knowledge there...and he remembered every moment of that night as if it were yesterday. His chest felt unnaturally tight at the sight of the storehouse across the grounds, and the tall rough-stone wall by it. He remembered how it had scraped the palms of his hands scaling it...
His thoughts were interrupted as they came to a stop near an elaborately decorated open well. Blinking a few times, he raised a brow and looked to the Princess, knowing the young royal would have the explanation...but already, Hector had a feeling that he would likely have quite the time explaining the state of his uniform upon return to the barracks.
Persephone led the way out of the estate and down the green meadows of the gardens. She toured them beyond the flower beds, around a raised pond area and down beyond the storehouses. There was a well on the property, back behind them. They had practically passed it before they had left the manor's walls. It sat in a little enclosed courtyard out the back of the kitchens. Where the servants and maids might fetch fresh water for cooking and cleaning.
But a long time ago, there had been a small family that lived upon the estate as grounds keepers and their home lay to the very ends of the gardens. It was abandoned now and possessed little but its own four walls. And second well. This one was a little ornate, decorated as if it were a lucky charm for people to throw in coins and make wishes to the Gods. It was uncovered to allow rain water to fall down into its depths so that the slaves that tended the lawns and grasses could use it for the plants.
It had been here that Persephone had lost something.
"I was playing here two days ago." Persephone stated with the exact and specific details that children liked to employ in their stories. She raised a hand, turned the fingertips downwards and made a gesture across the edge of the well. "My horse was riding around the well and it fell in."
Persephone either tactfully decided to leave out the fact that she had slipped on some moss at the base of the well and dropped the figurine or she had simply forgotten that part, her memory erasing blame from her own hands.
Persephone moved to look down and over the edge of the well. It was dark, dank and dreary down there - far less pretty than its exterior. And if the wind blew just right it made scary noises. Not to mention the clanking and groaning of a chain and bucket that hung hollow within. Like the pendulum of a bell, ready to issue dark and creepy noises. She swallowed and stepped back, her spine coming straight once more.
"My horse is small and white and made of marble." She told him. It was a small carving that had been made for her for her birthday. "And I would like it back, please. The well is very scary but a brave man can go in without being scared." Her gaze turned assessing, her eyes narrowing upon Hector. Her hands came imperially to her hips. "You are brave, are you not, Mr. Lieutenant?"
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Jul 23, 2020 20:49:02 GMT
Posted In Crossed Paths on Jul 23, 2020 20:49:02 GMT
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Persephone led the way out of the estate and down the green meadows of the gardens. She toured them beyond the flower beds, around a raised pond area and down beyond the storehouses. There was a well on the property, back behind them. They had practically passed it before they had left the manor's walls. It sat in a little enclosed courtyard out the back of the kitchens. Where the servants and maids might fetch fresh water for cooking and cleaning.
But a long time ago, there had been a small family that lived upon the estate as grounds keepers and their home lay to the very ends of the gardens. It was abandoned now and possessed little but its own four walls. And second well. This one was a little ornate, decorated as if it were a lucky charm for people to throw in coins and make wishes to the Gods. It was uncovered to allow rain water to fall down into its depths so that the slaves that tended the lawns and grasses could use it for the plants.
It had been here that Persephone had lost something.
"I was playing here two days ago." Persephone stated with the exact and specific details that children liked to employ in their stories. She raised a hand, turned the fingertips downwards and made a gesture across the edge of the well. "My horse was riding around the well and it fell in."
Persephone either tactfully decided to leave out the fact that she had slipped on some moss at the base of the well and dropped the figurine or she had simply forgotten that part, her memory erasing blame from her own hands.
Persephone moved to look down and over the edge of the well. It was dark, dank and dreary down there - far less pretty than its exterior. And if the wind blew just right it made scary noises. Not to mention the clanking and groaning of a chain and bucket that hung hollow within. Like the pendulum of a bell, ready to issue dark and creepy noises. She swallowed and stepped back, her spine coming straight once more.
"My horse is small and white and made of marble." She told him. It was a small carving that had been made for her for her birthday. "And I would like it back, please. The well is very scary but a brave man can go in without being scared." Her gaze turned assessing, her eyes narrowing upon Hector. Her hands came imperially to her hips. "You are brave, are you not, Mr. Lieutenant?"
