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Mihail liked to pretend he didn't care. He wanted to pretend he was a stronger person than he was, and that things did not bother him as much as they did. He liked to paint a frown over his features and cover up any hurt that was there because he had spent a long time trying to hide it, and there were only his sisters who knew how he felt. He knew that, often, it seemed he could not hide his feelings behind his mask, and that his face would twist up in anger and he could scream like he was still only a small child, but he thought he only did that to cover up the fact that really, he was terrified. He was always afraid of so many things, and his heart so often swelled with melancholy, that the only thing he had ever been taught to do was hide it behind anger.
When that fire had ravaged Midas, he had been anxious and then miserable, because it had stolen someone he loved, and yet he had turned it into anger when he had visited the Baron of Pieria. When Nethis had turned those adoption papers against him, he had been afraid that it meant he would be thrown from the house because they did not care for him, and he had twisted it into enough rage to run away to Nethisa when all he had wanted from his family was reassurance. When Father had told him of the plans to send him to war, he had been terrified. He was not a military man, and if Mihail held any skill in archery, then that was the only one he possessed, and sending the man to fight in a foreign nation, whose language he only understood because he had struggled to teach himself when no one else would, was akin to a death sentence. He had been terrified, so he had flipped the fear on its head and responded with anger and only cemented his fate in doing so. He had thought he was enraged here, but he was only frightened.
Now, as he watched these two men before him - who were both so different to him and so much more fit for war - banter between one another like they were lifelong brothers, he let his mind drift to these thoughts, hardly noticing for once the flirtatious tones in the new one's voice, uninterested in the mysterious crate before them. Mihail did not care for these things, because they were not the thing he wanted, and, although that may well have been a petulant tone with which he led his life, for once, he felt he wanted something more reasonable. Fairer. He wanted something that he wholeheartedly knew he did not deserve, but which he felt was only natural to crave.
Damocles was speaking again, and this time, his words were clearly directed towards the dark-haired man, and Mihail took his gift with the kind of glazed-over expression of someone who did not deem it especially fascinating because their mind was elsewhere. "I know how to use poisons," he answered as the man explained its use, his tone almost simultaneously incredulous and bitterly disdainful if not for the hint of wistfulness within. "I am a Thanasi."
A Thanasi.
His gaze flickered across to the man - Lysandros - who had offered his bed, lips curving slightly upwards as if in coy acknowledgement of the offer (and he had acknowledged it, for if there was any opportunity for additional comfort during this nightmarish voyage, he would undoubtedly take it) and he nodded at the repeat introduction, confirming the name as if Damocles's words meant nothing. "Lord Mihail of Thanasi."
Thanasi. And, yet, where were the others of his name? He was leaving for war and yet not a single one of those sisters who claimed to love him so had appeared yet to wrap their arms around him and wish him well and hope he would be safe. Not one was here to tell him that it was all to be alright and Father had only forced him here as an effect of his old age, and that he had not meant the punishment. He was alone and desolate and stuck with Damocles, of all people, and all he wanted was...
And then Nethis was there.
Nethis, the one who people all thought so heartless and scary. The one that, sometimes, even Mihail found could cut through him with her words and make his heart stop with terror. And yet, the only one who saw fit to come and see him in this, the last moments before he might be shipped away to his death. And asking if she was interrupting, as if respectful of the fact that, perhaps, he was so filled with hate for the rest of his family that he would not want to speak to any of them. Except he could not respond because as soon as she closed her lips once more, it seemed that Damocles could not resist the opportunity to speak and brag about those titles which Mihail was almost certain he had invented as easily as he did stories about others.
For some reason, he would not stop speaking, still rambling something about help and protection in battle, but covering it up with some badly-veiled compliment about how he was skilled enough to fend for himself. As if he had never seen Mihail. As if it was not clear that the youngest of the Thanasi siblings had not once been trained for war. And then his eyes drifted away, and he realised that Nethis was not the only one of his sisters who had come to the beach, but she was the only one who had come to see him, and he felt broken.
He had no friends to count on during the war, and now it seemed he had barely any family either. The frown that had curved his brows together as the taller man had spoken melted away because he could not hold it further, and he felt the way his lower lip began to quiver. He swallowed to try and stop his breath from forming the shudder he knew was coming, but it broke through anyhow and fell from his lips at the same time that his eyes welled with tears which began to pour down his cheeks with little mercy. Mihail did not like to cry in front of strangers, and he tried to avoid the action as often as possible regardless, because it felt weak and stupid and useless, and he had been taught to be none of those things, and Mother had never liked it, but now he didn't care. He was only a scared little boy being sent to war, and he didn't want to go.
"Net," he stumbled out, the word harder than it should have been as he entirely forgot himself and took a faltering step forward, half falling onto the woman as he wrapped his arms around her. "Y-you can't let me go. Please. I love you. I'm afraid. I will d...d-die." He knew that more than anything. One had only to look at the pitch-black birds circling above them all to know the omen was far from good, and Mihail was more than certain they must have meant his death. They must have. "Nethis." She was shorter than him, and the action felt strange as he nestled his head on her shoulder, his eyes still brimming with all the lost love in the world. "Please. Y-you're the only one who still loves m-me. Not Evras. Not Thea. Th-they don't care anymore. Help me."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Mihail liked to pretend he didn't care. He wanted to pretend he was a stronger person than he was, and that things did not bother him as much as they did. He liked to paint a frown over his features and cover up any hurt that was there because he had spent a long time trying to hide it, and there were only his sisters who knew how he felt. He knew that, often, it seemed he could not hide his feelings behind his mask, and that his face would twist up in anger and he could scream like he was still only a small child, but he thought he only did that to cover up the fact that really, he was terrified. He was always afraid of so many things, and his heart so often swelled with melancholy, that the only thing he had ever been taught to do was hide it behind anger.
When that fire had ravaged Midas, he had been anxious and then miserable, because it had stolen someone he loved, and yet he had turned it into anger when he had visited the Baron of Pieria. When Nethis had turned those adoption papers against him, he had been afraid that it meant he would be thrown from the house because they did not care for him, and he had twisted it into enough rage to run away to Nethisa when all he had wanted from his family was reassurance. When Father had told him of the plans to send him to war, he had been terrified. He was not a military man, and if Mihail held any skill in archery, then that was the only one he possessed, and sending the man to fight in a foreign nation, whose language he only understood because he had struggled to teach himself when no one else would, was akin to a death sentence. He had been terrified, so he had flipped the fear on its head and responded with anger and only cemented his fate in doing so. He had thought he was enraged here, but he was only frightened.
Now, as he watched these two men before him - who were both so different to him and so much more fit for war - banter between one another like they were lifelong brothers, he let his mind drift to these thoughts, hardly noticing for once the flirtatious tones in the new one's voice, uninterested in the mysterious crate before them. Mihail did not care for these things, because they were not the thing he wanted, and, although that may well have been a petulant tone with which he led his life, for once, he felt he wanted something more reasonable. Fairer. He wanted something that he wholeheartedly knew he did not deserve, but which he felt was only natural to crave.
Damocles was speaking again, and this time, his words were clearly directed towards the dark-haired man, and Mihail took his gift with the kind of glazed-over expression of someone who did not deem it especially fascinating because their mind was elsewhere. "I know how to use poisons," he answered as the man explained its use, his tone almost simultaneously incredulous and bitterly disdainful if not for the hint of wistfulness within. "I am a Thanasi."
A Thanasi.
His gaze flickered across to the man - Lysandros - who had offered his bed, lips curving slightly upwards as if in coy acknowledgement of the offer (and he had acknowledged it, for if there was any opportunity for additional comfort during this nightmarish voyage, he would undoubtedly take it) and he nodded at the repeat introduction, confirming the name as if Damocles's words meant nothing. "Lord Mihail of Thanasi."
Thanasi. And, yet, where were the others of his name? He was leaving for war and yet not a single one of those sisters who claimed to love him so had appeared yet to wrap their arms around him and wish him well and hope he would be safe. Not one was here to tell him that it was all to be alright and Father had only forced him here as an effect of his old age, and that he had not meant the punishment. He was alone and desolate and stuck with Damocles, of all people, and all he wanted was...
And then Nethis was there.
Nethis, the one who people all thought so heartless and scary. The one that, sometimes, even Mihail found could cut through him with her words and make his heart stop with terror. And yet, the only one who saw fit to come and see him in this, the last moments before he might be shipped away to his death. And asking if she was interrupting, as if respectful of the fact that, perhaps, he was so filled with hate for the rest of his family that he would not want to speak to any of them. Except he could not respond because as soon as she closed her lips once more, it seemed that Damocles could not resist the opportunity to speak and brag about those titles which Mihail was almost certain he had invented as easily as he did stories about others.
For some reason, he would not stop speaking, still rambling something about help and protection in battle, but covering it up with some badly-veiled compliment about how he was skilled enough to fend for himself. As if he had never seen Mihail. As if it was not clear that the youngest of the Thanasi siblings had not once been trained for war. And then his eyes drifted away, and he realised that Nethis was not the only one of his sisters who had come to the beach, but she was the only one who had come to see him, and he felt broken.
He had no friends to count on during the war, and now it seemed he had barely any family either. The frown that had curved his brows together as the taller man had spoken melted away because he could not hold it further, and he felt the way his lower lip began to quiver. He swallowed to try and stop his breath from forming the shudder he knew was coming, but it broke through anyhow and fell from his lips at the same time that his eyes welled with tears which began to pour down his cheeks with little mercy. Mihail did not like to cry in front of strangers, and he tried to avoid the action as often as possible regardless, because it felt weak and stupid and useless, and he had been taught to be none of those things, and Mother had never liked it, but now he didn't care. He was only a scared little boy being sent to war, and he didn't want to go.
"Net," he stumbled out, the word harder than it should have been as he entirely forgot himself and took a faltering step forward, half falling onto the woman as he wrapped his arms around her. "Y-you can't let me go. Please. I love you. I'm afraid. I will d...d-die." He knew that more than anything. One had only to look at the pitch-black birds circling above them all to know the omen was far from good, and Mihail was more than certain they must have meant his death. They must have. "Nethis." She was shorter than him, and the action felt strange as he nestled his head on her shoulder, his eyes still brimming with all the lost love in the world. "Please. Y-you're the only one who still loves m-me. Not Evras. Not Thea. Th-they don't care anymore. Help me."
Mihail liked to pretend he didn't care. He wanted to pretend he was a stronger person than he was, and that things did not bother him as much as they did. He liked to paint a frown over his features and cover up any hurt that was there because he had spent a long time trying to hide it, and there were only his sisters who knew how he felt. He knew that, often, it seemed he could not hide his feelings behind his mask, and that his face would twist up in anger and he could scream like he was still only a small child, but he thought he only did that to cover up the fact that really, he was terrified. He was always afraid of so many things, and his heart so often swelled with melancholy, that the only thing he had ever been taught to do was hide it behind anger.
When that fire had ravaged Midas, he had been anxious and then miserable, because it had stolen someone he loved, and yet he had turned it into anger when he had visited the Baron of Pieria. When Nethis had turned those adoption papers against him, he had been afraid that it meant he would be thrown from the house because they did not care for him, and he had twisted it into enough rage to run away to Nethisa when all he had wanted from his family was reassurance. When Father had told him of the plans to send him to war, he had been terrified. He was not a military man, and if Mihail held any skill in archery, then that was the only one he possessed, and sending the man to fight in a foreign nation, whose language he only understood because he had struggled to teach himself when no one else would, was akin to a death sentence. He had been terrified, so he had flipped the fear on its head and responded with anger and only cemented his fate in doing so. He had thought he was enraged here, but he was only frightened.
Now, as he watched these two men before him - who were both so different to him and so much more fit for war - banter between one another like they were lifelong brothers, he let his mind drift to these thoughts, hardly noticing for once the flirtatious tones in the new one's voice, uninterested in the mysterious crate before them. Mihail did not care for these things, because they were not the thing he wanted, and, although that may well have been a petulant tone with which he led his life, for once, he felt he wanted something more reasonable. Fairer. He wanted something that he wholeheartedly knew he did not deserve, but which he felt was only natural to crave.
Damocles was speaking again, and this time, his words were clearly directed towards the dark-haired man, and Mihail took his gift with the kind of glazed-over expression of someone who did not deem it especially fascinating because their mind was elsewhere. "I know how to use poisons," he answered as the man explained its use, his tone almost simultaneously incredulous and bitterly disdainful if not for the hint of wistfulness within. "I am a Thanasi."
A Thanasi.
His gaze flickered across to the man - Lysandros - who had offered his bed, lips curving slightly upwards as if in coy acknowledgement of the offer (and he had acknowledged it, for if there was any opportunity for additional comfort during this nightmarish voyage, he would undoubtedly take it) and he nodded at the repeat introduction, confirming the name as if Damocles's words meant nothing. "Lord Mihail of Thanasi."
Thanasi. And, yet, where were the others of his name? He was leaving for war and yet not a single one of those sisters who claimed to love him so had appeared yet to wrap their arms around him and wish him well and hope he would be safe. Not one was here to tell him that it was all to be alright and Father had only forced him here as an effect of his old age, and that he had not meant the punishment. He was alone and desolate and stuck with Damocles, of all people, and all he wanted was...
And then Nethis was there.
Nethis, the one who people all thought so heartless and scary. The one that, sometimes, even Mihail found could cut through him with her words and make his heart stop with terror. And yet, the only one who saw fit to come and see him in this, the last moments before he might be shipped away to his death. And asking if she was interrupting, as if respectful of the fact that, perhaps, he was so filled with hate for the rest of his family that he would not want to speak to any of them. Except he could not respond because as soon as she closed her lips once more, it seemed that Damocles could not resist the opportunity to speak and brag about those titles which Mihail was almost certain he had invented as easily as he did stories about others.
For some reason, he would not stop speaking, still rambling something about help and protection in battle, but covering it up with some badly-veiled compliment about how he was skilled enough to fend for himself. As if he had never seen Mihail. As if it was not clear that the youngest of the Thanasi siblings had not once been trained for war. And then his eyes drifted away, and he realised that Nethis was not the only one of his sisters who had come to the beach, but she was the only one who had come to see him, and he felt broken.
