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Yanni had put her youngest boys to sleep, tucked them in and told them a story until they were fast asleep, young Zanon was an easy boy, he didn’t take much to pass out at the end of the day. She was thankful for that, but Yiannis was a little terror to get to sleep. Her youngest son seemed to have endless energy and no matter how many times she had put him into his bed, he always found some reason to need to get out of it again. Eventually though, he too had passed out. Now Yanni had to check on her oldest. He was supposed to be attending to his studies, and she had no doubts that he was doing exactly like that. Vangelis reminded her so much of her husband, even as a young boy of seven. He was so quiet, so serious, so well behaved. It was clear to anyone who looked at the two that Vangelis was Tython’s son.
She walked down the dim hallways and to the study where Vangelis should be, knocking on the door twice before she opened it, announcing her presence so she didn’t frighten him by entering suddenly.
As she had thought, her son seemed to deeply engrossed in his lessons, but Yanni couldn’t help but let out the smallest laugh. There he sat, a young boy, concentration on his face as he poured over his work, covered head to toe in clay dust and ink. A smile came across her face, and she felt her heart soften at the sight of her firstborn in such a state.
“Vangelis.” She said, attempting to wrest his attentions from his work. Her voice was soft and caring, and while the family wasn’t known for being overly affectionate, she was not withholding when it came to her love for her children and husband. Though the love between husband and wife had only started to develop in recent years.
“It’s nearly time for sleep. But first, I will see you to a bath. I will not have you staining your bed in your current state.” She said, shaking her head a little, she held her hand out for her son to take so she could bring him to the baths and get him cleaned up. He desperately needed it. She knew that this would be a memory she would look fondly back on in the years to come, though she was in a little bit of denial that her children were growing up. She would prefer for them to stay young children forever, for them growing up would mean marriage, and war, and children of their own. And the Queen was not even close to ready to think about such things. She knew her children were Princes, and one of them would one day be King, but in her mind, they would always just be her children. Watching them grow up and thinking about the uncertainty of their futures was terrifying for the young mother.
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Yanni had put her youngest boys to sleep, tucked them in and told them a story until they were fast asleep, young Zanon was an easy boy, he didn’t take much to pass out at the end of the day. She was thankful for that, but Yiannis was a little terror to get to sleep. Her youngest son seemed to have endless energy and no matter how many times she had put him into his bed, he always found some reason to need to get out of it again. Eventually though, he too had passed out. Now Yanni had to check on her oldest. He was supposed to be attending to his studies, and she had no doubts that he was doing exactly like that. Vangelis reminded her so much of her husband, even as a young boy of seven. He was so quiet, so serious, so well behaved. It was clear to anyone who looked at the two that Vangelis was Tython’s son.
She walked down the dim hallways and to the study where Vangelis should be, knocking on the door twice before she opened it, announcing her presence so she didn’t frighten him by entering suddenly.
As she had thought, her son seemed to deeply engrossed in his lessons, but Yanni couldn’t help but let out the smallest laugh. There he sat, a young boy, concentration on his face as he poured over his work, covered head to toe in clay dust and ink. A smile came across her face, and she felt her heart soften at the sight of her firstborn in such a state.
“Vangelis.” She said, attempting to wrest his attentions from his work. Her voice was soft and caring, and while the family wasn’t known for being overly affectionate, she was not withholding when it came to her love for her children and husband. Though the love between husband and wife had only started to develop in recent years.
“It’s nearly time for sleep. But first, I will see you to a bath. I will not have you staining your bed in your current state.” She said, shaking her head a little, she held her hand out for her son to take so she could bring him to the baths and get him cleaned up. He desperately needed it. She knew that this would be a memory she would look fondly back on in the years to come, though she was in a little bit of denial that her children were growing up. She would prefer for them to stay young children forever, for them growing up would mean marriage, and war, and children of their own. And the Queen was not even close to ready to think about such things. She knew her children were Princes, and one of them would one day be King, but in her mind, they would always just be her children. Watching them grow up and thinking about the uncertainty of their futures was terrifying for the young mother.
Yanni had put her youngest boys to sleep, tucked them in and told them a story until they were fast asleep, young Zanon was an easy boy, he didn’t take much to pass out at the end of the day. She was thankful for that, but Yiannis was a little terror to get to sleep. Her youngest son seemed to have endless energy and no matter how many times she had put him into his bed, he always found some reason to need to get out of it again. Eventually though, he too had passed out. Now Yanni had to check on her oldest. He was supposed to be attending to his studies, and she had no doubts that he was doing exactly like that. Vangelis reminded her so much of her husband, even as a young boy of seven. He was so quiet, so serious, so well behaved. It was clear to anyone who looked at the two that Vangelis was Tython’s son.
She walked down the dim hallways and to the study where Vangelis should be, knocking on the door twice before she opened it, announcing her presence so she didn’t frighten him by entering suddenly.
As she had thought, her son seemed to deeply engrossed in his lessons, but Yanni couldn’t help but let out the smallest laugh. There he sat, a young boy, concentration on his face as he poured over his work, covered head to toe in clay dust and ink. A smile came across her face, and she felt her heart soften at the sight of her firstborn in such a state.
“Vangelis.” She said, attempting to wrest his attentions from his work. Her voice was soft and caring, and while the family wasn’t known for being overly affectionate, she was not withholding when it came to her love for her children and husband. Though the love between husband and wife had only started to develop in recent years.
“It’s nearly time for sleep. But first, I will see you to a bath. I will not have you staining your bed in your current state.” She said, shaking her head a little, she held her hand out for her son to take so she could bring him to the baths and get him cleaned up. He desperately needed it. She knew that this would be a memory she would look fondly back on in the years to come, though she was in a little bit of denial that her children were growing up. She would prefer for them to stay young children forever, for them growing up would mean marriage, and war, and children of their own. And the Queen was not even close to ready to think about such things. She knew her children were Princes, and one of them would one day be King, but in her mind, they would always just be her children. Watching them grow up and thinking about the uncertainty of their futures was terrifying for the young mother.
A young boy of seven, Vangelis had only recently begun his training in militia and warcraft. Such exercises in physicality and reflexes would one day hone his senses and his instinct to be more infallible than the bronze and iron upon which Colchis was so assuredly built. Impossible to surprise and always aware of his surroundings for both the safety of himself and his men, Vangelis was still several years from such an image of a prince. Instead, he was simply a son and heir; a boy who sought what means he could to honour his mother and show respect to his father.
As such, the eldest prince of the realm, still very much a child in so many ways, was bent almost double over the little desk that had been positioned in his room for quick and easy study whenever he had a moment spare between his more recent physical training and his duties as a prince - such as attending formal affairs alongside his parents. His nose was perhaps no more than two inches from the clay upon which he scrawled, not through a difficulty of seeing but a focus on his task which had, over the hours, seen his shoulders hunch further in and his brow move closer to the surface of the desk.