Persephone led the way out of the estate and down the green meadows of the gardens. She toured them beyond the flower beds, around a raised pond area and down beyond the storehouses. There was a well on the property, back behind them. They had practically passed it before they had left the manor's walls. It sat in a little enclosed courtyard out the back of the kitchens. Where the servants and maids might fetch fresh water for cooking and cleaning.
But a long time ago, there had been a small family that lived upon the estate as grounds keepers and their home lay to the very ends of the gardens. It was abandoned now and possessed little but its own four walls. And second well. This one was a little ornate, decorated as if it were a lucky charm for people to throw in coins and make wishes to the Gods. It was uncovered to allow rain water to fall down into its depths so that the slaves that tended the lawns and grasses could use it for the plants.
It had been here that Persephone had lost something.
"I was playing here two days ago." Persephone stated with the exact and specific details that children liked to employ in their stories. She raised a hand, turned the fingertips downwards and made a gesture across the edge of the well. "My horse was riding around the well and it fell in."
Persephone either tactfully decided to leave out the fact that she had slipped on some moss at the base of the well and dropped the figurine or she had simply forgotten that part, her memory erasing blame from her own hands.
Persephone moved to look down and over the edge of the well. It was dark, dank and dreary down there - far less pretty than its exterior. And if the wind blew just right it made scary noises. Not to mention the clanking and groaning of a chain and bucket that hung hollow within. Like the pendulum of a bell, ready to issue dark and creepy noises. She swallowed and stepped back, her spine coming straight once more.
"My horse is small and white and made of marble." She told him. It was a small carving that had been made for her for her birthday. "And I would like it back, please. The well is very scary but a brave man can go in without being scared." Her gaze turned assessing, her eyes narrowing upon Hector. Her hands came imperially to her hips. "You are brave, are you not, Mr. Lieutenant?"
When they came to a stop before the well, Hector's eyebrows raised slightly, forming creases across his weathered forehead that would surely deepen in time. They smoothed as quickly as they creased as the princess began her explanation.
In trying not to smile, Hector's lip quivered slightly as the princess' pointed finger traced the edge of the rough well, and the true purpose of the tale was revealed. Instead, his expression drew to become just as serious as her own.
Mirroring her movement, Hector stepped in closer to the well and peered down into it. There was a distinct yet not foul scent that rose from the depths below, where the well had taken in more than just rain and the water had decomposed flora in it. He did not smell the decomposed flesh of an animal that met its fate below, and for that he was thankful.
Unsurprising for the young thief-turned-soldier, this was not the first well he would have to have climbed down. Many years ago, Hector and Gregor managed to make off with some rabbits from a trap that was distinctly not theirs. Men from the very unit he presently served under gave them quite a chase after the trapper told on them. The two of them had stuffed the rabbits into their chitons, climbed down into the well and pressed their feet and shoulders into the stone, suspended there for nearly an hour to ensure that the soldiers had gone on their way.
He believed that coney stew tasted better than ever.
Now, though, he was tall and broad, far from the whisp of a lad he had been back then. Yet, with that, came the strength to be able to get himself all the way down then, hopefully, all the way back up.
"It is quite the task, Your Highness," Hector replied, matching the gravity of her request with his own tone, "But I will see it done. White and marble." He repeated the description of the horse before he began to removed the fibulae and the uniform himation that would just get in his way and the sandals that would be ruined by the likely-dank water below. Down to the base layer of his uniform, which would just have to serve as a casualty in this task, Hector swung his legs over the edge of well, testing the feel of the wall against the base of his feet as he gave the princess one last look, "Does he have a name?"
Regardless of her answer, he began to make his way down into the well. Though the rough stone scratched and scraped as his palms and the balls of his feet, he was grateful for it. This would be a nigh impossible task if this had been like the smooth, marble wells that were seen in the capital. He was also thankful that this water was clearly not for drinking.
It was a slow but steady pace that he made down into the well, the occasional grunt and grumble echoing as he went deeper and deeper in. The further he went down, he began to wonder as to the depth of the water at the bottom. As this was a rainwater well, and it had been relatively dry in the passing weeks, he hoped it would be forgiving. Even as he neared the surface of the water, the darkness accompanying the depth of the well kept him from truly gauging.
With a bit of a sigh, Hector did as any logical man would do and released the pressure he held against the walls of the well and dropped the final foot or so down into the water, straight as a ramrod.