He had no friends to count on during the war, and now it seemed he had barely any family either. The frown that had curved his brows together as the taller man had spoken melted away because he could not hold it further, and he felt the way his lower lip began to quiver. He swallowed to try and stop his breath from forming the shudder he knew was coming, but it broke through anyhow and fell from his lips at the same time that his eyes welled with tears which began to pour down his cheeks with little mercy. Mihail did not like to cry in front of strangers, and he tried to avoid the action as often as possible regardless, because it felt weak and stupid and useless, and he had been taught to be none of those things, and Mother had never liked it, but now he didn't care. He was only a scared little boy being sent to war, and he didn't want to go.
"Net," he stumbled out, the word harder than it should have been as he entirely forgot himself and took a faltering step forward, half falling onto the woman as he wrapped his arms around her. "Y-you can't let me go. Please. I love you. I'm afraid. I will d...d-die." He knew that more than anything. One had only to look at the pitch-black birds circling above them all to know the omen was far from good, and Mihail was more than certain they must have meant his death. They must have. "Nethis." She was shorter than him, and the action felt strange as he nestled his head on her shoulder, his eyes still brimming with all the lost love in the world. "Please. Y-you're the only one who still loves m-me. Not Evras. Not Thea. Th-they don't care anymore. Help me."
His determination to walk towards his fate aboard the warships without glancing back was not a comment on his displeasure with Selene, nor with the circumstances that had led him here. Instead, it was a more a symbolistic gesture of his he was, and always had, approached his life. Without regret, without issue, without wishes for something different. Such efforts were pointless and a waste of time and energy and Vangelis was nothing if not fastidious about how he used the days that the Gods had given him. His decision to walk without looking over his shoulder was his commitment to the path that had been chosen for his life. Regardless of personal feelings on the matter. Which was, perhaps, a comment on his entire life to date.
For he had never been Vangelis. Never been an individual with a purpose that was selfish or a goal that was personal. He simply performed the roles of prince, baron, general and heir to the throne as and where needed, falling into whatever duties and responsibilities were his to bear that day. Ironically, his relationship - if it was to be called that - with Thea was perhaps the only thing he had ever done that made little sense against his duties; the only thing that was solely and truly his choice.
And look where it had gotten him.
Breaking the heart of a friend and would-be lover whom he cared for. At odds with his closest brother. A disappointment to his parents. And now due to be the father of a child that - depending on the length of this campaign - would, in all likelihood, be born illegitimate.
His father had been right. A prince couldn't afford to be his own person. He lived and breathed for the people. And in his choice not to, he had denied those people the Queen that he had thought best for the role.
Gritting his teeth and shelving such thoughts for later - he could beat himself up when the people of his kingdom weren't watching - Vangelis headed down and across the wooden slats of the docklands only to still and stop at the appearance of a slender brunette that now sparked more emotion in him than she ever had across the last eight years.
It would have been no surprise to Thea that Vangelis felt little to nothing for her on an emotional level. He knew her to be intelligent and beautiful and the two of them worked well together in a sexual capacity. That had always been the be all and end all of it. His heart had never become involved and he had never experienced the sort of awkward hopefulness in her opinion of him that he did in the company of others. She had never been a consideration for marriage, nor even of a relationship, the two of them never agreeing to be monogamous to one another.
But that openness and that honesty - not to mention the trust that had developed over eight years of secrecy from others that neither had broken - meant that he now had no reason to doubt Thea when she told him that she had tried to eradicate the issue at every turn. He had no reason to distrust her when she stated that she didn't want this for her future - that she hadn't intended to trap him in such things. And he had every faith, because of her assertions, that the child she bore was his.
In a strange sort of way, they were both in this together, as a couple of individuals who had been forced into circumstances that neither would have chosen.
And yet, Vangelis could not permit a child of his blood to grow up with the stigma of illegitimacy. If the child was born safely, he was to be born safely as a Kotas.
Despite a lack of emotion until now, the appearance of Thea triggered something in the vicinity of Vangelis' lower chest. It tightened his gut, set his breath heavy. She came now with the parcel deal of herself and his child and Vangelis felt more possession and ownership over her now than he ever had before.
It was that that drew him to her, offering her the chance of final words that he hadn't given to any other by his family without being caught for it.
When she spoke and curtseyed, Vangelis felt a sense of awkwardness at how they connection had changed so dramatically. He had seen her in all her exposure, all her core sensuality and yet here she was prim and proper before them, as if they had ne'er risked holding hands.
Unsure how to greet or offer a farewell to the woman he did not love but whom he was due to marry - the woman that carried his young - Vangelis simply reached out and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Their connection had not been formally announced so there was little he could do beyond this that would not trigger rumour and spectacle upon her. She would have enough of that to deal with as time went on.
"I've seen to your care in my absence... however long it becomes." The words referred to both the war campaign and the permanent absence that would follow should he fall. He had already spoken with his steward and seen to the changes necessary in his will of inheritance. "You'll want for nothing practical, Thea." What he couldn't promise her was happiness or comfort in her new life. He frowned as his thoughts turned to a future without him in it. But he had to choose his words carefully as people nearby may overhear. "Permit him the name of Kotas." He said, knowing that if he were to perish in war and his family made a claim upon his offspring, Thea would be the guardian to approve such a claim. "It's all I ask."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
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His determination to walk towards his fate aboard the warships without glancing back was not a comment on his displeasure with Selene, nor with the circumstances that had led him here. Instead, it was a more a symbolistic gesture of his he was, and always had, approached his life. Without regret, without issue, without wishes for something different. Such efforts were pointless and a waste of time and energy and Vangelis was nothing if not fastidious about how he used the days that the Gods had given him. His decision to walk without looking over his shoulder was his commitment to the path that had been chosen for his life. Regardless of personal feelings on the matter. Which was, perhaps, a comment on his entire life to date.
For he had never been Vangelis. Never been an individual with a purpose that was selfish or a goal that was personal. He simply performed the roles of prince, baron, general and heir to the throne as and where needed, falling into whatever duties and responsibilities were his to bear that day. Ironically, his relationship - if it was to be called that - with Thea was perhaps the only thing he had ever done that made little sense against his duties; the only thing that was solely and truly his choice.
And look where it had gotten him.
Breaking the heart of a friend and would-be lover whom he cared for. At odds with his closest brother. A disappointment to his parents. And now due to be the father of a child that - depending on the length of this campaign - would, in all likelihood, be born illegitimate.
His father had been right. A prince couldn't afford to be his own person. He lived and breathed for the people. And in his choice not to, he had denied those people the Queen that he had thought best for the role.
Gritting his teeth and shelving such thoughts for later - he could beat himself up when the people of his kingdom weren't watching - Vangelis headed down and across the wooden slats of the docklands only to still and stop at the appearance of a slender brunette that now sparked more emotion in him than she ever had across the last eight years.
It would have been no surprise to Thea that Vangelis felt little to nothing for her on an emotional level. He knew her to be intelligent and beautiful and the two of them worked well together in a sexual capacity. That had always been the be all and end all of it. His heart had never become involved and he had never experienced the sort of awkward hopefulness in her opinion of him that he did in the company of others. She had never been a consideration for marriage, nor even of a relationship, the two of them never agreeing to be monogamous to one another.
But that openness and that honesty - not to mention the trust that had developed over eight years of secrecy from others that neither had broken - meant that he now had no reason to doubt Thea when she told him that she had tried to eradicate the issue at every turn. He had no reason to distrust her when she stated that she didn't want this for her future - that she hadn't intended to trap him in such things. And he had every faith, because of her assertions, that the child she bore was his.
In a strange sort of way, they were both in this together, as a couple of individuals who had been forced into circumstances that neither would have chosen.
And yet, Vangelis could not permit a child of his blood to grow up with the stigma of illegitimacy. If the child was born safely, he was to be born safely as a Kotas.
Despite a lack of emotion until now, the appearance of Thea triggered something in the vicinity of Vangelis' lower chest. It tightened his gut, set his breath heavy. She came now with the parcel deal of herself and his child and Vangelis felt more possession and ownership over her now than he ever had before.
It was that that drew him to her, offering her the chance of final words that he hadn't given to any other by his family without being caught for it.
When she spoke and curtseyed, Vangelis felt a sense of awkwardness at how they connection had changed so dramatically. He had seen her in all her exposure, all her core sensuality and yet here she was prim and proper before them, as if they had ne'er risked holding hands.
Unsure how to greet or offer a farewell to the woman he did not love but whom he was due to marry - the woman that carried his young - Vangelis simply reached out and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Their connection had not been formally announced so there was little he could do beyond this that would not trigger rumour and spectacle upon her. She would have enough of that to deal with as time went on.
"I've seen to your care in my absence... however long it becomes." The words referred to both the war campaign and the permanent absence that would follow should he fall. He had already spoken with his steward and seen to the changes necessary in his will of inheritance. "You'll want for nothing practical, Thea." What he couldn't promise her was happiness or comfort in her new life. He frowned as his thoughts turned to a future without him in it. But he had to choose his words carefully as people nearby may overhear. "Permit him the name of Kotas." He said, knowing that if he were to perish in war and his family made a claim upon his offspring, Thea would be the guardian to approve such a claim. "It's all I ask."
His determination to walk towards his fate aboard the warships without glancing back was not a comment on his displeasure with Selene, nor with the circumstances that had led him here. Instead, it was a more a symbolistic gesture of his he was, and always had, approached his life. Without regret, without issue, without wishes for something different. Such efforts were pointless and a waste of time and energy and Vangelis was nothing if not fastidious about how he used the days that the Gods had given him. His decision to walk without looking over his shoulder was his commitment to the path that had been chosen for his life. Regardless of personal feelings on the matter. Which was, perhaps, a comment on his entire life to date.
For he had never been Vangelis. Never been an individual with a purpose that was selfish or a goal that was personal. He simply performed the roles of prince, baron, general and heir to the throne as and where needed, falling into whatever duties and responsibilities were his to bear that day. Ironically, his relationship - if it was to be called that - with Thea was perhaps the only thing he had ever done that made little sense against his duties; the only thing that was solely and truly his choice.
And look where it had gotten him.
Breaking the heart of a friend and would-be lover whom he cared for. At odds with his closest brother. A disappointment to his parents. And now due to be the father of a child that - depending on the length of this campaign - would, in all likelihood, be born illegitimate.
His father had been right. A prince couldn't afford to be his own person. He lived and breathed for the people. And in his choice not to, he had denied those people the Queen that he had thought best for the role.
Gritting his teeth and shelving such thoughts for later - he could beat himself up when the people of his kingdom weren't watching - Vangelis headed down and across the wooden slats of the docklands only to still and stop at the appearance of a slender brunette that now sparked more emotion in him than she ever had across the last eight years.
It would have been no surprise to Thea that Vangelis felt little to nothing for her on an emotional level. He knew her to be intelligent and beautiful and the two of them worked well together in a sexual capacity. That had always been the be all and end all of it. His heart had never become involved and he had never experienced the sort of awkward hopefulness in her opinion of him that he did in the company of others. She had never been a consideration for marriage, nor even of a relationship, the two of them never agreeing to be monogamous to one another.
But that openness and that honesty - not to mention the trust that had developed over eight years of secrecy from others that neither had broken - meant that he now had no reason to doubt Thea when she told him that she had tried to eradicate the issue at every turn. He had no reason to distrust her when she stated that she didn't want this for her future - that she hadn't intended to trap him in such things. And he had every faith, because of her assertions, that the child she bore was his.
In a strange sort of way, they were both in this together, as a couple of individuals who had been forced into circumstances that neither would have chosen.
And yet, Vangelis could not permit a child of his blood to grow up with the stigma of illegitimacy. If the child was born safely, he was to be born safely as a Kotas.
Despite a lack of emotion until now, the appearance of Thea triggered something in the vicinity of Vangelis' lower chest. It tightened his gut, set his breath heavy. She came now with the parcel deal of herself and his child and Vangelis felt more possession and ownership over her now than he ever had before.
It was that that drew him to her, offering her the chance of final words that he hadn't given to any other by his family without being caught for it.
When she spoke and curtseyed, Vangelis felt a sense of awkwardness at how they connection had changed so dramatically. He had seen her in all her exposure, all her core sensuality and yet here she was prim and proper before them, as if they had ne'er risked holding hands.
Unsure how to greet or offer a farewell to the woman he did not love but whom he was due to marry - the woman that carried his young - Vangelis simply reached out and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Their connection had not been formally announced so there was little he could do beyond this that would not trigger rumour and spectacle upon her. She would have enough of that to deal with as time went on.
"I've seen to your care in my absence... however long it becomes." The words referred to both the war campaign and the permanent absence that would follow should he fall. He had already spoken with his steward and seen to the changes necessary in his will of inheritance. "You'll want for nothing practical, Thea." What he couldn't promise her was happiness or comfort in her new life. He frowned as his thoughts turned to a future without him in it. But he had to choose his words carefully as people nearby may overhear. "Permit him the name of Kotas." He said, knowing that if he were to perish in war and his family made a claim upon his offspring, Thea would be the guardian to approve such a claim. "It's all I ask."
It felt as if Thea were speaking to stranger, despite her hands having traced along the lines of his body for 8 years going now. It was likely that she was one of the few who knew the placement of each scar across his chest and back over the years, the way he collected them like badges of glory. They knew so many secrets about one another, but only in the sense of body, never of the heart. Even with this change in circumstance, Thea was uncertain that such a day would ever come, but that was all an issue for the future.
Acknowledged by him as she offered her farewells, Thea carefully hid her reaction to the hand he placed on her shoulder behind a few blinks of the eye, glancing down at it then back up to his face. He looked tired. So did she. This sudden shift in course was the last thing that was needed as they prepared for war. There was so much uncertainty.
Then, his words offered her some comfort. It was not that he doubted that Vangelis would make the arrangements - he was a very thorough man who likely saw this issue as simply another battlefront - but hearing it offered a slight balm to the worry that had been plaguing her. He promised she would want for nothing practical, and she breathed a subtle, scoff of a laugh through her nose as her eyes instinctively shifted to the shore where the other members of the Kotas line congregated before they shifted away from them uncomfortably. They both knew that she was as unwelcome now, if not moreso, than Evras was in the dawning days of her entry to the Kotas House.
It was not a competition, but at least there was the immediate reassurance of a marriage to keep Evras secure. It was not that she did not trust Vangelis' actions to secure her place in the interim. It was that she knew that these coming weeks and months would be the most uncomfortable of her life, knowing it to be some divine punishment for whatever sins.
Her hand reached up slightly to gently touch her fingertips on the back of his, a show of solidarity, almost as if she were summoning some of the bravery and the strength that he took with him to war to help here here. "Thank you."