His concentration was necessary for Vangelis was not a natural scholar. A young boy who struggled with new concepts and took, in some cases, twice as long to understand something than others his age, he had already learnt his first and perhaps most important lesson in life at the age of seven: dedication and hard-work were more important ingredients for success than any naturally borne talent. It didn't matter if you were smarter than others, or stronger than others - both of which Vangelis was neither. What mattered were the number of hours and the will-power that you placed into such studies. Be they of the book or of the blade. Practice would always supersede proficiencies.
And that was how his mother found him. In the middle of several hours of practice, labouring over his studies in Coptic and determined to be as up to speed with the other nobles with whom he might be expected to study with on any given day.
As was his nature, Vangelis had focused solely on the one direct task at hand and everything else had faded into the background; what ink he held on his fingers, where the clay dust was shooting beneath his arms when he reworked his work slab. His attentions were entirely rooted in his studies so that, by the time his mother and Queen found him, he was a far cry from the appearance of a polished prince.
Without his years of training yet bestowed, Vangelis would have indeed jumped at Yanni's arrival at his door had she not knocked to announce her advent. Looking up from his desk almost as soon as she walked in the door, Vangelis then immediately bent back over his work, his hand moving just a little quicker and his body tenser. As if some psychic power within told him that his mother was about to announce it to be the end of his hours of work and that he needed to leave his progress before he had yet to reach the marker that he had mentally assigned himself.
With all the avid and frantic energy of a seven-year-old's zeal, Vangelis continued to work until his mother came over to place a hand upon his shoulder and he was unable to refute her presence or ignore her instruction.
A shy smile broke across his mouth as his mother chastised him for his appearance, his eyes darting downwards and taking in his murky chiton for the first time in as many hours.
"I am sorry, Mother." He responded, the term a formal one but no less full of affection. As a very young child he had used the term 'Mama', but it had been some years since he had adopted the more mature term of endearment. And he spoke such a word with all the respect and comforts a seven-year-old sought from their mother.
When he was instructed to follow her to the baths, Vangelis made no noise of refusal and simply left his desk in the chaotic state that it was and followed the Queen out of his chambers and down the hallway. When she reached out to take his hand, he felt a moment of rebellion, thinking that his father may not approve of him holding his mother's hand. Only a few years away from manhood, a boy of his age was surely not to still need the leading of his mama's guidance? Yet, he was also a young boy who wished never to hurt the feelings of those he loved and so, without external or obvious complaint, Vangelis simply reached up and wrapped his fingers around that of the Queen's.
"Where are Zanon and Yiannis?" Vangelis asked as they walked, his pace long and a little gangly as his limbs and body had begun to grow in a manner that would set him ready for puberty and the growth spurts that he would one day endure. "Is father still away?"
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Feb 17, 2020 16:19:43 GMT
Posted In Never grow up on Feb 17, 2020 16:19:43 GMT
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A young boy of seven, Vangelis had only recently begun his training in militia and warcraft. Such exercises in physicality and reflexes would one day hone his senses and his instinct to be more infallible than the bronze and iron upon which Colchis was so assuredly built. Impossible to surprise and always aware of his surroundings for both the safety of himself and his men, Vangelis was still several years from such an image of a prince. Instead, he was simply a son and heir; a boy who sought what means he could to honour his mother and show respect to his father.
As such, the eldest prince of the realm, still very much a child in so many ways, was bent almost double over the little desk that had been positioned in his room for quick and easy study whenever he had a moment spare between his more recent physical training and his duties as a prince - such as attending formal affairs alongside his parents. His nose was perhaps no more than two inches from the clay upon which he scrawled, not through a difficulty of seeing but a focus on his task which had, over the hours, seen his shoulders hunch further in and his brow move closer to the surface of the desk.
His concentration was necessary for Vangelis was not a natural scholar. A young boy who struggled with new concepts and took, in some cases, twice as long to understand something than others his age, he had already learnt his first and perhaps most important lesson in life at the age of seven: dedication and hard-work were more important ingredients for success than any naturally borne talent. It didn't matter if you were smarter than others, or stronger than others - both of which Vangelis was neither. What mattered were the number of hours and the will-power that you placed into such studies. Be they of the book or of the blade. Practice would always supersede proficiencies.
And that was how his mother found him. In the middle of several hours of practice, labouring over his studies in Coptic and determined to be as up to speed with the other nobles with whom he might be expected to study with on any given day.
As was his nature, Vangelis had focused solely on the one direct task at hand and everything else had faded into the background; what ink he held on his fingers, where the clay dust was shooting beneath his arms when he reworked his work slab. His attentions were entirely rooted in his studies so that, by the time his mother and Queen found him, he was a far cry from the appearance of a polished prince.
Without his years of training yet bestowed, Vangelis would have indeed jumped at Yanni's arrival at his door had she not knocked to announce her advent. Looking up from his desk almost as soon as she walked in the door, Vangelis then immediately bent back over his work, his hand moving just a little quicker and his body tenser. As if some psychic power within told him that his mother was about to announce it to be the end of his hours of work and that he needed to leave his progress before he had yet to reach the marker that he had mentally assigned himself.
With all the avid and frantic energy of a seven-year-old's zeal, Vangelis continued to work until his mother came over to place a hand upon his shoulder and he was unable to refute her presence or ignore her instruction.
A shy smile broke across his mouth as his mother chastised him for his appearance, his eyes darting downwards and taking in his murky chiton for the first time in as many hours.
"I am sorry, Mother." He responded, the term a formal one but no less full of affection. As a very young child he had used the term 'Mama', but it had been some years since he had adopted the more mature term of endearment. And he spoke such a word with all the respect and comforts a seven-year-old sought from their mother.
When he was instructed to follow her to the baths, Vangelis made no noise of refusal and simply left his desk in the chaotic state that it was and followed the Queen out of his chambers and down the hallway. When she reached out to take his hand, he felt a moment of rebellion, thinking that his father may not approve of him holding his mother's hand. Only a few years away from manhood, a boy of his age was surely not to still need the leading of his mama's guidance? Yet, he was also a young boy who wished never to hurt the feelings of those he loved and so, without external or obvious complaint, Vangelis simply reached up and wrapped his fingers around that of the Queen's.
"Where are Zanon and Yiannis?" Vangelis asked as they walked, his pace long and a little gangly as his limbs and body had begun to grow in a manner that would set him ready for puberty and the growth spurts that he would one day endure. "Is father still away?"
A young boy of seven, Vangelis had only recently begun his training in militia and warcraft. Such exercises in physicality and reflexes would one day hone his senses and his instinct to be more infallible than the bronze and iron upon which Colchis was so assuredly built. Impossible to surprise and always aware of his surroundings for both the safety of himself and his men, Vangelis was still several years from such an image of a prince. Instead, he was simply a son and heir; a boy who sought what means he could to honour his mother and show respect to his father.
As such, the eldest prince of the realm, still very much a child in so many ways, was bent almost double over the little desk that had been positioned in his room for quick and easy study whenever he had a moment spare between his more recent physical training and his duties as a prince - such as attending formal affairs alongside his parents. His nose was perhaps no more than two inches from the clay upon which he scrawled, not through a difficulty of seeing but a focus on his task which had, over the hours, seen his shoulders hunch further in and his brow move closer to the surface of the desk.