His knees gave in as his feet met the squish of the sunken leaves and sand at the bottom of the well, but when he straightened them again, he was pleased to find that his head and tops of his shoulders were above the surface. Sputtering slightly, he shook out the water from his hair and ran a hand down his face to get the droplets out of his eyes.
The water was still blackened, but with the shifting of his feet, as disgusting as it was, he felt around in the squishing sands, his hand splayed on the wall to steady himself. Finally, he felt a something hard beneath his foot, startling him a bit before he made an attempt to wrap his toes around the object, lifting it up to meet his hand. Sure enough, it was a white horse, but immediately he noticed that it was missing its left foreleg. It would be easy enough to shove it into his chiton and begin the climb up again - but this belonged to the Princess...so he lingered a bit longer, his feet blindly searching until it found what could only be the horse's leg.
Only then did he begin to climb up once again, which Hector discovered to be far more difficult than descending into the well. It took quite some time, and he was huffing and puffing quite considerably by the time his forearms pulled him up to be hanging on the the edge of the well. Looking quite bedraggled, soaked, and dripping, he hung there on the well's edge for a moment as he looked at the Princess.
Outstretching his hand, he held the small horse and its broken leg.
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Aug 30, 2020 14:32:45 GMT
Posted In Crossed Paths on Aug 30, 2020 14:32:45 GMT
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When they came to a stop before the well, Hector's eyebrows raised slightly, forming creases across his weathered forehead that would surely deepen in time. They smoothed as quickly as they creased as the princess began her explanation.
In trying not to smile, Hector's lip quivered slightly as the princess' pointed finger traced the edge of the rough well, and the true purpose of the tale was revealed. Instead, his expression drew to become just as serious as her own.
Mirroring her movement, Hector stepped in closer to the well and peered down into it. There was a distinct yet not foul scent that rose from the depths below, where the well had taken in more than just rain and the water had decomposed flora in it. He did not smell the decomposed flesh of an animal that met its fate below, and for that he was thankful.
Unsurprising for the young thief-turned-soldier, this was not the first well he would have to have climbed down. Many years ago, Hector and Gregor managed to make off with some rabbits from a trap that was distinctly not theirs. Men from the very unit he presently served under gave them quite a chase after the trapper told on them. The two of them had stuffed the rabbits into their chitons, climbed down into the well and pressed their feet and shoulders into the stone, suspended there for nearly an hour to ensure that the soldiers had gone on their way.
He believed that coney stew tasted better than ever.
Now, though, he was tall and broad, far from the whisp of a lad he had been back then. Yet, with that, came the strength to be able to get himself all the way down then, hopefully, all the way back up.
"It is quite the task, Your Highness," Hector replied, matching the gravity of her request with his own tone, "But I will see it done. White and marble." He repeated the description of the horse before he began to removed the fibulae and the uniform himation that would just get in his way and the sandals that would be ruined by the likely-dank water below. Down to the base layer of his uniform, which would just have to serve as a casualty in this task, Hector swung his legs over the edge of well, testing the feel of the wall against the base of his feet as he gave the princess one last look, "Does he have a name?"
Regardless of her answer, he began to make his way down into the well. Though the rough stone scratched and scraped as his palms and the balls of his feet, he was grateful for it. This would be a nigh impossible task if this had been like the smooth, marble wells that were seen in the capital. He was also thankful that this water was clearly not for drinking.
It was a slow but steady pace that he made down into the well, the occasional grunt and grumble echoing as he went deeper and deeper in. The further he went down, he began to wonder as to the depth of the water at the bottom. As this was a rainwater well, and it had been relatively dry in the passing weeks, he hoped it would be forgiving. Even as he neared the surface of the water, the darkness accompanying the depth of the well kept him from truly gauging.
With a bit of a sigh, Hector did as any logical man would do and released the pressure he held against the walls of the well and dropped the final foot or so down into the water, straight as a ramrod.
His knees gave in as his feet met the squish of the sunken leaves and sand at the bottom of the well, but when he straightened them again, he was pleased to find that his head and tops of his shoulders were above the surface. Sputtering slightly, he shook out the water from his hair and ran a hand down his face to get the droplets out of his eyes.
The water was still blackened, but with the shifting of his feet, as disgusting as it was, he felt around in the squishing sands, his hand splayed on the wall to steady himself. Finally, he felt a something hard beneath his foot, startling him a bit before he made an attempt to wrap his toes around the object, lifting it up to meet his hand. Sure enough, it was a white horse, but immediately he noticed that it was missing its left foreleg. It would be easy enough to shove it into his chiton and begin the climb up again - but this belonged to the Princess...so he lingered a bit longer, his feet blindly searching until it found what could only be the horse's leg.