Then, he made his request, so quiet that others could not hear, and she nodded.
"I will," Thea replied, just as quietly, a slight tightening around her eyes as the only show of frustrated, confused emotion. It was not that she felt any anticipation or concern for him boarding the ship to war - Vangelis thrived at war. It embodied him. Even in his least experienced years, when the folly of youth should have seen him dead a dozen times over, yet he still remained. Thea convinced herself he would return from this just as well, simply out of her own need to not go through this alone. In all this, between both of their families, he was the only one who was on her side in this, and now he would be going.
Her hand gave his the slightest of squeezes at her shoulder before she allowed it to drop, anchored and folded delicately before her, as if reassuring the promise to the one inside her too small to show himself to the world just yet. Soon, though.
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It felt as if Thea were speaking to stranger, despite her hands having traced along the lines of his body for 8 years going now. It was likely that she was one of the few who knew the placement of each scar across his chest and back over the years, the way he collected them like badges of glory. They knew so many secrets about one another, but only in the sense of body, never of the heart. Even with this change in circumstance, Thea was uncertain that such a day would ever come, but that was all an issue for the future.
Acknowledged by him as she offered her farewells, Thea carefully hid her reaction to the hand he placed on her shoulder behind a few blinks of the eye, glancing down at it then back up to his face. He looked tired. So did she. This sudden shift in course was the last thing that was needed as they prepared for war. There was so much uncertainty.
Then, his words offered her some comfort. It was not that he doubted that Vangelis would make the arrangements - he was a very thorough man who likely saw this issue as simply another battlefront - but hearing it offered a slight balm to the worry that had been plaguing her. He promised she would want for nothing practical, and she breathed a subtle, scoff of a laugh through her nose as her eyes instinctively shifted to the shore where the other members of the Kotas line congregated before they shifted away from them uncomfortably. They both knew that she was as unwelcome now, if not moreso, than Evras was in the dawning days of her entry to the Kotas House.
It was not a competition, but at least there was the immediate reassurance of a marriage to keep Evras secure. It was not that she did not trust Vangelis' actions to secure her place in the interim. It was that she knew that these coming weeks and months would be the most uncomfortable of her life, knowing it to be some divine punishment for whatever sins.
Her hand reached up slightly to gently touch her fingertips on the back of his, a show of solidarity, almost as if she were summoning some of the bravery and the strength that he took with him to war to help here here. "Thank you."
Then, he made his request, so quiet that others could not hear, and she nodded.
"I will," Thea replied, just as quietly, a slight tightening around her eyes as the only show of frustrated, confused emotion. It was not that she felt any anticipation or concern for him boarding the ship to war - Vangelis thrived at war. It embodied him. Even in his least experienced years, when the folly of youth should have seen him dead a dozen times over, yet he still remained. Thea convinced herself he would return from this just as well, simply out of her own need to not go through this alone. In all this, between both of their families, he was the only one who was on her side in this, and now he would be going.
Her hand gave his the slightest of squeezes at her shoulder before she allowed it to drop, anchored and folded delicately before her, as if reassuring the promise to the one inside her too small to show himself to the world just yet. Soon, though.
It felt as if Thea were speaking to stranger, despite her hands having traced along the lines of his body for 8 years going now. It was likely that she was one of the few who knew the placement of each scar across his chest and back over the years, the way he collected them like badges of glory. They knew so many secrets about one another, but only in the sense of body, never of the heart. Even with this change in circumstance, Thea was uncertain that such a day would ever come, but that was all an issue for the future.
Acknowledged by him as she offered her farewells, Thea carefully hid her reaction to the hand he placed on her shoulder behind a few blinks of the eye, glancing down at it then back up to his face. He looked tired. So did she. This sudden shift in course was the last thing that was needed as they prepared for war. There was so much uncertainty.
Then, his words offered her some comfort. It was not that he doubted that Vangelis would make the arrangements - he was a very thorough man who likely saw this issue as simply another battlefront - but hearing it offered a slight balm to the worry that had been plaguing her. He promised she would want for nothing practical, and she breathed a subtle, scoff of a laugh through her nose as her eyes instinctively shifted to the shore where the other members of the Kotas line congregated before they shifted away from them uncomfortably. They both knew that she was as unwelcome now, if not moreso, than Evras was in the dawning days of her entry to the Kotas House.
It was not a competition, but at least there was the immediate reassurance of a marriage to keep Evras secure. It was not that she did not trust Vangelis' actions to secure her place in the interim. It was that she knew that these coming weeks and months would be the most uncomfortable of her life, knowing it to be some divine punishment for whatever sins.
Her hand reached up slightly to gently touch her fingertips on the back of his, a show of solidarity, almost as if she were summoning some of the bravery and the strength that he took with him to war to help here here. "Thank you."
Then, he made his request, so quiet that others could not hear, and she nodded.
"I will," Thea replied, just as quietly, a slight tightening around her eyes as the only show of frustrated, confused emotion. It was not that she felt any anticipation or concern for him boarding the ship to war - Vangelis thrived at war. It embodied him. Even in his least experienced years, when the folly of youth should have seen him dead a dozen times over, yet he still remained. Thea convinced herself he would return from this just as well, simply out of her own need to not go through this alone. In all this, between both of their families, he was the only one who was on her side in this, and now he would be going.
Her hand gave his the slightest of squeezes at her shoulder before she allowed it to drop, anchored and folded delicately before her, as if reassuring the promise to the one inside her too small to show himself to the world just yet. Soon, though.
Though Nethis would have preferred an answer from her brother, what she got was quite a lot of response from the stranger to whom he had been speaking. Damocles of Magnemea. His introduction and epithet atop it were regarded with little more than polite interest; the name sparked a minimal amount of recognition in passing, a name filed away somewhere in the depth of memory as a war hero or something, mentioned in passing at court, and the title none at all, which wasn’t necessarily a surprise since, to her, it sounded like the sort of thing only men used amongst themselves.
She could—and would—have offered introduction in return at the appropriate juncture, but he continued to talk without giving her much avenue and so she simply greeted further explanation with a nod. It wasn’t as if she were a complete stranger given her pronounced connection to Mihail, so what did it matter if he didn’t have her given name from her lips?
What she wanted was for Mihail to interrupt, to spare her from having to make nice when she really only wanted to say goodbye to him, but a sideways glance in his direction told her that he wasn’t even paying attention. Nethis had no idea what caught his attention instead, perhaps the arrival of birds (which was no doubt an omen, though she didn’t stop to consider it), but it left her to in a lurch, obligated to play some part to upkeep a conversation she didn’t want.
"How... kind of you," she offered, tone and expression not quite disinterested, but certainly not particularly impressed. Behind a deliberately bland demeanor, she was privately incredibly mistrustful given from when he hailed and what that meant regarding fealty as well as somewhat insulted on Mihail’s behalf. This reflected slightly in the follow-up offered. "I always do find it so difficult to maintain friendships when loyalty can be called into question, but Mihail has always been better about that." A truth, if only because Mihail didn’t care about loyalties and she did overmuch, but she bothered to soften it with a falsely polite smile.
Another sideways glance in his direction followed, wondering if he’d see fit to chime in instead saw his lower lip quiver. Suddenly, Nethis understood this was going to end badly and she about to open her mouth to make a quick excuse to secure them a limited form of privacy when Mihail broke his silence in the most ill-composed fashion.
"Oh," the word was whispered out, carried in an exhale. Unkindly, Nethis found herself wishing fleetingly that he had held it together long enough for her to actually excuse them from Damocles’ company, but once started, there was no stopping Mihail. She had decided a long time ago, back when he was a child that cried in her lap, that her brother was more similar to Evras than she; he felt everything deeply and was hopeless at internalizing those feelings as she did for the sake of cunning.
She winced as he devolved further, but she did nothing to stop him from nestling into her shoulder or giving voice to further despair. Truly, she wanted to focus on him and address his concerns, but there was something else to take care of first: their audience. As such, she didn’t move to wrap her arms about him, or even acknowledge that he sought comfort. Instead, despite the fact that Mihail was—quite literally—falling apart on her, she managed to find the attitude that spoke best to who she was: a Lady of House Thanasi, and for all intents and purposes (especially considering Dionysios was still under house arrest), the power behind the family. She slid into it like the second skin it was in the space between one second and another.
Then, she spared Damocles half a glance—one that was so perfunctory it was almost more like looking through him— and said, "Leave us. Now." Here, there was a flawlessly cold dismissal embedded in the tone that made it clear there was no other acceptable option for the captain and his compatriots but to make themselves scarce. It was unkind to use the same tone here that she used with servants or worse yet slaves, considering Damocles had been nothing but courteous albeit perhaps a little overly performative in it, but really, she didn’t know a faster way to get rid of them and speed was of the essence here.
If she ever had occasion to run into him again, she could apologize then... given she remembered him and her behavior, that was.
Assuming she’d be obeyed, she didn’t even bother to watch them go. Instead, she turned her attention where it had probably belonged since the start: on Mihail.
"Shh." The sound was drawn out as and she finally moved to comfort him, arms wrapping around him thoughtlessly, side of her head gently leaning against the back of his. She hadn’t done this in ages and yet, somehow offering comfort came back to her naturally. What that said about her, she didn’t want to know, but perhaps it made sense. Was this not simply a repetition of the past? They were both older, today's problem was absolutely more adult, but it was the same, leaving her this: she knew how to soothe Mihail, even as it was always manipulative at the most hidden core.
Only, was it manipulative because she wanted to use him and blinding him made that easier or just because she wanted someone to love her uncomplicatedly and unconditionally? She thought it the former, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was the latter and she was blinding herself. It was distinctly possible given the reaction that followed.
"Forgive me, Mihail," she said softly, voice thicker with emotion than she intended it to be, "Forgive me, but I cannot stop this." Gods help her, she hadn’t even tried once she saw the advantage of it. Instead, she had expended more effort ignoring how this made her heartsick because anyone with sense would be scared for him, spent more time reminding herself that what little heart she had was a worthless, traitorous thing and she couldn’t pay it any mind. "It is already done."
She swallowed then, and closed her eyes to gather herself; in the effort, she released a breath slowly and extended the effortful control of her breathing farther, toward getting herself back in check.
She was Nethis of Thanasi. She categorically did not do this, least of all in front of practically the whole kingdom.
She addressed him again only when she trusted that she would no longer succumb to sentimentality. "Mihail, I know you are afraid but you go too far in indulging it. Look at me." She let arms fall from around him then and shifted away, waiting for him to obey. When he did so, she met his gaze with one of her own that was as much made of iron certainty as she knew how to make it.
This might not be the version of her he wanted, but this was the one he needed.
"You are Lord Mihail of Thanasi," she started, words low, nearly harsh, "You were not raised for war, but you will make it through even if only because our men drag you through it kicking and screaming the whole way or you have to use what I imagine to be poison now resting in your pocket." The longer she spoke the harder her words became, taking on something almost brutal in its ferocity. If there was power in putting sentiments to air—and she believed there was—then she would speak these into certainty. "You will come home because I expect and will accept nothing less." He was long accustomed to her telling him what to do in the moments that mattered most, and so she did so, choosing to give him no other option but the one she could stand. He would come home.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Though Nethis would have preferred an answer from her brother, what she got was quite a lot of response from the stranger to whom he had been speaking. Damocles of Magnemea. His introduction and epithet atop it were regarded with little more than polite interest; the name sparked a minimal amount of recognition in passing, a name filed away somewhere in the depth of memory as a war hero or something, mentioned in passing at court, and the title none at all, which wasn’t necessarily a surprise since, to her, it sounded like the sort of thing only men used amongst themselves.
She could—and would—have offered introduction in return at the appropriate juncture, but he continued to talk without giving her much avenue and so she simply greeted further explanation with a nod. It wasn’t as if she were a complete stranger given her pronounced connection to Mihail, so what did it matter if he didn’t have her given name from her lips?
What she wanted was for Mihail to interrupt, to spare her from having to make nice when she really only wanted to say goodbye to him, but a sideways glance in his direction told her that he wasn’t even paying attention. Nethis had no idea what caught his attention instead, perhaps the arrival of birds (which was no doubt an omen, though she didn’t stop to consider it), but it left her to in a lurch, obligated to play some part to upkeep a conversation she didn’t want.
"How... kind of you," she offered, tone and expression not quite disinterested, but certainly not particularly impressed. Behind a deliberately bland demeanor, she was privately incredibly mistrustful given from when he hailed and what that meant regarding fealty as well as somewhat insulted on Mihail’s behalf. This reflected slightly in the follow-up offered. "I always do find it so difficult to maintain friendships when loyalty can be called into question, but Mihail has always been better about that." A truth, if only because Mihail didn’t care about loyalties and she did overmuch, but she bothered to soften it with a falsely polite smile.
Another sideways glance in his direction followed, wondering if he’d see fit to chime in instead saw his lower lip quiver. Suddenly, Nethis understood this was going to end badly and she about to open her mouth to make a quick excuse to secure them a limited form of privacy when Mihail broke his silence in the most ill-composed fashion.
"Oh," the word was whispered out, carried in an exhale. Unkindly, Nethis found herself wishing fleetingly that he had held it together long enough for her to actually excuse them from Damocles’ company, but once started, there was no stopping Mihail. She had decided a long time ago, back when he was a child that cried in her lap, that her brother was more similar to Evras than she; he felt everything deeply and was hopeless at internalizing those feelings as she did for the sake of cunning.
She winced as he devolved further, but she did nothing to stop him from nestling into her shoulder or giving voice to further despair. Truly, she wanted to focus on him and address his concerns, but there was something else to take care of first: their audience. As such, she didn’t move to wrap her arms about him, or even acknowledge that he sought comfort. Instead, despite the fact that Mihail was—quite literally—falling apart on her, she managed to find the attitude that spoke best to who she was: a Lady of House Thanasi, and for all intents and purposes (especially considering Dionysios was still under house arrest), the power behind the family. She slid into it like the second skin it was in the space between one second and another.
Then, she spared Damocles half a glance—one that was so perfunctory it was almost more like looking through him— and said, "Leave us. Now." Here, there was a flawlessly cold dismissal embedded in the tone that made it clear there was no other acceptable option for the captain and his compatriots but to make themselves scarce. It was unkind to use the same tone here that she used with servants or worse yet slaves, considering Damocles had been nothing but courteous albeit perhaps a little overly performative in it, but really, she didn’t know a faster way to get rid of them and speed was of the essence here.