His concentration was necessary for Vangelis was not a natural scholar. A young boy who struggled with new concepts and took, in some cases, twice as long to understand something than others his age, he had already learnt his first and perhaps most important lesson in life at the age of seven: dedication and hard-work were more important ingredients for success than any naturally borne talent. It didn't matter if you were smarter than others, or stronger than others - both of which Vangelis was neither. What mattered were the number of hours and the will-power that you placed into such studies. Be they of the book or of the blade. Practice would always supersede proficiencies.
And that was how his mother found him. In the middle of several hours of practice, labouring over his studies in Coptic and determined to be as up to speed with the other nobles with whom he might be expected to study with on any given day.
As was his nature, Vangelis had focused solely on the one direct task at hand and everything else had faded into the background; what ink he held on his fingers, where the clay dust was shooting beneath his arms when he reworked his work slab. His attentions were entirely rooted in his studies so that, by the time his mother and Queen found him, he was a far cry from the appearance of a polished prince.
Without his years of training yet bestowed, Vangelis would have indeed jumped at Yanni's arrival at his door had she not knocked to announce her advent. Looking up from his desk almost as soon as she walked in the door, Vangelis then immediately bent back over his work, his hand moving just a little quicker and his body tenser. As if some psychic power within told him that his mother was about to announce it to be the end of his hours of work and that he needed to leave his progress before he had yet to reach the marker that he had mentally assigned himself.
With all the avid and frantic energy of a seven-year-old's zeal, Vangelis continued to work until his mother came over to place a hand upon his shoulder and he was unable to refute her presence or ignore her instruction.
A shy smile broke across his mouth as his mother chastised him for his appearance, his eyes darting downwards and taking in his murky chiton for the first time in as many hours.
"I am sorry, Mother." He responded, the term a formal one but no less full of affection. As a very young child he had used the term 'Mama', but it had been some years since he had adopted the more mature term of endearment. And he spoke such a word with all the respect and comforts a seven-year-old sought from their mother.
When he was instructed to follow her to the baths, Vangelis made no noise of refusal and simply left his desk in the chaotic state that it was and followed the Queen out of his chambers and down the hallway. When she reached out to take his hand, he felt a moment of rebellion, thinking that his father may not approve of him holding his mother's hand. Only a few years away from manhood, a boy of his age was surely not to still need the leading of his mama's guidance? Yet, he was also a young boy who wished never to hurt the feelings of those he loved and so, without external or obvious complaint, Vangelis simply reached up and wrapped his fingers around that of the Queen's.
"Where are Zanon and Yiannis?" Vangelis asked as they walked, his pace long and a little gangly as his limbs and body had begun to grow in a manner that would set him ready for puberty and the growth spurts that he would one day endure. "Is father still away?"
Yanni couldn’t help the second small laugh as it escaped her at watching her son turn suddenly frantic at the idea that his mother might swoop him away from his studies. It warmed her heart to see the boy so willing to put in the extra effort to be the Prince he was, and the future King of Colchis. She couldn’t believe just how much like her husband Vang had turned out to be. It was like watching a miniature version of Tython, one who was just as stubborn, though respected his mother enough to heed her words and stop working when she had asked him to.
The way he apologized to her and called her mother made her a feel a mixture of sadness and happiness. Her first born was growing up so quickly, and it felt like just yesterday he was a happy baby, cradled in her arms and cooing up at her. Now he was nearly a man, and she was proud to see him grow up so happy and strong, but she also wished that he would just never grow up. She wasn’t ready for him to be an adult, she wasn’t ready for any of her children to grow up.
She looked over at her son as they walked and he asked after his brothers and then his father, the boy would soon be taller than she was, even at his young age. Clearly a trait he had gotten from his father.
“Your brothers are both already in bed, and you will be joining them once you are cleaned up. The hour is late.” She said simply, both of her younger children had gone down easily, or as easily as they ever did. She felt like maybe Vang would be a bit harder to get to sleep, he seemed like he would have preferred to stay up the whole night with his nose inches from his tablet as he studied. Part of a mother’s job was to set boundaries, and as much as she would have liked to let him continue his studies, a young boy needed his rest as well.
“Your father is still away, yes. He will be gone for awhile yet.” She said, keeping her own feelings about her husband being gone carefully hidden. She needed to be strong, for many reasons, even when she missed her husband so. Vang would need to learn to do so as well, and one day he himself would be off much like his father, leaving his mother behind. All of her sons likely would. The Kotas family were a strong military family, and she would have to come to terms that her sons would follow in their father’s footsteps and one by one she would watch them go off to fight.
They arrived at the baths after a short walk, and Yanni opened the door, allowing her son to walk in first before she followed in after him. She had already had their serving staff draw a hot bath for him, torches lighting the room up where the moonlight coming through the windows had failed to do so.
“See his clothes scrubbed thoroughly.” She said to one of the serving staff, knowing that they would take care of it, and likely would be able to get at least most of the grime off of them. They wouldn’t serve as clothing for him to wear out in public any longer, but they would do fine for playing outside or studying as he just was.
“Come, get in the water, lets get you cleaned up before your skin is stained permanently.” She said, teasing her son just a little. She might have been a strong and tough Queen on the outside, but she was still a mother, and her son was still young, not yet a man, so the bit of fun she brought to her parenting style was not yet gone.
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Feb 19, 2020 21:29:07 GMT
Posted In Never grow up on Feb 19, 2020 21:29:07 GMT
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Yanni couldn’t help the second small laugh as it escaped her at watching her son turn suddenly frantic at the idea that his mother might swoop him away from his studies. It warmed her heart to see the boy so willing to put in the extra effort to be the Prince he was, and the future King of Colchis. She couldn’t believe just how much like her husband Vang had turned out to be. It was like watching a miniature version of Tython, one who was just as stubborn, though respected his mother enough to heed her words and stop working when she had asked him to.
The way he apologized to her and called her mother made her a feel a mixture of sadness and happiness. Her first born was growing up so quickly, and it felt like just yesterday he was a happy baby, cradled in her arms and cooing up at her. Now he was nearly a man, and she was proud to see him grow up so happy and strong, but she also wished that he would just never grow up. She wasn’t ready for him to be an adult, she wasn’t ready for any of her children to grow up.
She looked over at her son as they walked and he asked after his brothers and then his father, the boy would soon be taller than she was, even at his young age. Clearly a trait he had gotten from his father.
“Your brothers are both already in bed, and you will be joining them once you are cleaned up. The hour is late.” She said simply, both of her younger children had gone down easily, or as easily as they ever did. She felt like maybe Vang would be a bit harder to get to sleep, he seemed like he would have preferred to stay up the whole night with his nose inches from his tablet as he studied. Part of a mother’s job was to set boundaries, and as much as she would have liked to let him continue his studies, a young boy needed his rest as well.