Only then did he begin to climb up once again, which Hector discovered to be far more difficult than descending into the well. It took quite some time, and he was huffing and puffing quite considerably by the time his forearms pulled him up to be hanging on the the edge of the well. Looking quite bedraggled, soaked, and dripping, he hung there on the well's edge for a moment as he looked at the Princess.
Outstretching his hand, he held the small horse and its broken leg.
When they came to a stop before the well, Hector's eyebrows raised slightly, forming creases across his weathered forehead that would surely deepen in time. They smoothed as quickly as they creased as the princess began her explanation.
In trying not to smile, Hector's lip quivered slightly as the princess' pointed finger traced the edge of the rough well, and the true purpose of the tale was revealed. Instead, his expression drew to become just as serious as her own.
Mirroring her movement, Hector stepped in closer to the well and peered down into it. There was a distinct yet not foul scent that rose from the depths below, where the well had taken in more than just rain and the water had decomposed flora in it. He did not smell the decomposed flesh of an animal that met its fate below, and for that he was thankful.
Unsurprising for the young thief-turned-soldier, this was not the first well he would have to have climbed down. Many years ago, Hector and Gregor managed to make off with some rabbits from a trap that was distinctly not theirs. Men from the very unit he presently served under gave them quite a chase after the trapper told on them. The two of them had stuffed the rabbits into their chitons, climbed down into the well and pressed their feet and shoulders into the stone, suspended there for nearly an hour to ensure that the soldiers had gone on their way.
He believed that coney stew tasted better than ever.
Now, though, he was tall and broad, far from the whisp of a lad he had been back then. Yet, with that, came the strength to be able to get himself all the way down then, hopefully, all the way back up.
"It is quite the task, Your Highness," Hector replied, matching the gravity of her request with his own tone, "But I will see it done. White and marble." He repeated the description of the horse before he began to removed the fibulae and the uniform himation that would just get in his way and the sandals that would be ruined by the likely-dank water below. Down to the base layer of his uniform, which would just have to serve as a casualty in this task, Hector swung his legs over the edge of well, testing the feel of the wall against the base of his feet as he gave the princess one last look, "Does he have a name?"
Regardless of her answer, he began to make his way down into the well. Though the rough stone scratched and scraped as his palms and the balls of his feet, he was grateful for it. This would be a nigh impossible task if this had been like the smooth, marble wells that were seen in the capital. He was also thankful that this water was clearly not for drinking.
It was a slow but steady pace that he made down into the well, the occasional grunt and grumble echoing as he went deeper and deeper in. The further he went down, he began to wonder as to the depth of the water at the bottom. As this was a rainwater well, and it had been relatively dry in the passing weeks, he hoped it would be forgiving. Even as he neared the surface of the water, the darkness accompanying the depth of the well kept him from truly gauging.
With a bit of a sigh, Hector did as any logical man would do and released the pressure he held against the walls of the well and dropped the final foot or so down into the water, straight as a ramrod.
His knees gave in as his feet met the squish of the sunken leaves and sand at the bottom of the well, but when he straightened them again, he was pleased to find that his head and tops of his shoulders were above the surface. Sputtering slightly, he shook out the water from his hair and ran a hand down his face to get the droplets out of his eyes.
The water was still blackened, but with the shifting of his feet, as disgusting as it was, he felt around in the squishing sands, his hand splayed on the wall to steady himself. Finally, he felt a something hard beneath his foot, startling him a bit before he made an attempt to wrap his toes around the object, lifting it up to meet his hand. Sure enough, it was a white horse, but immediately he noticed that it was missing its left foreleg. It would be easy enough to shove it into his chiton and begin the climb up again - but this belonged to the Princess...so he lingered a bit longer, his feet blindly searching until it found what could only be the horse's leg.
Only then did he begin to climb up once again, which Hector discovered to be far more difficult than descending into the well. It took quite some time, and he was huffing and puffing quite considerably by the time his forearms pulled him up to be hanging on the the edge of the well. Looking quite bedraggled, soaked, and dripping, he hung there on the well's edge for a moment as he looked at the Princess.
Outstretching his hand, he held the small horse and its broken leg.