If she ever had occasion to run into him again, she could apologize then... given she remembered him and her behavior, that was.
Assuming she’d be obeyed, she didn’t even bother to watch them go. Instead, she turned her attention where it had probably belonged since the start: on Mihail.
"Shh." The sound was drawn out as and she finally moved to comfort him, arms wrapping around him thoughtlessly, side of her head gently leaning against the back of his. She hadn’t done this in ages and yet, somehow offering comfort came back to her naturally. What that said about her, she didn’t want to know, but perhaps it made sense. Was this not simply a repetition of the past? They were both older, today's problem was absolutely more adult, but it was the same, leaving her this: she knew how to soothe Mihail, even as it was always manipulative at the most hidden core.
Only, was it manipulative because she wanted to use him and blinding him made that easier or just because she wanted someone to love her uncomplicatedly and unconditionally? She thought it the former, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was the latter and she was blinding herself. It was distinctly possible given the reaction that followed.
"Forgive me, Mihail," she said softly, voice thicker with emotion than she intended it to be, "Forgive me, but I cannot stop this." Gods help her, she hadn’t even tried once she saw the advantage of it. Instead, she had expended more effort ignoring how this made her heartsick because anyone with sense would be scared for him, spent more time reminding herself that what little heart she had was a worthless, traitorous thing and she couldn’t pay it any mind. "It is already done."
She swallowed then, and closed her eyes to gather herself; in the effort, she released a breath slowly and extended the effortful control of her breathing farther, toward getting herself back in check.
She was Nethis of Thanasi. She categorically did not do this, least of all in front of practically the whole kingdom.
She addressed him again only when she trusted that she would no longer succumb to sentimentality. "Mihail, I know you are afraid but you go too far in indulging it. Look at me." She let arms fall from around him then and shifted away, waiting for him to obey. When he did so, she met his gaze with one of her own that was as much made of iron certainty as she knew how to make it.
This might not be the version of her he wanted, but this was the one he needed.
"You are Lord Mihail of Thanasi," she started, words low, nearly harsh, "You were not raised for war, but you will make it through even if only because our men drag you through it kicking and screaming the whole way or you have to use what I imagine to be poison now resting in your pocket." The longer she spoke the harder her words became, taking on something almost brutal in its ferocity. If there was power in putting sentiments to air—and she believed there was—then she would speak these into certainty. "You will come home because I expect and will accept nothing less." He was long accustomed to her telling him what to do in the moments that mattered most, and so she did so, choosing to give him no other option but the one she could stand. He would come home.
Though Nethis would have preferred an answer from her brother, what she got was quite a lot of response from the stranger to whom he had been speaking. Damocles of Magnemea. His introduction and epithet atop it were regarded with little more than polite interest; the name sparked a minimal amount of recognition in passing, a name filed away somewhere in the depth of memory as a war hero or something, mentioned in passing at court, and the title none at all, which wasn’t necessarily a surprise since, to her, it sounded like the sort of thing only men used amongst themselves.
She could—and would—have offered introduction in return at the appropriate juncture, but he continued to talk without giving her much avenue and so she simply greeted further explanation with a nod. It wasn’t as if she were a complete stranger given her pronounced connection to Mihail, so what did it matter if he didn’t have her given name from her lips?
What she wanted was for Mihail to interrupt, to spare her from having to make nice when she really only wanted to say goodbye to him, but a sideways glance in his direction told her that he wasn’t even paying attention. Nethis had no idea what caught his attention instead, perhaps the arrival of birds (which was no doubt an omen, though she didn’t stop to consider it), but it left her to in a lurch, obligated to play some part to upkeep a conversation she didn’t want.
"How... kind of you," she offered, tone and expression not quite disinterested, but certainly not particularly impressed. Behind a deliberately bland demeanor, she was privately incredibly mistrustful given from when he hailed and what that meant regarding fealty as well as somewhat insulted on Mihail’s behalf. This reflected slightly in the follow-up offered. "I always do find it so difficult to maintain friendships when loyalty can be called into question, but Mihail has always been better about that." A truth, if only because Mihail didn’t care about loyalties and she did overmuch, but she bothered to soften it with a falsely polite smile.
Another sideways glance in his direction followed, wondering if he’d see fit to chime in instead saw his lower lip quiver. Suddenly, Nethis understood this was going to end badly and she about to open her mouth to make a quick excuse to secure them a limited form of privacy when Mihail broke his silence in the most ill-composed fashion.
"Oh," the word was whispered out, carried in an exhale. Unkindly, Nethis found herself wishing fleetingly that he had held it together long enough for her to actually excuse them from Damocles’ company, but once started, there was no stopping Mihail. She had decided a long time ago, back when he was a child that cried in her lap, that her brother was more similar to Evras than she; he felt everything deeply and was hopeless at internalizing those feelings as she did for the sake of cunning.
She winced as he devolved further, but she did nothing to stop him from nestling into her shoulder or giving voice to further despair. Truly, she wanted to focus on him and address his concerns, but there was something else to take care of first: their audience. As such, she didn’t move to wrap her arms about him, or even acknowledge that he sought comfort. Instead, despite the fact that Mihail was—quite literally—falling apart on her, she managed to find the attitude that spoke best to who she was: a Lady of House Thanasi, and for all intents and purposes (especially considering Dionysios was still under house arrest), the power behind the family. She slid into it like the second skin it was in the space between one second and another.
Then, she spared Damocles half a glance—one that was so perfunctory it was almost more like looking through him— and said, "Leave us. Now." Here, there was a flawlessly cold dismissal embedded in the tone that made it clear there was no other acceptable option for the captain and his compatriots but to make themselves scarce. It was unkind to use the same tone here that she used with servants or worse yet slaves, considering Damocles had been nothing but courteous albeit perhaps a little overly performative in it, but really, she didn’t know a faster way to get rid of them and speed was of the essence here.
If she ever had occasion to run into him again, she could apologize then... given she remembered him and her behavior, that was.
Assuming she’d be obeyed, she didn’t even bother to watch them go. Instead, she turned her attention where it had probably belonged since the start: on Mihail.
"Shh." The sound was drawn out as and she finally moved to comfort him, arms wrapping around him thoughtlessly, side of her head gently leaning against the back of his. She hadn’t done this in ages and yet, somehow offering comfort came back to her naturally. What that said about her, she didn’t want to know, but perhaps it made sense. Was this not simply a repetition of the past? They were both older, today's problem was absolutely more adult, but it was the same, leaving her this: she knew how to soothe Mihail, even as it was always manipulative at the most hidden core.
Only, was it manipulative because she wanted to use him and blinding him made that easier or just because she wanted someone to love her uncomplicatedly and unconditionally? She thought it the former, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was the latter and she was blinding herself. It was distinctly possible given the reaction that followed.
"Forgive me, Mihail," she said softly, voice thicker with emotion than she intended it to be, "Forgive me, but I cannot stop this." Gods help her, she hadn’t even tried once she saw the advantage of it. Instead, she had expended more effort ignoring how this made her heartsick because anyone with sense would be scared for him, spent more time reminding herself that what little heart she had was a worthless, traitorous thing and she couldn’t pay it any mind. "It is already done."
She swallowed then, and closed her eyes to gather herself; in the effort, she released a breath slowly and extended the effortful control of her breathing farther, toward getting herself back in check.
She was Nethis of Thanasi. She categorically did not do this, least of all in front of practically the whole kingdom.
She addressed him again only when she trusted that she would no longer succumb to sentimentality. "Mihail, I know you are afraid but you go too far in indulging it. Look at me." She let arms fall from around him then and shifted away, waiting for him to obey. When he did so, she met his gaze with one of her own that was as much made of iron certainty as she knew how to make it.
This might not be the version of her he wanted, but this was the one he needed.
"You are Lord Mihail of Thanasi," she started, words low, nearly harsh, "You were not raised for war, but you will make it through even if only because our men drag you through it kicking and screaming the whole way or you have to use what I imagine to be poison now resting in your pocket." The longer she spoke the harder her words became, taking on something almost brutal in its ferocity. If there was power in putting sentiments to air—and she believed there was—then she would speak these into certainty. "You will come home because I expect and will accept nothing less." He was long accustomed to her telling him what to do in the moments that mattered most, and so she did so, choosing to give him no other option but the one she could stand. He would come home.
At Thea's touch upon the back of his hand, the nod of her head and the quiet assent of her words, Vangelis found himself trusting in her promise completely. Whether it was due to the years they had known one another - the years in which they had held each other’s secrets close to heart and steadily built a foundation of trustworthiness that such a relationship had never seen the light of day - or strictly because of her, Vangelis did not know. But along with his life's philosophy of never looking backwards, never regretting that which you could not change, Vangelis also operated on a perhaps naive basis of trust until there was reason for a lack of it. If someone vowed that they would do something, Vang believed their assurances. If they then failed to follow through, he would never trust them again. It was that simple. That clean cut. And despite her current condition (of which Vangelis was more than aware she had attempted to do all she could to 'correct' the matter), Thea had yet to disappoint or break any vow that she had given him over the last decade and a half.
Vangelis thought upon Selene for a moment. Of the promise that he had made her. Yes, of the two of them - he and Thea - he was the breaker of oaths. And he wondered for a moment at the manner in which she had kissed him - at what the letter he now held in his tunic might contain. For, if he were in her position, his trust would have been forever lost.
Removing his hand from Thea's shoulder, Vangelis looked out to note that nearly all of his men were now securely on board the vessels lining the docks. He could see his father on board the one that he was bound for and so turned to offer a final farewell, unsure what would be an appropriate parting for a future wife and mother of his child when, publicly, she was a hated Thanasi to his family.
Vangelis was careful to drop his gaze to Thea's belly - still flat and lean as the early days of her condition would dictate - being careful that she would be able to see the manner in which his stare shifted from her middle to her eyes.
"Stay safe." He told her.
And, hoping that those two words contained all that he might have wished to express - for he was never very good at words of sentiment or emotion - Vangelis turned away from the woman and made the rest of the walk along the docklands. His voice was a bark of power and might as he made orders for all men to fall in, to board their assigned ship and to be ready for launch within the minute. The last stragglers of the armed forces of Colchis hurried to their boats, their final goodbyes to loved once practically torn from their arms.
In a single indication of intended victory, Vangelis stood before his own ship and raised the ornamental spear above his head, the golden length shining in the sunlight. A cheer rose up from the people before he turned and boarded the ship that would take him away from the shadows of two different lives with two different women...
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At Thea's touch upon the back of his hand, the nod of her head and the quiet assent of her words, Vangelis found himself trusting in her promise completely. Whether it was due to the years they had known one another - the years in which they had held each other’s secrets close to heart and steadily built a foundation of trustworthiness that such a relationship had never seen the light of day - or strictly because of her, Vangelis did not know. But along with his life's philosophy of never looking backwards, never regretting that which you could not change, Vangelis also operated on a perhaps naive basis of trust until there was reason for a lack of it. If someone vowed that they would do something, Vang believed their assurances. If they then failed to follow through, he would never trust them again. It was that simple. That clean cut. And despite her current condition (of which Vangelis was more than aware she had attempted to do all she could to 'correct' the matter), Thea had yet to disappoint or break any vow that she had given him over the last decade and a half.
Vangelis thought upon Selene for a moment. Of the promise that he had made her. Yes, of the two of them - he and Thea - he was the breaker of oaths. And he wondered for a moment at the manner in which she had kissed him - at what the letter he now held in his tunic might contain. For, if he were in her position, his trust would have been forever lost.
Removing his hand from Thea's shoulder, Vangelis looked out to note that nearly all of his men were now securely on board the vessels lining the docks. He could see his father on board the one that he was bound for and so turned to offer a final farewell, unsure what would be an appropriate parting for a future wife and mother of his child when, publicly, she was a hated Thanasi to his family.
Vangelis was careful to drop his gaze to Thea's belly - still flat and lean as the early days of her condition would dictate - being careful that she would be able to see the manner in which his stare shifted from her middle to her eyes.
"Stay safe." He told her.
And, hoping that those two words contained all that he might have wished to express - for he was never very good at words of sentiment or emotion - Vangelis turned away from the woman and made the rest of the walk along the docklands. His voice was a bark of power and might as he made orders for all men to fall in, to board their assigned ship and to be ready for launch within the minute. The last stragglers of the armed forces of Colchis hurried to their boats, their final goodbyes to loved once practically torn from their arms.
In a single indication of intended victory, Vangelis stood before his own ship and raised the ornamental spear above his head, the golden length shining in the sunlight. A cheer rose up from the people before he turned and boarded the ship that would take him away from the shadows of two different lives with two different women...
At Thea's touch upon the back of his hand, the nod of her head and the quiet assent of her words, Vangelis found himself trusting in her promise completely. Whether it was due to the years they had known one another - the years in which they had held each other’s secrets close to heart and steadily built a foundation of trustworthiness that such a relationship had never seen the light of day - or strictly because of her, Vangelis did not know. But along with his life's philosophy of never looking backwards, never regretting that which you could not change, Vangelis also operated on a perhaps naive basis of trust until there was reason for a lack of it. If someone vowed that they would do something, Vang believed their assurances. If they then failed to follow through, he would never trust them again. It was that simple. That clean cut. And despite her current condition (of which Vangelis was more than aware she had attempted to do all she could to 'correct' the matter), Thea had yet to disappoint or break any vow that she had given him over the last decade and a half.
Vangelis thought upon Selene for a moment. Of the promise that he had made her. Yes, of the two of them - he and Thea - he was the breaker of oaths. And he wondered for a moment at the manner in which she had kissed him - at what the letter he now held in his tunic might contain. For, if he were in her position, his trust would have been forever lost.
Removing his hand from Thea's shoulder, Vangelis looked out to note that nearly all of his men were now securely on board the vessels lining the docks. He could see his father on board the one that he was bound for and so turned to offer a final farewell, unsure what would be an appropriate parting for a future wife and mother of his child when, publicly, she was a hated Thanasi to his family.
Vangelis was careful to drop his gaze to Thea's belly - still flat and lean as the early days of her condition would dictate - being careful that she would be able to see the manner in which his stare shifted from her middle to her eyes.
"Stay safe." He told her.
And, hoping that those two words contained all that he might have wished to express - for he was never very good at words of sentiment or emotion - Vangelis turned away from the woman and made the rest of the walk along the docklands. His voice was a bark of power and might as he made orders for all men to fall in, to board their assigned ship and to be ready for launch within the minute. The last stragglers of the armed forces of Colchis hurried to their boats, their final goodbyes to loved once practically torn from their arms.