“Your father is still away, yes. He will be gone for awhile yet.” She said, keeping her own feelings about her husband being gone carefully hidden. She needed to be strong, for many reasons, even when she missed her husband so. Vang would need to learn to do so as well, and one day he himself would be off much like his father, leaving his mother behind. All of her sons likely would. The Kotas family were a strong military family, and she would have to come to terms that her sons would follow in their father’s footsteps and one by one she would watch them go off to fight.
They arrived at the baths after a short walk, and Yanni opened the door, allowing her son to walk in first before she followed in after him. She had already had their serving staff draw a hot bath for him, torches lighting the room up where the moonlight coming through the windows had failed to do so.
“See his clothes scrubbed thoroughly.” She said to one of the serving staff, knowing that they would take care of it, and likely would be able to get at least most of the grime off of them. They wouldn’t serve as clothing for him to wear out in public any longer, but they would do fine for playing outside or studying as he just was.
“Come, get in the water, lets get you cleaned up before your skin is stained permanently.” She said, teasing her son just a little. She might have been a strong and tough Queen on the outside, but she was still a mother, and her son was still young, not yet a man, so the bit of fun she brought to her parenting style was not yet gone.
Yanni couldn’t help the second small laugh as it escaped her at watching her son turn suddenly frantic at the idea that his mother might swoop him away from his studies. It warmed her heart to see the boy so willing to put in the extra effort to be the Prince he was, and the future King of Colchis. She couldn’t believe just how much like her husband Vang had turned out to be. It was like watching a miniature version of Tython, one who was just as stubborn, though respected his mother enough to heed her words and stop working when she had asked him to.
The way he apologized to her and called her mother made her a feel a mixture of sadness and happiness. Her first born was growing up so quickly, and it felt like just yesterday he was a happy baby, cradled in her arms and cooing up at her. Now he was nearly a man, and she was proud to see him grow up so happy and strong, but she also wished that he would just never grow up. She wasn’t ready for him to be an adult, she wasn’t ready for any of her children to grow up.
She looked over at her son as they walked and he asked after his brothers and then his father, the boy would soon be taller than she was, even at his young age. Clearly a trait he had gotten from his father.
“Your brothers are both already in bed, and you will be joining them once you are cleaned up. The hour is late.” She said simply, both of her younger children had gone down easily, or as easily as they ever did. She felt like maybe Vang would be a bit harder to get to sleep, he seemed like he would have preferred to stay up the whole night with his nose inches from his tablet as he studied. Part of a mother’s job was to set boundaries, and as much as she would have liked to let him continue his studies, a young boy needed his rest as well.
“Your father is still away, yes. He will be gone for awhile yet.” She said, keeping her own feelings about her husband being gone carefully hidden. She needed to be strong, for many reasons, even when she missed her husband so. Vang would need to learn to do so as well, and one day he himself would be off much like his father, leaving his mother behind. All of her sons likely would. The Kotas family were a strong military family, and she would have to come to terms that her sons would follow in their father’s footsteps and one by one she would watch them go off to fight.
They arrived at the baths after a short walk, and Yanni opened the door, allowing her son to walk in first before she followed in after him. She had already had their serving staff draw a hot bath for him, torches lighting the room up where the moonlight coming through the windows had failed to do so.
“See his clothes scrubbed thoroughly.” She said to one of the serving staff, knowing that they would take care of it, and likely would be able to get at least most of the grime off of them. They wouldn’t serve as clothing for him to wear out in public any longer, but they would do fine for playing outside or studying as he just was.
“Come, get in the water, lets get you cleaned up before your skin is stained permanently.” She said, teasing her son just a little. She might have been a strong and tough Queen on the outside, but she was still a mother, and her son was still young, not yet a man, so the bit of fun she brought to her parenting style was not yet gone.
As they walked down the corridor, Vangelis simply nodded when his mother told him of his brothers already being asleep. His brow then grew into an expression of determined focus when she mentioned his father still being away at war. His fingers instinctively curved around his mother's.
"He will come back." He said, in a statement of fact that was only spoken through childlike fear but said with a ringing note of clarity. As if by stating it allowed, he could make his trust in his father become a reality. Even at his young years, Vangelis knew that the parting of his parents was painful for his mother. He would have thought it painful for the King also, if he thought his father capable of feeling fear and pain. But in his mind, such a man was a tower of strength and unyielding to any emotion to could turn into a weakness.
When they reached the bathhouses, Vangelis was quick to obey instruction and moved to pull off his clothing. The chiton and tunic were easy enough to remove, only he then realised that he had forgotten his leather boots and had to sit on the tile, naked from the ankles up and remove the items before it was easy enough to full his clothes from where they had hovered about his feet and dumped them into a pile to one side. Efficient and organised he might have one day grown up to be, but for now, the folding of laundry and dirty linens was hardly a concept that entered the mind of the royal prince.
Nor were the marks upon his skin.
As his mother had said, some of the marks were from puffs of clay mix, some were of ink and dark smears of colour from his stylus. Others, however, beneath the fresher marks, were bruises and purple stains beneath the skin. Little cuts could be seen on the tops of his shoulders and on his arms and legs. His torso and limbs sported several long and slanting bruises where his wooden practice sword had been flung with all his force inaccurately and ended up clocking himself instead of his dummy target.
Yet, the boy did not move as if he were in pain. As with most children, he ignored the lingering effects of damage and violence against his person unless they were prodded and caused to hurt. Instead, he simply followed his mother’s instructions and moved to lower himself into the warm pool of their private bathhouse. He sunk down into the water, until it was at his chin and then, in a moment of childish leisure, blew over the surface of the water to make little bubbles before his lips. The hair at the back of his neck lay slick to his skin whilst the rest stuck up in tufty angles, reflected over the surface of the water...
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As they walked down the corridor, Vangelis simply nodded when his mother told him of his brothers already being asleep. His brow then grew into an expression of determined focus when she mentioned his father still being away at war. His fingers instinctively curved around his mother's.
"He will come back." He said, in a statement of fact that was only spoken through childlike fear but said with a ringing note of clarity. As if by stating it allowed, he could make his trust in his father become a reality. Even at his young years, Vangelis knew that the parting of his parents was painful for his mother. He would have thought it painful for the King also, if he thought his father capable of feeling fear and pain. But in his mind, such a man was a tower of strength and unyielding to any emotion to could turn into a weakness.
When they reached the bathhouses, Vangelis was quick to obey instruction and moved to pull off his clothing. The chiton and tunic were easy enough to remove, only he then realised that he had forgotten his leather boots and had to sit on the tile, naked from the ankles up and remove the items before it was easy enough to full his clothes from where they had hovered about his feet and dumped them into a pile to one side. Efficient and organised he might have one day grown up to be, but for now, the folding of laundry and dirty linens was hardly a concept that entered the mind of the royal prince.
Nor were the marks upon his skin.