In a single indication of intended victory, Vangelis stood before his own ship and raised the ornamental spear above his head, the golden length shining in the sunlight. A cheer rose up from the people before he turned and boarded the ship that would take him away from the shadows of two different lives with two different women...
Maleos waited a bit longer, sure that Leto would be there, that she would come and say good bye to him before he was to leave for Egypt. But the longer he stood there, the more his heart sank. There was no sight of her any where, and he needed to begin boarding the ship with his men. He swallowed heavily and grabbed the reigns of his horse, handing them off to a nearby soldier with the command to see it boarded onto a ship safely, he took one last look around before he accepted that she was not coming.
His gaze went once more up to the birds that sat there, watching them. Ares was reminding him, of his true self, of his destiny. Leto had gotten him off track, but the fact that she did not stand there that day to bid him farewell showed him that his feelings had been misplaced.
Not allowing himself to dwell on such things for much longer, he regained his composure and made his way towards where his unit had begun to gather, having said their goodbyes to their own loved ones.
“Start boarding.” He said, his tone showing his men that he was not in a mood for anything other than his commands being heeded. They did as they were told, and with a final call of good bye to their loved ones, the men began to board their designated ship.
He waited while they boarded, and once every man of his unit was onboard, he took one last look behind him, hoping still to see Leto standing there.
She wasn’t.
He could see the royal family saying their final goodbyes, most people having already begun to get on the ships so they could sail on schedule.
So that was it then.
He turned and boarded the ship, making sure to introduce himself to the Captain of the ship, as he would be in charge upon the waters. Maleos knew almost nothing about sailing, so he had no issue with following the other man’s authority. He and his men would spend their time training while they sailed upon the waves. If any of his men were to get sick, they would need to learn to work through it. Even in these cramped conditions, he could not let them slack. They had far too much to do before they made it to the shores of Egypt if they were to pull off the battle plan.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Maleos waited a bit longer, sure that Leto would be there, that she would come and say good bye to him before he was to leave for Egypt. But the longer he stood there, the more his heart sank. There was no sight of her any where, and he needed to begin boarding the ship with his men. He swallowed heavily and grabbed the reigns of his horse, handing them off to a nearby soldier with the command to see it boarded onto a ship safely, he took one last look around before he accepted that she was not coming.
His gaze went once more up to the birds that sat there, watching them. Ares was reminding him, of his true self, of his destiny. Leto had gotten him off track, but the fact that she did not stand there that day to bid him farewell showed him that his feelings had been misplaced.
Not allowing himself to dwell on such things for much longer, he regained his composure and made his way towards where his unit had begun to gather, having said their goodbyes to their own loved ones.
“Start boarding.” He said, his tone showing his men that he was not in a mood for anything other than his commands being heeded. They did as they were told, and with a final call of good bye to their loved ones, the men began to board their designated ship.
He waited while they boarded, and once every man of his unit was onboard, he took one last look behind him, hoping still to see Leto standing there.
She wasn’t.
He could see the royal family saying their final goodbyes, most people having already begun to get on the ships so they could sail on schedule.
So that was it then.
He turned and boarded the ship, making sure to introduce himself to the Captain of the ship, as he would be in charge upon the waters. Maleos knew almost nothing about sailing, so he had no issue with following the other man’s authority. He and his men would spend their time training while they sailed upon the waves. If any of his men were to get sick, they would need to learn to work through it. Even in these cramped conditions, he could not let them slack. They had far too much to do before they made it to the shores of Egypt if they were to pull off the battle plan.
Maleos waited a bit longer, sure that Leto would be there, that she would come and say good bye to him before he was to leave for Egypt. But the longer he stood there, the more his heart sank. There was no sight of her any where, and he needed to begin boarding the ship with his men. He swallowed heavily and grabbed the reigns of his horse, handing them off to a nearby soldier with the command to see it boarded onto a ship safely, he took one last look around before he accepted that she was not coming.
His gaze went once more up to the birds that sat there, watching them. Ares was reminding him, of his true self, of his destiny. Leto had gotten him off track, but the fact that she did not stand there that day to bid him farewell showed him that his feelings had been misplaced.
Not allowing himself to dwell on such things for much longer, he regained his composure and made his way towards where his unit had begun to gather, having said their goodbyes to their own loved ones.
“Start boarding.” He said, his tone showing his men that he was not in a mood for anything other than his commands being heeded. They did as they were told, and with a final call of good bye to their loved ones, the men began to board their designated ship.
He waited while they boarded, and once every man of his unit was onboard, he took one last look behind him, hoping still to see Leto standing there.
She wasn’t.
He could see the royal family saying their final goodbyes, most people having already begun to get on the ships so they could sail on schedule.
So that was it then.
He turned and boarded the ship, making sure to introduce himself to the Captain of the ship, as he would be in charge upon the waters. Maleos knew almost nothing about sailing, so he had no issue with following the other man’s authority. He and his men would spend their time training while they sailed upon the waves. If any of his men were to get sick, they would need to learn to work through it. Even in these cramped conditions, he could not let them slack. They had far too much to do before they made it to the shores of Egypt if they were to pull off the battle plan.
For as much as he could tell, it seemed as though, in this particular moment, his words were not very important or necessary. It wasn’t in his nature to find a silenced still behind his forked, twisted tongue, but, if he was to truly be reflective of the circumstances of the past, he had to make peace with the realities of his nature and quell his inquisitive attitudes. Obviously, he was more interested in the presence of the older of the two Thanasi, but that did not stop him from occasionally offering a carefully-crafted, but apparently simple smile to the younger, softening his once marked features to a relaxed state that hid the unending thoughts that swirled inside his head.
That being said, despite keeping mostly to his own pretended peacefulness, the Captain of the Damned could not help but allow his powers of perception from picking up on a few things. Mixing subtlety with superficial cordiality, the Magnemean noticed how the seeds of deception that he so carefully instructed took root. Obviously, Mihail had enjoyed his favored lieutenant’s offer, accepting Lysandros’s supposedly lamebrained invitation to salacious company amidst the rocking shifts of those waves between Taengean and Colchis. Of course he was not going to let that child free of his reign. He had worked too hard to secure a leash on his neck, to wrap the metaphorical chain that none but himself had so carefully crafted between months and months. Yes, in his eyes, he saw nothing but uselessness in the youngest of the Thanasi broad, but, just because he himself was of little personal use to others did not mean he had no use to Damocles.
Over the past long weeks, and after more than a few close encounters, the Silver-eyed captain had recognized the other’s fondness for men of a certain form and shape. Truly, he was no expert in what exactly his tastes were, but that did not mean he could not make an educated guess and throw his golden-haired second-in-command in for a little swift conquest. And so, he had given the order, personally counting on his longtime friend to fall on his charm and appearance to seduce the boy, to make of him as one would someone of interest. As far as he could tell, the similarly-built man that served beneath him had little to no interest in men at all, but now was not the time for self-interest or pettiness. He would reward his lieutenant, of that there was very little doubt, for he had been brilliant in his uncovered mission, that most personal of assignments that Damocles had instructed. And of course, he would do everything in his power to make up for his espionage and secrecy, but all had its time and all had its place. Which was something that Mihail did not understand. In an instant, before he could reply to the older’s words, Damocles’s grey stare found an anchor in the spectacle that unraveled before him.
Weak
That was the only word that came to the Magnemean’s mind as he saw it all come flying out id direction, like some wayward arrow loosened by unskilled hands. This was the youngest of the House Thanasi? Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Crying? In public? What errant nonsense! How could a man of such highblood and allegedly proper breeding come to unravel himself in such a state of cowardice and shallow feebleness. Had the boy been one of his own and such miserably shameful display of emotion released in public light, he would have move his hand in force and found it struck against those shivering cheeks. He was a man, whether he liked it or not, and he had to behave like one. This petulant, childish performance was nothing more but a spoiled brat’s arrogance, a desperate cry for attention from someone who had been always given everything he had wanted. t disgusted him. it sickened him.
Alas, he would not show any of his inner reactions.
Instead, the towering militant simply nodded his head at the harsher tone undertook by the older of the two and did exactly as he was instructed. He would not waste words here, not when such flagrant melodrama played out. He could’ve almost laughed, but refrained from doing so, keeping his features unexpressive, but responsive as he turned around and left, silently gesturing at his lieutenant to follow along so as to give the theatrics between the brother and the sister play out in accordance to their wishes. If anything, how they handled such unbecoming behavior would be a matter he himself would not worry over. Too many calculations had been made beforehand and too many variables had been considered for things to unravel over the tantrums of a mumpish, sickly-looking child. And yet, it was not all terrible…
Yes, all was not undone. If this boy was in such a state of catatonic fear, turned and twisted by the overwhelming feelings that apprehended him, then, as history taught to him, he might still find use over his newly-forged puppet. Mayhaps, he would have to latch further strings over his head and pull harder at his direction, for the silver-eyed militant had not taken into account just how emotional the child seemed. But, as he walked away from the scene that folded out before him, the Machiavellian man began to conspire and connive once more. Calculated frightfulness was something he could work with after all. Like a predator eager for prey, Damocles mused and allowed the illustrated clash of imperfect perfection that manifested to form a new part of his strategy. Oh, this would be fun.
“This is who you want me to seduce?” quietly whispered the blond-haired Lysandros to his fire-forged friend after more than enough distance had been made between them and the Thanasi. “A she-man that can’t keep his tears in check?” harshly asked the militant in a voice that was only audible to the two of them.
“Patience, my friend. For as unbearably inutile as you might see him, we might still generate the profits we seek. For now, we must tender our machinations carefully and stick to our plan. Take his side and cultivate his affections, like you would a woman. I’ll handle the rest.” Equally whispered in a muted voice the black-haired captain as he reassured his comrade of their pathway towards the future.
“Besides, he sort of looks like a woman!” teased Damocles as he once more put on his mask of pleasantness in full-display, keeping up appearances as he ruffled the other’s blond hair in show of camaraderie.
“Shut up…”
Without anything else to do, nor any more business to tend to, Damocles turned to the ships, noticing that his soldiers had more or less already settled around the beach under his command, readying to embark on towards the future that awaited him in Egypt. He had already said his goodbyes prior to arriving, so he had very little reason to feel emotional at this hour, but as he climbed the first steps onto those great wooden vessels, he felt a twinge of fear, a temporary hesitation in his form. It was not common for him to stop in his tracks and put pause to his movements. He had gone to war multiple times before so he logically should not have felt any dread or danger in heading towards the place. And yet, as he took another step forward, he reflected and thought back on what exactly this all was.
It was a return to Egypt, to a place that had so many memories that swirled inside him. The place where he had met someone that had once been near and dear to him, and a place where he had also met bloodshed and death on a scale he had never before witnessed. Glancing back at his men, the silver-eyed militant breathed in and pondered solemnly. This would be the last time he and his men would feel comfort and peace in their homeland, and for some, it would be the last time they would set foot on the shores of Colchis. Secretly, he dreaded for those poor souls, for the mothers and wives that would lose their husbands and sons. His reputation as a commanding officer had earned him a place of recognition and strength, with the casualty rates of his men having drastically lowered since the start of his tenure, but still, he felt heavy with responsibility. He knew that for as good as he was as a leader, there still would be losses.
Yet, he needed to be strong for his men, to be as stereotypically stoic for them so as to provide with some semblance of order. Thus, after having paused for a split moment, Damocles continued forward, firmly entering the ferrying boat that would inevitably see him off towards Egypt, towards war and, in his heart as he knew, towards bloodshed.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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For as much as he could tell, it seemed as though, in this particular moment, his words were not very important or necessary. It wasn’t in his nature to find a silenced still behind his forked, twisted tongue, but, if he was to truly be reflective of the circumstances of the past, he had to make peace with the realities of his nature and quell his inquisitive attitudes. Obviously, he was more interested in the presence of the older of the two Thanasi, but that did not stop him from occasionally offering a carefully-crafted, but apparently simple smile to the younger, softening his once marked features to a relaxed state that hid the unending thoughts that swirled inside his head.
That being said, despite keeping mostly to his own pretended peacefulness, the Captain of the Damned could not help but allow his powers of perception from picking up on a few things. Mixing subtlety with superficial cordiality, the Magnemean noticed how the seeds of deception that he so carefully instructed took root. Obviously, Mihail had enjoyed his favored lieutenant’s offer, accepting Lysandros’s supposedly lamebrained invitation to salacious company amidst the rocking shifts of those waves between Taengean and Colchis. Of course he was not going to let that child free of his reign. He had worked too hard to secure a leash on his neck, to wrap the metaphorical chain that none but himself had so carefully crafted between months and months. Yes, in his eyes, he saw nothing but uselessness in the youngest of the Thanasi broad, but, just because he himself was of little personal use to others did not mean he had no use to Damocles.
Over the past long weeks, and after more than a few close encounters, the Silver-eyed captain had recognized the other’s fondness for men of a certain form and shape. Truly, he was no expert in what exactly his tastes were, but that did not mean he could not make an educated guess and throw his golden-haired second-in-command in for a little swift conquest. And so, he had given the order, personally counting on his longtime friend to fall on his charm and appearance to seduce the boy, to make of him as one would someone of interest. As far as he could tell, the similarly-built man that served beneath him had little to no interest in men at all, but now was not the time for self-interest or pettiness. He would reward his lieutenant, of that there was very little doubt, for he had been brilliant in his uncovered mission, that most personal of assignments that Damocles had instructed. And of course, he would do everything in his power to make up for his espionage and secrecy, but all had its time and all had its place. Which was something that Mihail did not understand. In an instant, before he could reply to the older’s words, Damocles’s grey stare found an anchor in the spectacle that unraveled before him.
Weak
That was the only word that came to the Magnemean’s mind as he saw it all come flying out id direction, like some wayward arrow loosened by unskilled hands. This was the youngest of the House Thanasi? Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Crying? In public? What errant nonsense! How could a man of such highblood and allegedly proper breeding come to unravel himself in such a state of cowardice and shallow feebleness. Had the boy been one of his own and such miserably shameful display of emotion released in public light, he would have move his hand in force and found it struck against those shivering cheeks. He was a man, whether he liked it or not, and he had to behave like one. This petulant, childish performance was nothing more but a spoiled brat’s arrogance, a desperate cry for attention from someone who had been always given everything he had wanted. t disgusted him. it sickened him.