As his mother had said, some of the marks were from puffs of clay mix, some were of ink and dark smears of colour from his stylus. Others, however, beneath the fresher marks, were bruises and purple stains beneath the skin. Little cuts could be seen on the tops of his shoulders and on his arms and legs. His torso and limbs sported several long and slanting bruises where his wooden practice sword had been flung with all his force inaccurately and ended up clocking himself instead of his dummy target.
Yet, the boy did not move as if he were in pain. As with most children, he ignored the lingering effects of damage and violence against his person unless they were prodded and caused to hurt. Instead, he simply followed his mother’s instructions and moved to lower himself into the warm pool of their private bathhouse. He sunk down into the water, until it was at his chin and then, in a moment of childish leisure, blew over the surface of the water to make little bubbles before his lips. The hair at the back of his neck lay slick to his skin whilst the rest stuck up in tufty angles, reflected over the surface of the water...
As they walked down the corridor, Vangelis simply nodded when his mother told him of his brothers already being asleep. His brow then grew into an expression of determined focus when she mentioned his father still being away at war. His fingers instinctively curved around his mother's.
"He will come back." He said, in a statement of fact that was only spoken through childlike fear but said with a ringing note of clarity. As if by stating it allowed, he could make his trust in his father become a reality. Even at his young years, Vangelis knew that the parting of his parents was painful for his mother. He would have thought it painful for the King also, if he thought his father capable of feeling fear and pain. But in his mind, such a man was a tower of strength and unyielding to any emotion to could turn into a weakness.
When they reached the bathhouses, Vangelis was quick to obey instruction and moved to pull off his clothing. The chiton and tunic were easy enough to remove, only he then realised that he had forgotten his leather boots and had to sit on the tile, naked from the ankles up and remove the items before it was easy enough to full his clothes from where they had hovered about his feet and dumped them into a pile to one side. Efficient and organised he might have one day grown up to be, but for now, the folding of laundry and dirty linens was hardly a concept that entered the mind of the royal prince.
Nor were the marks upon his skin.
As his mother had said, some of the marks were from puffs of clay mix, some were of ink and dark smears of colour from his stylus. Others, however, beneath the fresher marks, were bruises and purple stains beneath the skin. Little cuts could be seen on the tops of his shoulders and on his arms and legs. His torso and limbs sported several long and slanting bruises where his wooden practice sword had been flung with all his force inaccurately and ended up clocking himself instead of his dummy target.
Yet, the boy did not move as if he were in pain. As with most children, he ignored the lingering effects of damage and violence against his person unless they were prodded and caused to hurt. Instead, he simply followed his mother’s instructions and moved to lower himself into the warm pool of their private bathhouse. He sunk down into the water, until it was at his chin and then, in a moment of childish leisure, blew over the surface of the water to make little bubbles before his lips. The hair at the back of his neck lay slick to his skin whilst the rest stuck up in tufty angles, reflected over the surface of the water...
Yanni gave Vangelis a small smile when the boy stated that his father would be back. There was always a danger that he wouldn’t be, and Vangelis was old enough now to fully understand that, but that didn’t mean that Yanni had to worry him with that reality. If the boy chose to believe with such confidence that his father would for sure return, she would agree. Yanni wanted to be so confident in such things, and her entire marriage she had always tried to be optimistic about it, but Yanni was also nothing if not grounded in the reality of life, and she knew that some day her husband would leave and he would not be back.
“Of course he will. And with him he will bring new stories for you.” She said. She wasn’t sure if Vangelis still clung to his father’s stories of war as he had when he was younger, but she had a feeling he might. In his first few years, when he was able to speak and understand, Vangelis had begged his father for stories, and Yanni knew that they were edited for a young audience and perhaps just a bit exaggerated.
She spotted the cuts and bruises on the boy, and she felt a little tinge of pain in her chest. Her son was growing up, he would soon be a full blown man and she would lose moments like this, she would have to watch not only her husband but also her son leave for battle. Eventually she would watch all of her sons do the same, and the thought left Yanni with a hollow sadness. If only her children could stay children forever. As proud as she was with the man Vangelis was becoming, she would have preferred to freeze them in time, Vangelis a kid who would still be dependant on his mother.
All she could do was hope that as he got older, he would still need her in some way. Yanni had never realized what it would be to truly be a mother, to watch her children grow and live their own lives.
She swallowed a little heavily and grabbed a cloth, moving to sit at the edge of the tub, she laughed a little as Vangelis blew bubbles on the surface of the water. Nearly a man, and yet still a boy.
“Come closer.” She said, motioning him over. When he did as asked, she took one of his arms, dipping the cloth into the warm bath water, she began to scrub the dirt and grime off of him, careful not to scrub too hard where he had cuts and bruises, not wishing to hurt him.
“Tell me what you learned today. You were so enamoured by your studies you missed your evening meal.” She said, curious what it was that had him so intensely studying, though he tended to do so most of the time. Mostly it was her way of helping the information stick in his brain, if he repeated it out loud to her, it would be easier to remember it.
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Yanni gave Vangelis a small smile when the boy stated that his father would be back. There was always a danger that he wouldn’t be, and Vangelis was old enough now to fully understand that, but that didn’t mean that Yanni had to worry him with that reality. If the boy chose to believe with such confidence that his father would for sure return, she would agree. Yanni wanted to be so confident in such things, and her entire marriage she had always tried to be optimistic about it, but Yanni was also nothing if not grounded in the reality of life, and she knew that some day her husband would leave and he would not be back.
“Of course he will. And with him he will bring new stories for you.” She said. She wasn’t sure if Vangelis still clung to his father’s stories of war as he had when he was younger, but she had a feeling he might. In his first few years, when he was able to speak and understand, Vangelis had begged his father for stories, and Yanni knew that they were edited for a young audience and perhaps just a bit exaggerated.
She spotted the cuts and bruises on the boy, and she felt a little tinge of pain in her chest. Her son was growing up, he would soon be a full blown man and she would lose moments like this, she would have to watch not only her husband but also her son leave for battle. Eventually she would watch all of her sons do the same, and the thought left Yanni with a hollow sadness. If only her children could stay children forever. As proud as she was with the man Vangelis was becoming, she would have preferred to freeze them in time, Vangelis a kid who would still be dependant on his mother.
All she could do was hope that as he got older, he would still need her in some way. Yanni had never realized what it would be to truly be a mother, to watch her children grow and live their own lives.
She swallowed a little heavily and grabbed a cloth, moving to sit at the edge of the tub, she laughed a little as Vangelis blew bubbles on the surface of the water. Nearly a man, and yet still a boy.
“Come closer.” She said, motioning him over. When he did as asked, she took one of his arms, dipping the cloth into the warm bath water, she began to scrub the dirt and grime off of him, careful not to scrub too hard where he had cuts and bruises, not wishing to hurt him.
“Tell me what you learned today. You were so enamoured by your studies you missed your evening meal.” She said, curious what it was that had him so intensely studying, though he tended to do so most of the time. Mostly it was her way of helping the information stick in his brain, if he repeated it out loud to her, it would be easier to remember it.