Alas, he would not show any of his inner reactions.
Instead, the towering militant simply nodded his head at the harsher tone undertook by the older of the two and did exactly as he was instructed. He would not waste words here, not when such flagrant melodrama played out. He could’ve almost laughed, but refrained from doing so, keeping his features unexpressive, but responsive as he turned around and left, silently gesturing at his lieutenant to follow along so as to give the theatrics between the brother and the sister play out in accordance to their wishes. If anything, how they handled such unbecoming behavior would be a matter he himself would not worry over. Too many calculations had been made beforehand and too many variables had been considered for things to unravel over the tantrums of a mumpish, sickly-looking child. And yet, it was not all terrible…
Yes, all was not undone. If this boy was in such a state of catatonic fear, turned and twisted by the overwhelming feelings that apprehended him, then, as history taught to him, he might still find use over his newly-forged puppet. Mayhaps, he would have to latch further strings over his head and pull harder at his direction, for the silver-eyed militant had not taken into account just how emotional the child seemed. But, as he walked away from the scene that folded out before him, the Machiavellian man began to conspire and connive once more. Calculated frightfulness was something he could work with after all. Like a predator eager for prey, Damocles mused and allowed the illustrated clash of imperfect perfection that manifested to form a new part of his strategy. Oh, this would be fun.
“This is who you want me to seduce?” quietly whispered the blond-haired Lysandros to his fire-forged friend after more than enough distance had been made between them and the Thanasi. “A she-man that can’t keep his tears in check?” harshly asked the militant in a voice that was only audible to the two of them.
“Patience, my friend. For as unbearably inutile as you might see him, we might still generate the profits we seek. For now, we must tender our machinations carefully and stick to our plan. Take his side and cultivate his affections, like you would a woman. I’ll handle the rest.” Equally whispered in a muted voice the black-haired captain as he reassured his comrade of their pathway towards the future.
“Besides, he sort of looks like a woman!” teased Damocles as he once more put on his mask of pleasantness in full-display, keeping up appearances as he ruffled the other’s blond hair in show of camaraderie.
“Shut up…”
Without anything else to do, nor any more business to tend to, Damocles turned to the ships, noticing that his soldiers had more or less already settled around the beach under his command, readying to embark on towards the future that awaited him in Egypt. He had already said his goodbyes prior to arriving, so he had very little reason to feel emotional at this hour, but as he climbed the first steps onto those great wooden vessels, he felt a twinge of fear, a temporary hesitation in his form. It was not common for him to stop in his tracks and put pause to his movements. He had gone to war multiple times before so he logically should not have felt any dread or danger in heading towards the place. And yet, as he took another step forward, he reflected and thought back on what exactly this all was.
It was a return to Egypt, to a place that had so many memories that swirled inside him. The place where he had met someone that had once been near and dear to him, and a place where he had also met bloodshed and death on a scale he had never before witnessed. Glancing back at his men, the silver-eyed militant breathed in and pondered solemnly. This would be the last time he and his men would feel comfort and peace in their homeland, and for some, it would be the last time they would set foot on the shores of Colchis. Secretly, he dreaded for those poor souls, for the mothers and wives that would lose their husbands and sons. His reputation as a commanding officer had earned him a place of recognition and strength, with the casualty rates of his men having drastically lowered since the start of his tenure, but still, he felt heavy with responsibility. He knew that for as good as he was as a leader, there still would be losses.
Yet, he needed to be strong for his men, to be as stereotypically stoic for them so as to provide with some semblance of order. Thus, after having paused for a split moment, Damocles continued forward, firmly entering the ferrying boat that would inevitably see him off towards Egypt, towards war and, in his heart as he knew, towards bloodshed.
For as much as he could tell, it seemed as though, in this particular moment, his words were not very important or necessary. It wasn’t in his nature to find a silenced still behind his forked, twisted tongue, but, if he was to truly be reflective of the circumstances of the past, he had to make peace with the realities of his nature and quell his inquisitive attitudes. Obviously, he was more interested in the presence of the older of the two Thanasi, but that did not stop him from occasionally offering a carefully-crafted, but apparently simple smile to the younger, softening his once marked features to a relaxed state that hid the unending thoughts that swirled inside his head.
That being said, despite keeping mostly to his own pretended peacefulness, the Captain of the Damned could not help but allow his powers of perception from picking up on a few things. Mixing subtlety with superficial cordiality, the Magnemean noticed how the seeds of deception that he so carefully instructed took root. Obviously, Mihail had enjoyed his favored lieutenant’s offer, accepting Lysandros’s supposedly lamebrained invitation to salacious company amidst the rocking shifts of those waves between Taengean and Colchis. Of course he was not going to let that child free of his reign. He had worked too hard to secure a leash on his neck, to wrap the metaphorical chain that none but himself had so carefully crafted between months and months. Yes, in his eyes, he saw nothing but uselessness in the youngest of the Thanasi broad, but, just because he himself was of little personal use to others did not mean he had no use to Damocles.
Over the past long weeks, and after more than a few close encounters, the Silver-eyed captain had recognized the other’s fondness for men of a certain form and shape. Truly, he was no expert in what exactly his tastes were, but that did not mean he could not make an educated guess and throw his golden-haired second-in-command in for a little swift conquest. And so, he had given the order, personally counting on his longtime friend to fall on his charm and appearance to seduce the boy, to make of him as one would someone of interest. As far as he could tell, the similarly-built man that served beneath him had little to no interest in men at all, but now was not the time for self-interest or pettiness. He would reward his lieutenant, of that there was very little doubt, for he had been brilliant in his uncovered mission, that most personal of assignments that Damocles had instructed. And of course, he would do everything in his power to make up for his espionage and secrecy, but all had its time and all had its place. Which was something that Mihail did not understand. In an instant, before he could reply to the older’s words, Damocles’s grey stare found an anchor in the spectacle that unraveled before him.
Weak
That was the only word that came to the Magnemean’s mind as he saw it all come flying out id direction, like some wayward arrow loosened by unskilled hands. This was the youngest of the House Thanasi? Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Crying? In public? What errant nonsense! How could a man of such highblood and allegedly proper breeding come to unravel himself in such a state of cowardice and shallow feebleness. Had the boy been one of his own and such miserably shameful display of emotion released in public light, he would have move his hand in force and found it struck against those shivering cheeks. He was a man, whether he liked it or not, and he had to behave like one. This petulant, childish performance was nothing more but a spoiled brat’s arrogance, a desperate cry for attention from someone who had been always given everything he had wanted. t disgusted him. it sickened him.
Alas, he would not show any of his inner reactions.
Instead, the towering militant simply nodded his head at the harsher tone undertook by the older of the two and did exactly as he was instructed. He would not waste words here, not when such flagrant melodrama played out. He could’ve almost laughed, but refrained from doing so, keeping his features unexpressive, but responsive as he turned around and left, silently gesturing at his lieutenant to follow along so as to give the theatrics between the brother and the sister play out in accordance to their wishes. If anything, how they handled such unbecoming behavior would be a matter he himself would not worry over. Too many calculations had been made beforehand and too many variables had been considered for things to unravel over the tantrums of a mumpish, sickly-looking child. And yet, it was not all terrible…
Yes, all was not undone. If this boy was in such a state of catatonic fear, turned and twisted by the overwhelming feelings that apprehended him, then, as history taught to him, he might still find use over his newly-forged puppet. Mayhaps, he would have to latch further strings over his head and pull harder at his direction, for the silver-eyed militant had not taken into account just how emotional the child seemed. But, as he walked away from the scene that folded out before him, the Machiavellian man began to conspire and connive once more. Calculated frightfulness was something he could work with after all. Like a predator eager for prey, Damocles mused and allowed the illustrated clash of imperfect perfection that manifested to form a new part of his strategy. Oh, this would be fun.
“This is who you want me to seduce?” quietly whispered the blond-haired Lysandros to his fire-forged friend after more than enough distance had been made between them and the Thanasi. “A she-man that can’t keep his tears in check?” harshly asked the militant in a voice that was only audible to the two of them.
“Patience, my friend. For as unbearably inutile as you might see him, we might still generate the profits we seek. For now, we must tender our machinations carefully and stick to our plan. Take his side and cultivate his affections, like you would a woman. I’ll handle the rest.” Equally whispered in a muted voice the black-haired captain as he reassured his comrade of their pathway towards the future.
“Besides, he sort of looks like a woman!” teased Damocles as he once more put on his mask of pleasantness in full-display, keeping up appearances as he ruffled the other’s blond hair in show of camaraderie.
“Shut up…”
Without anything else to do, nor any more business to tend to, Damocles turned to the ships, noticing that his soldiers had more or less already settled around the beach under his command, readying to embark on towards the future that awaited him in Egypt. He had already said his goodbyes prior to arriving, so he had very little reason to feel emotional at this hour, but as he climbed the first steps onto those great wooden vessels, he felt a twinge of fear, a temporary hesitation in his form. It was not common for him to stop in his tracks and put pause to his movements. He had gone to war multiple times before so he logically should not have felt any dread or danger in heading towards the place. And yet, as he took another step forward, he reflected and thought back on what exactly this all was.
It was a return to Egypt, to a place that had so many memories that swirled inside him. The place where he had met someone that had once been near and dear to him, and a place where he had also met bloodshed and death on a scale he had never before witnessed. Glancing back at his men, the silver-eyed militant breathed in and pondered solemnly. This would be the last time he and his men would feel comfort and peace in their homeland, and for some, it would be the last time they would set foot on the shores of Colchis. Secretly, he dreaded for those poor souls, for the mothers and wives that would lose their husbands and sons. His reputation as a commanding officer had earned him a place of recognition and strength, with the casualty rates of his men having drastically lowered since the start of his tenure, but still, he felt heavy with responsibility. He knew that for as good as he was as a leader, there still would be losses.
Yet, he needed to be strong for his men, to be as stereotypically stoic for them so as to provide with some semblance of order. Thus, after having paused for a split moment, Damocles continued forward, firmly entering the ferrying boat that would inevitably see him off towards Egypt, towards war and, in his heart as he knew, towards bloodshed.
Yanni watched as the majority of her sons and her husband boarded their respective boats, and she felt a tight feeling in her chest. She held back further tears, her face a mask of stone that betrayed no further emotion. She needed to be the epitome of strength for those Colchian citizens who were watching their own loved ones march off once more as well. She had a bad feeling watching them depart, she didn’t know what it was, but there was something inside her that nagged at her, told her to ask Tython and her sons not to go. But she knew it would do no good.
Kotas men were warriors.
So she kept it all to herself, and she played the part of loyal and loving Queen, the pillar of stone that the Kingdom had come to know over the past thirty years. The facade of the lands her husband came from, not the forested home she longed for.
She took a deep breath when her family disappeared from her sight and then turned and wordlessly began to make her way back to the carriage that would begin her journey back to Midas and the walls of the family home that would feel very much like a prison until her husband and sons returned to her.
Every time they left, she felt so trapped, stuck there, waiting and hoping that the Gods would allow them to come home, but not able to do anything to help them other than ensuring supply lines from her end of things and praying for their safety. If she could take up a sword and keep them all safe, she was sure she would.
Her thoughts swirled as she allowed one of her guard to help her up into the carriage and the door closed, drowning out the noise from the remaining men saying their goodbyes and boarding the ships. Here, sitting alone in the relative silence, she let her tears flow, allowed the sadness to over take her, at least for a few moments. She knew she could pull herself together by the time she needed to exit the carriage, but at the moment she just needed to let some of it out. She felt like her heart would burst if she did not.
The carriage started off, and Yanni closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer to the Gods that they would return her family back to her safe. She could not stand the thought of losing a single one of them.
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Yanni watched as the majority of her sons and her husband boarded their respective boats, and she felt a tight feeling in her chest. She held back further tears, her face a mask of stone that betrayed no further emotion. She needed to be the epitome of strength for those Colchian citizens who were watching their own loved ones march off once more as well. She had a bad feeling watching them depart, she didn’t know what it was, but there was something inside her that nagged at her, told her to ask Tython and her sons not to go. But she knew it would do no good.
Kotas men were warriors.
So she kept it all to herself, and she played the part of loyal and loving Queen, the pillar of stone that the Kingdom had come to know over the past thirty years. The facade of the lands her husband came from, not the forested home she longed for.
She took a deep breath when her family disappeared from her sight and then turned and wordlessly began to make her way back to the carriage that would begin her journey back to Midas and the walls of the family home that would feel very much like a prison until her husband and sons returned to her.
Every time they left, she felt so trapped, stuck there, waiting and hoping that the Gods would allow them to come home, but not able to do anything to help them other than ensuring supply lines from her end of things and praying for their safety. If she could take up a sword and keep them all safe, she was sure she would.
Her thoughts swirled as she allowed one of her guard to help her up into the carriage and the door closed, drowning out the noise from the remaining men saying their goodbyes and boarding the ships. Here, sitting alone in the relative silence, she let her tears flow, allowed the sadness to over take her, at least for a few moments. She knew she could pull herself together by the time she needed to exit the carriage, but at the moment she just needed to let some of it out. She felt like her heart would burst if she did not.
The carriage started off, and Yanni closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer to the Gods that they would return her family back to her safe. She could not stand the thought of losing a single one of them.
Yanni watched as the majority of her sons and her husband boarded their respective boats, and she felt a tight feeling in her chest. She held back further tears, her face a mask of stone that betrayed no further emotion. She needed to be the epitome of strength for those Colchian citizens who were watching their own loved ones march off once more as well. She had a bad feeling watching them depart, she didn’t know what it was, but there was something inside her that nagged at her, told her to ask Tython and her sons not to go. But she knew it would do no good.
Kotas men were warriors.
So she kept it all to herself, and she played the part of loyal and loving Queen, the pillar of stone that the Kingdom had come to know over the past thirty years. The facade of the lands her husband came from, not the forested home she longed for.
She took a deep breath when her family disappeared from her sight and then turned and wordlessly began to make her way back to the carriage that would begin her journey back to Midas and the walls of the family home that would feel very much like a prison until her husband and sons returned to her.
Every time they left, she felt so trapped, stuck there, waiting and hoping that the Gods would allow them to come home, but not able to do anything to help them other than ensuring supply lines from her end of things and praying for their safety. If she could take up a sword and keep them all safe, she was sure she would.