Yanni gave Vangelis a small smile when the boy stated that his father would be back. There was always a danger that he wouldn’t be, and Vangelis was old enough now to fully understand that, but that didn’t mean that Yanni had to worry him with that reality. If the boy chose to believe with such confidence that his father would for sure return, she would agree. Yanni wanted to be so confident in such things, and her entire marriage she had always tried to be optimistic about it, but Yanni was also nothing if not grounded in the reality of life, and she knew that some day her husband would leave and he would not be back.
“Of course he will. And with him he will bring new stories for you.” She said. She wasn’t sure if Vangelis still clung to his father’s stories of war as he had when he was younger, but she had a feeling he might. In his first few years, when he was able to speak and understand, Vangelis had begged his father for stories, and Yanni knew that they were edited for a young audience and perhaps just a bit exaggerated.
She spotted the cuts and bruises on the boy, and she felt a little tinge of pain in her chest. Her son was growing up, he would soon be a full blown man and she would lose moments like this, she would have to watch not only her husband but also her son leave for battle. Eventually she would watch all of her sons do the same, and the thought left Yanni with a hollow sadness. If only her children could stay children forever. As proud as she was with the man Vangelis was becoming, she would have preferred to freeze them in time, Vangelis a kid who would still be dependant on his mother.
All she could do was hope that as he got older, he would still need her in some way. Yanni had never realized what it would be to truly be a mother, to watch her children grow and live their own lives.
She swallowed a little heavily and grabbed a cloth, moving to sit at the edge of the tub, she laughed a little as Vangelis blew bubbles on the surface of the water. Nearly a man, and yet still a boy.
“Come closer.” She said, motioning him over. When he did as asked, she took one of his arms, dipping the cloth into the warm bath water, she began to scrub the dirt and grime off of him, careful not to scrub too hard where he had cuts and bruises, not wishing to hurt him.
“Tell me what you learned today. You were so enamoured by your studies you missed your evening meal.” She said, curious what it was that had him so intensely studying, though he tended to do so most of the time. Mostly it was her way of helping the information stick in his brain, if he repeated it out loud to her, it would be easier to remember it.
Vangelis finished blowing bubbles, not because it was childish but because a bit of the water had escaped the bath to enter between his lips. And the oils and cleansing powders that it had been laced with were gross to the taste. Lifting himself and spitting with his tongue between his lips, Vangelis turned towards his mother and smiled with a nod at her instruction.
Bending his knees completely, Vangelis kept his eyes and mouth closed and dipped beneath the water so that he was entirely submerged, took a few steps forward and then returned to break through the surface right by his mother. Now his hair was flattened entirely to the shape of his skull, his face was dripping wet and his eyelashes had clumped together in thick black spikes that were unfairly long for a male. His eyes seemed brighter than normal and he reached up a hand to rub the excess water from his face.
Submitting to his mother's attentions despite the fact that he was now most certainly old enough to bathe himself, he wondered for a moment on what she had said in the corridor - about his father returning with stories. Whilst he was always happy to see his father return safely home and always wanted to know the stories he could spin regarding his activities during his absence, the more that Vangelis studied weaponry and fighting the more the stories had started to make him a little nervous. For now, the sword work described and the fights that were embellished for fantasy effect seemed far more real to the young prince. And far more deadly.
Not that he would ever admit that to either of his parents, to whom he wanted to present a strong, confident and mature front.
Distracted from his thoughts by his mother's queries over his studies, Vangelis looked around at her, wincing only slightly when it caused her to brush too hard against a bruise on his shoulder.
"It was Coptic today." He told her. "And I was not ena... enam... I was not what you said." At least he didn't think so - he wasn't entirely certain what the word meant. "I just found it harder than other lessons. I had to do it slower so that I could get it right."
A little frown appeared between his brows as he said this, clearly uncomfortable with admitting the failing to his mother, though far more open to doing so with her than with the father he never wanted to disappoint...
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Vangelis finished blowing bubbles, not because it was childish but because a bit of the water had escaped the bath to enter between his lips. And the oils and cleansing powders that it had been laced with were gross to the taste. Lifting himself and spitting with his tongue between his lips, Vangelis turned towards his mother and smiled with a nod at her instruction.
Bending his knees completely, Vangelis kept his eyes and mouth closed and dipped beneath the water so that he was entirely submerged, took a few steps forward and then returned to break through the surface right by his mother. Now his hair was flattened entirely to the shape of his skull, his face was dripping wet and his eyelashes had clumped together in thick black spikes that were unfairly long for a male. His eyes seemed brighter than normal and he reached up a hand to rub the excess water from his face.
Submitting to his mother's attentions despite the fact that he was now most certainly old enough to bathe himself, he wondered for a moment on what she had said in the corridor - about his father returning with stories. Whilst he was always happy to see his father return safely home and always wanted to know the stories he could spin regarding his activities during his absence, the more that Vangelis studied weaponry and fighting the more the stories had started to make him a little nervous. For now, the sword work described and the fights that were embellished for fantasy effect seemed far more real to the young prince. And far more deadly.
Not that he would ever admit that to either of his parents, to whom he wanted to present a strong, confident and mature front.
Distracted from his thoughts by his mother's queries over his studies, Vangelis looked around at her, wincing only slightly when it caused her to brush too hard against a bruise on his shoulder.
"It was Coptic today." He told her. "And I was not ena... enam... I was not what you said." At least he didn't think so - he wasn't entirely certain what the word meant. "I just found it harder than other lessons. I had to do it slower so that I could get it right."
A little frown appeared between his brows as he said this, clearly uncomfortable with admitting the failing to his mother, though far more open to doing so with her than with the father he never wanted to disappoint...
Vangelis finished blowing bubbles, not because it was childish but because a bit of the water had escaped the bath to enter between his lips. And the oils and cleansing powders that it had been laced with were gross to the taste. Lifting himself and spitting with his tongue between his lips, Vangelis turned towards his mother and smiled with a nod at her instruction.
Bending his knees completely, Vangelis kept his eyes and mouth closed and dipped beneath the water so that he was entirely submerged, took a few steps forward and then returned to break through the surface right by his mother. Now his hair was flattened entirely to the shape of his skull, his face was dripping wet and his eyelashes had clumped together in thick black spikes that were unfairly long for a male. His eyes seemed brighter than normal and he reached up a hand to rub the excess water from his face.
Submitting to his mother's attentions despite the fact that he was now most certainly old enough to bathe himself, he wondered for a moment on what she had said in the corridor - about his father returning with stories. Whilst he was always happy to see his father return safely home and always wanted to know the stories he could spin regarding his activities during his absence, the more that Vangelis studied weaponry and fighting the more the stories had started to make him a little nervous. For now, the sword work described and the fights that were embellished for fantasy effect seemed far more real to the young prince. And far more deadly.
Not that he would ever admit that to either of his parents, to whom he wanted to present a strong, confident and mature front.
Distracted from his thoughts by his mother's queries over his studies, Vangelis looked around at her, wincing only slightly when it caused her to brush too hard against a bruise on his shoulder.
"It was Coptic today." He told her. "And I was not ena... enam... I was not what you said." At least he didn't think so - he wasn't entirely certain what the word meant. "I just found it harder than other lessons. I had to do it slower so that I could get it right."
A little frown appeared between his brows as he said this, clearly uncomfortable with admitting the failing to his mother, though far more open to doing so with her than with the father he never wanted to disappoint...
Yanni bit her tongue to keep from laughing at her son’s antics as he spit out the bathwater. As much as he thought of himself as a man, he was still a child, not yet fully outgrown his childhood just yet. Yanni shook her head a little but the smile on her face showed her son that she was not upset in any way with his ridiculousness.
As she began to clean the boy off, knowing full well that he was old enough to bathe himself, she waited and listened for his answer to her question on his studies. She knew the time was coming soon when the boy would protest her attempts at treating him like a child, a little surprised that he hadn’t done so tonight actually, so she would take any moment she got to treat him as her son before he decided he was a full fledged man who no longer needed his mother to care for him.
She watched as he frowned at not getting Coptic as quickly as he would like to. She reached over and swiped his nose with the wash cloth, giving him a little smile before she continued to clean him off.
“Do not get discouraged, son.” She said, moving to turn him so she could clean off his other arm, still doing her best not to cause his injuries to hurt as she did. She was trying to be careful, but the amount of dirt on him required some of it to be scrubbed off to get him clean.
“Languages are tough to learn. They take more comprehension than just memorizing. You will get it, it just takes some practice.” She assured him, having now cleaned the top half of him as thoroughly as she could, she tossed the dirty cloth aside and grabbed a clean one, passing it to him so he could scrub the rest of himself clean.
She shifted a bit further away from the water, still sitting on the side of the large bath, but doing her best not to get herself soaked from the bath water.
“If you find yourself having a tough time with it, I know the language myself and I can help you. There’s no shame in asking for help if you need it.” She assured her son, knowing that he wanted to be strong and grown up, but if he was struggling and wasn’t getting the language, he wouldn’t get any where without some assistance. He needed to learn that yes he needed to be strong and independent, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t rely on others to cover his weak points. Even the strongest of men had a weakness some where, and they needed someone to rely on. For her sons, she hoped that she would be that person for them. At least until they were grown and married. She had also been that person for her husband, strong when he needed her, and he had been the same for her.
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Mar 10, 2020 15:41:04 GMT
Posted In Never grow up on Mar 10, 2020 15:41:04 GMT
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Yanni bit her tongue to keep from laughing at her son’s antics as he spit out the bathwater. As much as he thought of himself as a man, he was still a child, not yet fully outgrown his childhood just yet. Yanni shook her head a little but the smile on her face showed her son that she was not upset in any way with his ridiculousness.
As she began to clean the boy off, knowing full well that he was old enough to bathe himself, she waited and listened for his answer to her question on his studies. She knew the time was coming soon when the boy would protest her attempts at treating him like a child, a little surprised that he hadn’t done so tonight actually, so she would take any moment she got to treat him as her son before he decided he was a full fledged man who no longer needed his mother to care for him.
She watched as he frowned at not getting Coptic as quickly as he would like to. She reached over and swiped his nose with the wash cloth, giving him a little smile before she continued to clean him off.
“Do not get discouraged, son.” She said, moving to turn him so she could clean off his other arm, still doing her best not to cause his injuries to hurt as she did. She was trying to be careful, but the amount of dirt on him required some of it to be scrubbed off to get him clean.
“Languages are tough to learn. They take more comprehension than just memorizing. You will get it, it just takes some practice.” She assured him, having now cleaned the top half of him as thoroughly as she could, she tossed the dirty cloth aside and grabbed a clean one, passing it to him so he could scrub the rest of himself clean.
She shifted a bit further away from the water, still sitting on the side of the large bath, but doing her best not to get herself soaked from the bath water.
“If you find yourself having a tough time with it, I know the language myself and I can help you. There’s no shame in asking for help if you need it.” She assured her son, knowing that he wanted to be strong and grown up, but if he was struggling and wasn’t getting the language, he wouldn’t get any where without some assistance. He needed to learn that yes he needed to be strong and independent, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t rely on others to cover his weak points. Even the strongest of men had a weakness some where, and they needed someone to rely on. For her sons, she hoped that she would be that person for them. At least until they were grown and married. She had also been that person for her husband, strong when he needed her, and he had been the same for her.
Yanni bit her tongue to keep from laughing at her son’s antics as he spit out the bathwater. As much as he thought of himself as a man, he was still a child, not yet fully outgrown his childhood just yet. Yanni shook her head a little but the smile on her face showed her son that she was not upset in any way with his ridiculousness.
As she began to clean the boy off, knowing full well that he was old enough to bathe himself, she waited and listened for his answer to her question on his studies. She knew the time was coming soon when the boy would protest her attempts at treating him like a child, a little surprised that he hadn’t done so tonight actually, so she would take any moment she got to treat him as her son before he decided he was a full fledged man who no longer needed his mother to care for him.
She watched as he frowned at not getting Coptic as quickly as he would like to. She reached over and swiped his nose with the wash cloth, giving him a little smile before she continued to clean him off.
“Do not get discouraged, son.” She said, moving to turn him so she could clean off his other arm, still doing her best not to cause his injuries to hurt as she did. She was trying to be careful, but the amount of dirt on him required some of it to be scrubbed off to get him clean.
“Languages are tough to learn. They take more comprehension than just memorizing. You will get it, it just takes some practice.” She assured him, having now cleaned the top half of him as thoroughly as she could, she tossed the dirty cloth aside and grabbed a clean one, passing it to him so he could scrub the rest of himself clean.
She shifted a bit further away from the water, still sitting on the side of the large bath, but doing her best not to get herself soaked from the bath water.
“If you find yourself having a tough time with it, I know the language myself and I can help you. There’s no shame in asking for help if you need it.” She assured her son, knowing that he wanted to be strong and grown up, but if he was struggling and wasn’t getting the language, he wouldn’t get any where without some assistance. He needed to learn that yes he needed to be strong and independent, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t rely on others to cover his weak points. Even the strongest of men had a weakness some where, and they needed someone to rely on. For her sons, she hoped that she would be that person for them. At least until they were grown and married. She had also been that person for her husband, strong when he needed her, and he had been the same for her.
Perhaps not the most unruly of children and the calmer of young adults, Vangelis wasn’t quick to refuse his mother’s touch and her cleaning hands, partially because he was fairly tired that evening. The work he had sentenced himself too, with a focus that left his nose just an inch from his clay, had exhausted his mind and energy to the point of simple obedience. Whilst he wasn’t yet yawning and feeling testy at his lethargy, he was at least lacking in the surplus energy required to become annoyed at her ministrations. If she wished to treat him as a child still, he did little to argue it tonight.
Had she not handed over the cloth for him to bathe the lower half of his body, however, he surely would have!