Her thoughts swirled as she allowed one of her guard to help her up into the carriage and the door closed, drowning out the noise from the remaining men saying their goodbyes and boarding the ships. Here, sitting alone in the relative silence, she let her tears flow, allowed the sadness to over take her, at least for a few moments. She knew she could pull herself together by the time she needed to exit the carriage, but at the moment she just needed to let some of it out. She felt like her heart would burst if she did not.
The carriage started off, and Yanni closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer to the Gods that they would return her family back to her safe. She could not stand the thought of losing a single one of them.
Timaeus was grateful that the beautiful blonde wasn’t the type to oppose the romantic antics of the lovesick Colchian. His eyes lit up in joy as she agreed to follow him behind the line of carriages where the two of them could hide momentarily. There was a reason why Timaeus wanted them away from prying eyes to have this private moment as soon as they were out of sight, Timaeus pulled her close for a tight embrace that they would never be allowed out on the open beaches. It didn’t seem like much, but given the circumstances, this was heaven for the Colchian who was about to leave his homeland for god knows how long. This was a quick moment of comfort that he was certain that he would carry with him throughout the entirety of the war.
“Here I have something for you,” Timaeus said quietly as he broke the embrace and fished out the small bundle that had been hidden beneath his armor. It took him a moment to fiddle with it as this mysterious package was a bit bulky, but surprisingly when he succeeded in his task, the bundle was barely crumpled. Definitely a little bent, but he doubted she would care all that much, not when it was a small stack of letters that numbered just over a dozen. One for every day he would be at sea. That boyish grin grew as he handed the small little stack to her, Timaeus was clearly proud of himself for thinking up such a gift and then actually following through -- which was quite impressive as he quickly learned that writing so many letters in such a short time frame was no easy feat to accomplish.
“I figured this might make the distance a bit more bearable and there will be more once we land in Egypt. By Hades, I’ll find a way to write to you so you don’t have to worry.” The Baron’s vows were sincere as he wrapped her back up in a hug. Although it wasn’t directly stated, the lingering reality of what his silence could mean hung heavily over Tim as he knew all too well that there was a chance that he might not return from the sands of Egypt. Men died on battlefields and Thanatos was not discriminate against those who he took to Hades’s kingdom. Rich, Poor, Young, Old. Any man that was in the range of an Egyptian arrow had to consider the chance that they would not be returning from the front. Timaeus didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to consider the possibility of his mother remaining here in Colchis, slowly losing the last remnants of her sanity and not understanding where Nico and Timaeus had gone. He didn’t want to think about poor Nana shut up in her room sobbing her eyes out as she read a letter from the front, written by some soldier that did not bear his name, explaining that the noble girl would never see her soldier again. These were images too heartbreaking for Timaeus to bear and he did not wish to dwell on it.
At least he would have a distraction by being on the frontlines and serving at Stephanos’s side. He could avoid the ever lingering thoughts of never seeing Colchis again by throwing himself into the work at hand, but he couldn’t even imagine how terrible it would be for Nana and all the others who would be left home. The dawning of a new day wouldn’t bring them relief as it would for the soldiers on the battlefield who could give thanks for surviving another day. It would only bring the worry of whether or not their soldiers saw that same sunrise and if they didn’t… how many days had it been since they had last seen the sun? If Tim could help abate that fear for Nana, he would take it, but even he had to silently admit that it might have been a promise that he would not be able to keep. No warship was going to head to Taengea just to deliver mail. Timaeus might get the chance to send word to her once in a blue moon and gods only knew if Nana would be able to send one back. He hoped that she would as he doubted that his mother would be able to if she couldn’t even remember that Timaeus was one of her sons going to war, not her long-dead Nico.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Timaeus cautiously asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper as he caught her gaze and found himself once again lost in those beautiful brown eyes of hers. Good gods, how he wished he could stay here and not even take the risk of dying on the front, but his pride would never allow that. He was a soldier, born and bred. There was no way he could ever live with himself if he did not go to the sands of Egypt and stand with his fellow Colchians. He might as well give up his Valaoritis name if he didn’t fight. Timaeus was sure that Nana understood. Her time here had shown her what these ‘Colchian Brutes’ were like and besides Timaeus doubted that he would return to war again after this expedition. Not when it was unlikely that there would be another Taengean exile in need of babysitting during the next conflict.
While he was lost in her gaze, Timaeus couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling creeping up in him to kiss her. Something gnawing deep inside of him told him that this was his only chance and if he didn’t do this now, he never would. If Timaeus had been younger, if he still had been that wild seafaring lad he had been in his youth, he might have done it. The gods only knew how many girls he had indeed kissed while he had been sailing the known world. He couldn’t even remember all their names -- which was probably a good thing as they simply didn’t compare to the Taengean in front of him. However, he didn’t take that plunge. Not when the ever-present reality of others being near and the near-constant stress that came from cleaning up Sil’s messes had him cautiously holding back. But was it more caution or more cowardice at the core of it all? Nana was not a princess like Asia and it was practically common knowledge at this point that Timaeus was in far too deep. At this moment he had every intention of marrying her when this war was over and done with, so it wouldn’t be that bad, but he still didn’t do it.
Instead, he just held her close as the minutes ticked by, not realizing how dangerously close he was to missing the launch entirely. However, the lack of noise from the beach was enough to spur Timaeus into action once he did come to his senses. Although he hated himself for it, the Baron had to quickly pull away with a mournful, “I have to go.” The next few moments were a flurry of her passing him the notes he would need to curry favor with Georgios once he arrived in Taengea and one last embrace between the pair before Timaeus pulled away and brought her hand up to his lips again and quietly promised with a mischievous glint in his eyes and light kiss, “Until the day I can do this properly.”
Moving to hurry away so he wouldn’t be left behind, Timaeus couldn’t let himself linger a moment longer. Not when he could see that he was the last one. Nice going you lovesick fool. He quietly thought to himself as he hurried to the ship and hurried up the gangway just before it was pulled up. A sheepish grin crossed his face as he looked at all the men who were staring at him, to which all he could offer was a sheepish shrug and quick muttering of, “What? She’s pretty!” For the few who could hear him, it was enough to bring a chuckle. He was sure there would be hell to pay later, but honestly, those last few moments had been worth it. Plus the story of how Timaeus had almost missed going to war because he was too lovestruck to notice everyone getting ready to leave would be a great story to tell little ones years and years down the line.
However, he couldn’t help, but feel the slightest spark of hope that this playful reassurance he was telling himself might be sooner than he thought as he found himself looking back towards the beaches to see if he could catch one last glimpse of the girl who had captured his heart.
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Timaeus was grateful that the beautiful blonde wasn’t the type to oppose the romantic antics of the lovesick Colchian. His eyes lit up in joy as she agreed to follow him behind the line of carriages where the two of them could hide momentarily. There was a reason why Timaeus wanted them away from prying eyes to have this private moment as soon as they were out of sight, Timaeus pulled her close for a tight embrace that they would never be allowed out on the open beaches. It didn’t seem like much, but given the circumstances, this was heaven for the Colchian who was about to leave his homeland for god knows how long. This was a quick moment of comfort that he was certain that he would carry with him throughout the entirety of the war.
“Here I have something for you,” Timaeus said quietly as he broke the embrace and fished out the small bundle that had been hidden beneath his armor. It took him a moment to fiddle with it as this mysterious package was a bit bulky, but surprisingly when he succeeded in his task, the bundle was barely crumpled. Definitely a little bent, but he doubted she would care all that much, not when it was a small stack of letters that numbered just over a dozen. One for every day he would be at sea. That boyish grin grew as he handed the small little stack to her, Timaeus was clearly proud of himself for thinking up such a gift and then actually following through -- which was quite impressive as he quickly learned that writing so many letters in such a short time frame was no easy feat to accomplish.
“I figured this might make the distance a bit more bearable and there will be more once we land in Egypt. By Hades, I’ll find a way to write to you so you don’t have to worry.” The Baron’s vows were sincere as he wrapped her back up in a hug. Although it wasn’t directly stated, the lingering reality of what his silence could mean hung heavily over Tim as he knew all too well that there was a chance that he might not return from the sands of Egypt. Men died on battlefields and Thanatos was not discriminate against those who he took to Hades’s kingdom. Rich, Poor, Young, Old. Any man that was in the range of an Egyptian arrow had to consider the chance that they would not be returning from the front. Timaeus didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to consider the possibility of his mother remaining here in Colchis, slowly losing the last remnants of her sanity and not understanding where Nico and Timaeus had gone. He didn’t want to think about poor Nana shut up in her room sobbing her eyes out as she read a letter from the front, written by some soldier that did not bear his name, explaining that the noble girl would never see her soldier again. These were images too heartbreaking for Timaeus to bear and he did not wish to dwell on it.
At least he would have a distraction by being on the frontlines and serving at Stephanos’s side. He could avoid the ever lingering thoughts of never seeing Colchis again by throwing himself into the work at hand, but he couldn’t even imagine how terrible it would be for Nana and all the others who would be left home. The dawning of a new day wouldn’t bring them relief as it would for the soldiers on the battlefield who could give thanks for surviving another day. It would only bring the worry of whether or not their soldiers saw that same sunrise and if they didn’t… how many days had it been since they had last seen the sun? If Tim could help abate that fear for Nana, he would take it, but even he had to silently admit that it might have been a promise that he would not be able to keep. No warship was going to head to Taengea just to deliver mail. Timaeus might get the chance to send word to her once in a blue moon and gods only knew if Nana would be able to send one back. He hoped that she would as he doubted that his mother would be able to if she couldn’t even remember that Timaeus was one of her sons going to war, not her long-dead Nico.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Timaeus cautiously asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper as he caught her gaze and found himself once again lost in those beautiful brown eyes of hers. Good gods, how he wished he could stay here and not even take the risk of dying on the front, but his pride would never allow that. He was a soldier, born and bred. There was no way he could ever live with himself if he did not go to the sands of Egypt and stand with his fellow Colchians. He might as well give up his Valaoritis name if he didn’t fight. Timaeus was sure that Nana understood. Her time here had shown her what these ‘Colchian Brutes’ were like and besides Timaeus doubted that he would return to war again after this expedition. Not when it was unlikely that there would be another Taengean exile in need of babysitting during the next conflict.
While he was lost in her gaze, Timaeus couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling creeping up in him to kiss her. Something gnawing deep inside of him told him that this was his only chance and if he didn’t do this now, he never would. If Timaeus had been younger, if he still had been that wild seafaring lad he had been in his youth, he might have done it. The gods only knew how many girls he had indeed kissed while he had been sailing the known world. He couldn’t even remember all their names -- which was probably a good thing as they simply didn’t compare to the Taengean in front of him. However, he didn’t take that plunge. Not when the ever-present reality of others being near and the near-constant stress that came from cleaning up Sil’s messes had him cautiously holding back. But was it more caution or more cowardice at the core of it all? Nana was not a princess like Asia and it was practically common knowledge at this point that Timaeus was in far too deep. At this moment he had every intention of marrying her when this war was over and done with, so it wouldn’t be that bad, but he still didn’t do it.
Instead, he just held her close as the minutes ticked by, not realizing how dangerously close he was to missing the launch entirely. However, the lack of noise from the beach was enough to spur Timaeus into action once he did come to his senses. Although he hated himself for it, the Baron had to quickly pull away with a mournful, “I have to go.” The next few moments were a flurry of her passing him the notes he would need to curry favor with Georgios once he arrived in Taengea and one last embrace between the pair before Timaeus pulled away and brought her hand up to his lips again and quietly promised with a mischievous glint in his eyes and light kiss, “Until the day I can do this properly.”
Moving to hurry away so he wouldn’t be left behind, Timaeus couldn’t let himself linger a moment longer. Not when he could see that he was the last one. Nice going you lovesick fool. He quietly thought to himself as he hurried to the ship and hurried up the gangway just before it was pulled up. A sheepish grin crossed his face as he looked at all the men who were staring at him, to which all he could offer was a sheepish shrug and quick muttering of, “What? She’s pretty!” For the few who could hear him, it was enough to bring a chuckle. He was sure there would be hell to pay later, but honestly, those last few moments had been worth it. Plus the story of how Timaeus had almost missed going to war because he was too lovestruck to notice everyone getting ready to leave would be a great story to tell little ones years and years down the line.
However, he couldn’t help, but feel the slightest spark of hope that this playful reassurance he was telling himself might be sooner than he thought as he found himself looking back towards the beaches to see if he could catch one last glimpse of the girl who had captured his heart.
Timaeus was grateful that the beautiful blonde wasn’t the type to oppose the romantic antics of the lovesick Colchian. His eyes lit up in joy as she agreed to follow him behind the line of carriages where the two of them could hide momentarily. There was a reason why Timaeus wanted them away from prying eyes to have this private moment as soon as they were out of sight, Timaeus pulled her close for a tight embrace that they would never be allowed out on the open beaches. It didn’t seem like much, but given the circumstances, this was heaven for the Colchian who was about to leave his homeland for god knows how long. This was a quick moment of comfort that he was certain that he would carry with him throughout the entirety of the war.
“Here I have something for you,” Timaeus said quietly as he broke the embrace and fished out the small bundle that had been hidden beneath his armor. It took him a moment to fiddle with it as this mysterious package was a bit bulky, but surprisingly when he succeeded in his task, the bundle was barely crumpled. Definitely a little bent, but he doubted she would care all that much, not when it was a small stack of letters that numbered just over a dozen. One for every day he would be at sea. That boyish grin grew as he handed the small little stack to her, Timaeus was clearly proud of himself for thinking up such a gift and then actually following through -- which was quite impressive as he quickly learned that writing so many letters in such a short time frame was no easy feat to accomplish.
“I figured this might make the distance a bit more bearable and there will be more once we land in Egypt. By Hades, I’ll find a way to write to you so you don’t have to worry.” The Baron’s vows were sincere as he wrapped her back up in a hug. Although it wasn’t directly stated, the lingering reality of what his silence could mean hung heavily over Tim as he knew all too well that there was a chance that he might not return from the sands of Egypt. Men died on battlefields and Thanatos was not discriminate against those who he took to Hades’s kingdom. Rich, Poor, Young, Old. Any man that was in the range of an Egyptian arrow had to consider the chance that they would not be returning from the front. Timaeus didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to consider the possibility of his mother remaining here in Colchis, slowly losing the last remnants of her sanity and not understanding where Nico and Timaeus had gone. He didn’t want to think about poor Nana shut up in her room sobbing her eyes out as she read a letter from the front, written by some soldier that did not bear his name, explaining that the noble girl would never see her soldier again. These were images too heartbreaking for Timaeus to bear and he did not wish to dwell on it.
At least he would have a distraction by being on the frontlines and serving at Stephanos’s side. He could avoid the ever lingering thoughts of never seeing Colchis again by throwing himself into the work at hand, but he couldn’t even imagine how terrible it would be for Nana and all the others who would be left home. The dawning of a new day wouldn’t bring them relief as it would for the soldiers on the battlefield who could give thanks for surviving another day. It would only bring the worry of whether or not their soldiers saw that same sunrise and if they didn’t… how many days had it been since they had last seen the sun? If Tim could help abate that fear for Nana, he would take it, but even he had to silently admit that it might have been a promise that he would not be able to keep. No warship was going to head to Taengea just to deliver mail. Timaeus might get the chance to send word to her once in a blue moon and gods only knew if Nana would be able to send one back. He hoped that she would as he doubted that his mother would be able to if she couldn’t even remember that Timaeus was one of her sons going to war, not her long-dead Nico.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Timaeus cautiously asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper as he caught her gaze and found himself once again lost in those beautiful brown eyes of hers. Good gods, how he wished he could stay here and not even take the risk of dying on the front, but his pride would never allow that. He was a soldier, born and bred. There was no way he could ever live with himself if he did not go to the sands of Egypt and stand with his fellow Colchians. He might as well give up his Valaoritis name if he didn’t fight. Timaeus was sure that Nana understood. Her time here had shown her what these ‘Colchian Brutes’ were like and besides Timaeus doubted that he would return to war again after this expedition. Not when it was unlikely that there would be another Taengean exile in need of babysitting during the next conflict.
While he was lost in her gaze, Timaeus couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling creeping up in him to kiss her. Something gnawing deep inside of him told him that this was his only chance and if he didn’t do this now, he never would. If Timaeus had been younger, if he still had been that wild seafaring lad he had been in his youth, he might have done it. The gods only knew how many girls he had indeed kissed while he had been sailing the known world. He couldn’t even remember all their names -- which was probably a good thing as they simply didn’t compare to the Taengean in front of him. However, he didn’t take that plunge. Not when the ever-present reality of others being near and the near-constant stress that came from cleaning up Sil’s messes had him cautiously holding back. But was it more caution or more cowardice at the core of it all? Nana was not a princess like Asia and it was practically common knowledge at this point that Timaeus was in far too deep. At this moment he had every intention of marrying her when this war was over and done with, so it wouldn’t be that bad, but he still didn’t do it.
Instead, he just held her close as the minutes ticked by, not realizing how dangerously close he was to missing the launch entirely. However, the lack of noise from the beach was enough to spur Timaeus into action once he did come to his senses. Although he hated himself for it, the Baron had to quickly pull away with a mournful, “I have to go.” The next few moments were a flurry of her passing him the notes he would need to curry favor with Georgios once he arrived in Taengea and one last embrace between the pair before Timaeus pulled away and brought her hand up to his lips again and quietly promised with a mischievous glint in his eyes and light kiss, “Until the day I can do this properly.”
Moving to hurry away so he wouldn’t be left behind, Timaeus couldn’t let himself linger a moment longer. Not when he could see that he was the last one. Nice going you lovesick fool. He quietly thought to himself as he hurried to the ship and hurried up the gangway just before it was pulled up. A sheepish grin crossed his face as he looked at all the men who were staring at him, to which all he could offer was a sheepish shrug and quick muttering of, “What? She’s pretty!” For the few who could hear him, it was enough to bring a chuckle. He was sure there would be hell to pay later, but honestly, those last few moments had been worth it. Plus the story of how Timaeus had almost missed going to war because he was too lovestruck to notice everyone getting ready to leave would be a great story to tell little ones years and years down the line.
However, he couldn’t help, but feel the slightest spark of hope that this playful reassurance he was telling himself might be sooner than he thought as he found himself looking back towards the beaches to see if he could catch one last glimpse of the girl who had captured his heart.
It had been a childish loss of composure, but he could not help it. It was as if, at that moment, the fears which had slowly built up within the youngest Thanasi were no longer containable, and everything he had tried to hide had come tumbling out in a single, ineloquent moment. He would have preferred privacy, but there was no chance of it, and he did not care that the world would see him as nothing more than a stupid, useless child, because, half-fallen into his sister's arms, that image was the truth.
He did not care when Nethis did not return the embrace immediately, nor did he say a single word when she sent Damocles away, though an irritating nag at the back of his mind briefly warned him that this would not do well for his image. Instead, he stayed close to her, vision blocked by a flood of tears until she wrapped her arms around him - their difference in height making the actions feel more bulky than gentle - only content to listen to her breathing and feel the warmth of the family he was being forced to leave through no fault of his own. Nethis knew him best, and she was the only one who seemed to care and, for that, he momentarily loved her more dearly than anything.
It was done, and she could not stop it, but that had never been the case in the past, and Mihail saw no reason why it should be the case now. His expression remained bent into despair, mind running through every possibility which might somehow save him. But there was nothing. For all the intelligence he assigned himself, and all the cunning he thought he had, there was no plan which came to mind. And it was true: if Nethis could not find a way, then there was no way to reverse this. War was his reality, and he would have to face it whether he liked it or not.
As his sister pulled away, it took a minute before he could copy the movement, so eager to remain in her embrace and miss the boat to war that he did not wish to let go. When he did, it was another few seconds before he had blinked away the mass of tears which swelled in his eyes and blinded him, gaze meeting that of Nethis and focussing on the strength she seemed to find even in the worst of moments. He wished he could have had the same fire in his own mind, but it seemed not to exist, no matter how much he begged his own soul to cooperate. Nethis was strong where Mihail had always been weak, and she was feared and powerful and everything he wanted to be. And she was right.
For all his shortcomings, Mihail was a Thanasi (so they sometimes said). He had survived worse, and he would survive this, and he did not intend to let his sister down. If he made it through this war, then it would be for Nethis. It had to be. She was the only one who had cared, and her command would will him through. He nodded, more confident now than he had been, a hand reaching up to wipe any remaining teardrops from his cheeks, and stepped forward to give her a final hug. How long it would be until they could see one another again, he did not know, but Mihail would do all he could to ensure that they would, and when they did, she would be proud.
"I love you, Net," he whispered, thinking it the kindest way to speak after having already caused such an excessive scene (although, fortunately, most had been too occupied with their own dramatic farewells that they had not noticed). "Take care of Draco for me, yes? And I will see you again. I promise." He leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek, then turned towards the boats that were fast filling up. Alright. He could do this. He could brave the water and the bloodshed and everything inbetween. "Thank you, Net. I will make you proud." Mihail smiled at her, though it still managed to come out sad despite himself, and then made his way to join the rest of the crowd, following Damocles up onto the boat to which they had been assigned for the journey out.
Gods help him, because how he intended to keep his promises and survive this, he had no idea.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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It had been a childish loss of composure, but he could not help it. It was as if, at that moment, the fears which had slowly built up within the youngest Thanasi were no longer containable, and everything he had tried to hide had come tumbling out in a single, ineloquent moment. He would have preferred privacy, but there was no chance of it, and he did not care that the world would see him as nothing more than a stupid, useless child, because, half-fallen into his sister's arms, that image was the truth.
He did not care when Nethis did not return the embrace immediately, nor did he say a single word when she sent Damocles away, though an irritating nag at the back of his mind briefly warned him that this would not do well for his image. Instead, he stayed close to her, vision blocked by a flood of tears until she wrapped her arms around him - their difference in height making the actions feel more bulky than gentle - only content to listen to her breathing and feel the warmth of the family he was being forced to leave through no fault of his own. Nethis knew him best, and she was the only one who seemed to care and, for that, he momentarily loved her more dearly than anything.
It was done, and she could not stop it, but that had never been the case in the past, and Mihail saw no reason why it should be the case now. His expression remained bent into despair, mind running through every possibility which might somehow save him. But there was nothing. For all the intelligence he assigned himself, and all the cunning he thought he had, there was no plan which came to mind. And it was true: if Nethis could not find a way, then there was no way to reverse this. War was his reality, and he would have to face it whether he liked it or not.
As his sister pulled away, it took a minute before he could copy the movement, so eager to remain in her embrace and miss the boat to war that he did not wish to let go. When he did, it was another few seconds before he had blinked away the mass of tears which swelled in his eyes and blinded him, gaze meeting that of Nethis and focussing on the strength she seemed to find even in the worst of moments. He wished he could have had the same fire in his own mind, but it seemed not to exist, no matter how much he begged his own soul to cooperate. Nethis was strong where Mihail had always been weak, and she was feared and powerful and everything he wanted to be. And she was right.
For all his shortcomings, Mihail was a Thanasi (so they sometimes said). He had survived worse, and he would survive this, and he did not intend to let his sister down. If he made it through this war, then it would be for Nethis. It had to be. She was the only one who had cared, and her command would will him through. He nodded, more confident now than he had been, a hand reaching up to wipe any remaining teardrops from his cheeks, and stepped forward to give her a final hug. How long it would be until they could see one another again, he did not know, but Mihail would do all he could to ensure that they would, and when they did, she would be proud.
"I love you, Net," he whispered, thinking it the kindest way to speak after having already caused such an excessive scene (although, fortunately, most had been too occupied with their own dramatic farewells that they had not noticed). "Take care of Draco for me, yes? And I will see you again. I promise." He leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek, then turned towards the boats that were fast filling up. Alright. He could do this. He could brave the water and the bloodshed and everything inbetween. "Thank you, Net. I will make you proud." Mihail smiled at her, though it still managed to come out sad despite himself, and then made his way to join the rest of the crowd, following Damocles up onto the boat to which they had been assigned for the journey out.
Gods help him, because how he intended to keep his promises and survive this, he had no idea.
It had been a childish loss of composure, but he could not help it. It was as if, at that moment, the fears which had slowly built up within the youngest Thanasi were no longer containable, and everything he had tried to hide had come tumbling out in a single, ineloquent moment. He would have preferred privacy, but there was no chance of it, and he did not care that the world would see him as nothing more than a stupid, useless child, because, half-fallen into his sister's arms, that image was the truth.
He did not care when Nethis did not return the embrace immediately, nor did he say a single word when she sent Damocles away, though an irritating nag at the back of his mind briefly warned him that this would not do well for his image. Instead, he stayed close to her, vision blocked by a flood of tears until she wrapped her arms around him - their difference in height making the actions feel more bulky than gentle - only content to listen to her breathing and feel the warmth of the family he was being forced to leave through no fault of his own. Nethis knew him best, and she was the only one who seemed to care and, for that, he momentarily loved her more dearly than anything.
It was done, and she could not stop it, but that had never been the case in the past, and Mihail saw no reason why it should be the case now. His expression remained bent into despair, mind running through every possibility which might somehow save him. But there was nothing. For all the intelligence he assigned himself, and all the cunning he thought he had, there was no plan which came to mind. And it was true: if Nethis could not find a way, then there was no way to reverse this. War was his reality, and he would have to face it whether he liked it or not.
As his sister pulled away, it took a minute before he could copy the movement, so eager to remain in her embrace and miss the boat to war that he did not wish to let go. When he did, it was another few seconds before he had blinked away the mass of tears which swelled in his eyes and blinded him, gaze meeting that of Nethis and focussing on the strength she seemed to find even in the worst of moments. He wished he could have had the same fire in his own mind, but it seemed not to exist, no matter how much he begged his own soul to cooperate. Nethis was strong where Mihail had always been weak, and she was feared and powerful and everything he wanted to be. And she was right.
For all his shortcomings, Mihail was a Thanasi (so they sometimes said). He had survived worse, and he would survive this, and he did not intend to let his sister down. If he made it through this war, then it would be for Nethis. It had to be. She was the only one who had cared, and her command would will him through. He nodded, more confident now than he had been, a hand reaching up to wipe any remaining teardrops from his cheeks, and stepped forward to give her a final hug. How long it would be until they could see one another again, he did not know, but Mihail would do all he could to ensure that they would, and when they did, she would be proud.
"I love you, Net," he whispered, thinking it the kindest way to speak after having already caused such an excessive scene (although, fortunately, most had been too occupied with their own dramatic farewells that they had not noticed). "Take care of Draco for me, yes? And I will see you again. I promise." He leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek, then turned towards the boats that were fast filling up. Alright. He could do this. He could brave the water and the bloodshed and everything inbetween. "Thank you, Net. I will make you proud." Mihail smiled at her, though it still managed to come out sad despite himself, and then made his way to join the rest of the crowd, following Damocles up onto the boat to which they had been assigned for the journey out.
Gods help him, because how he intended to keep his promises and survive this, he had no idea.
Maximus rushed to the docks the Kopis that Essa gave him a few months was secured tightly around his waist. The sounds of his armor clanking with each steps bought filled him with joy, Maximus always liked sound of armor he always felt sense of pride and duty. Approaching the ship, Maximus could hear the chatter of his brothers talking about how many women they've slept with. Others just looked ahead, their faces grim for what lay in front of them. Maximus was finally at a calm something that he struggled with until he met Celine again. Hopefully this will maintain until he got to Egypt. The young man sighed as he boarded the ship. It was time to achieve glory, it was time to go to war.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Maximus rushed to the docks the Kopis that Essa gave him a few months was secured tightly around his waist. The sounds of his armor clanking with each steps bought filled him with joy, Maximus always liked sound of armor he always felt sense of pride and duty. Approaching the ship, Maximus could hear the chatter of his brothers talking about how many women they've slept with. Others just looked ahead, their faces grim for what lay in front of them. Maximus was finally at a calm something that he struggled with until he met Celine again. Hopefully this will maintain until he got to Egypt. The young man sighed as he boarded the ship. It was time to achieve glory, it was time to go to war.
Maximus rushed to the docks the Kopis that Essa gave him a few months was secured tightly around his waist. The sounds of his armor clanking with each steps bought filled him with joy, Maximus always liked sound of armor he always felt sense of pride and duty. Approaching the ship, Maximus could hear the chatter of his brothers talking about how many women they've slept with. Others just looked ahead, their faces grim for what lay in front of them. Maximus was finally at a calm something that he struggled with until he met Celine again. Hopefully this will maintain until he got to Egypt. The young man sighed as he boarded the ship. It was time to achieve glory, it was time to go to war.