Instead, his mother was considerate of the fact that he was a boy shifting towards the age of manhood – a whole eight summers of age already! – and that some things did require autonomy and privacy. As such, Vangelis took the cloth and cleaned himself down, his back turned to his mother. Whilst his efforts were a little less effective than her own, he was lucky that he didn’t need them to be so, for most of his mess was from the waist up, where he had worked the clay and ink of his lessons and leant against the table that sported the dust and markings.
When Yanni spoke of how languages were taxing and harder than the usual lessons, Vangelis gave no external reaction but couldn’t help but agree. He had found Egyptian incredibly confusing and couldn’t understand why they had to do everything in a different language. Couldn’t they just speak and write the same way as the Greeks? It would make things so much easier. Why did they have to force themselves to learn a new language just so that they could write differently?
Perhaps it was for secret messages, hidden in enigmatic code, he had decided.
When the Queen offered to help him in his studies, Vangelis frowned a little at the suggestion and looked suddenly uncomfortable. Like he didn’t wish to disappoint his mother but was also in an odd position of divided loyalties or specific morals that he didn’t wish to betray.
“Father said that some lessons are more challenging because the Gods wish us to learn them better.” He told her. It was the words he had given to Vangelis in his physical training as he struggled with the same wooden sword that all the other boys learnt with. The King had suggested that, as prince of the realm, it was more important for Vangelis to learn the art of swordplay and therefore is sword was harder to wield – more challenging to master. “They might be displeased if I asked for help…” The words came out as a statement but the ‘might’ turned it into a question, his look a little fearful as he turned for confirmation from his mother.
As he did so, though, he had reached the bottom of his limbs and so had lifted a foot to clean it beneath the water. Only the one still on the bottom of the bath, in that moment, as he turned to glance at his mother, lost all traction and Vangelis’ head immediately slipped beneath the surface. Only to reappear a moment later spluttering and rubbing vigorously at his eyes as the soap and tonics in the water burned and he made grumbling noises of pain that might have been a cry if it hadn’t been for his determination not to be a baby.
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Mar 11, 2020 15:43:39 GMT
Posted In Never grow up on Mar 11, 2020 15:43:39 GMT
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Perhaps not the most unruly of children and the calmer of young adults, Vangelis wasn’t quick to refuse his mother’s touch and her cleaning hands, partially because he was fairly tired that evening. The work he had sentenced himself too, with a focus that left his nose just an inch from his clay, had exhausted his mind and energy to the point of simple obedience. Whilst he wasn’t yet yawning and feeling testy at his lethargy, he was at least lacking in the surplus energy required to become annoyed at her ministrations. If she wished to treat him as a child still, he did little to argue it tonight.
Had she not handed over the cloth for him to bathe the lower half of his body, however, he surely would have!
Instead, his mother was considerate of the fact that he was a boy shifting towards the age of manhood – a whole eight summers of age already! – and that some things did require autonomy and privacy. As such, Vangelis took the cloth and cleaned himself down, his back turned to his mother. Whilst his efforts were a little less effective than her own, he was lucky that he didn’t need them to be so, for most of his mess was from the waist up, where he had worked the clay and ink of his lessons and leant against the table that sported the dust and markings.
When Yanni spoke of how languages were taxing and harder than the usual lessons, Vangelis gave no external reaction but couldn’t help but agree. He had found Egyptian incredibly confusing and couldn’t understand why they had to do everything in a different language. Couldn’t they just speak and write the same way as the Greeks? It would make things so much easier. Why did they have to force themselves to learn a new language just so that they could write differently?
Perhaps it was for secret messages, hidden in enigmatic code, he had decided.
When the Queen offered to help him in his studies, Vangelis frowned a little at the suggestion and looked suddenly uncomfortable. Like he didn’t wish to disappoint his mother but was also in an odd position of divided loyalties or specific morals that he didn’t wish to betray.
“Father said that some lessons are more challenging because the Gods wish us to learn them better.” He told her. It was the words he had given to Vangelis in his physical training as he struggled with the same wooden sword that all the other boys learnt with. The King had suggested that, as prince of the realm, it was more important for Vangelis to learn the art of swordplay and therefore is sword was harder to wield – more challenging to master. “They might be displeased if I asked for help…” The words came out as a statement but the ‘might’ turned it into a question, his look a little fearful as he turned for confirmation from his mother.
As he did so, though, he had reached the bottom of his limbs and so had lifted a foot to clean it beneath the water. Only the one still on the bottom of the bath, in that moment, as he turned to glance at his mother, lost all traction and Vangelis’ head immediately slipped beneath the surface. Only to reappear a moment later spluttering and rubbing vigorously at his eyes as the soap and tonics in the water burned and he made grumbling noises of pain that might have been a cry if it hadn’t been for his determination not to be a baby.
Perhaps not the most unruly of children and the calmer of young adults, Vangelis wasn’t quick to refuse his mother’s touch and her cleaning hands, partially because he was fairly tired that evening. The work he had sentenced himself too, with a focus that left his nose just an inch from his clay, had exhausted his mind and energy to the point of simple obedience. Whilst he wasn’t yet yawning and feeling testy at his lethargy, he was at least lacking in the surplus energy required to become annoyed at her ministrations. If she wished to treat him as a child still, he did little to argue it tonight.
Had she not handed over the cloth for him to bathe the lower half of his body, however, he surely would have!
Instead, his mother was considerate of the fact that he was a boy shifting towards the age of manhood – a whole eight summers of age already! – and that some things did require autonomy and privacy. As such, Vangelis took the cloth and cleaned himself down, his back turned to his mother. Whilst his efforts were a little less effective than her own, he was lucky that he didn’t need them to be so, for most of his mess was from the waist up, where he had worked the clay and ink of his lessons and leant against the table that sported the dust and markings.
When Yanni spoke of how languages were taxing and harder than the usual lessons, Vangelis gave no external reaction but couldn’t help but agree. He had found Egyptian incredibly confusing and couldn’t understand why they had to do everything in a different language. Couldn’t they just speak and write the same way as the Greeks? It would make things so much easier. Why did they have to force themselves to learn a new language just so that they could write differently?
Perhaps it was for secret messages, hidden in enigmatic code, he had decided.
When the Queen offered to help him in his studies, Vangelis frowned a little at the suggestion and looked suddenly uncomfortable. Like he didn’t wish to disappoint his mother but was also in an odd position of divided loyalties or specific morals that he didn’t wish to betray.
“Father said that some lessons are more challenging because the Gods wish us to learn them better.” He told her. It was the words he had given to Vangelis in his physical training as he struggled with the same wooden sword that all the other boys learnt with. The King had suggested that, as prince of the realm, it was more important for Vangelis to learn the art of swordplay and therefore is sword was harder to wield – more challenging to master. “They might be displeased if I asked for help…” The words came out as a statement but the ‘might’ turned it into a question, his look a little fearful as he turned for confirmation from his mother.
As he did so, though, he had reached the bottom of his limbs and so had lifted a foot to clean it beneath the water. Only the one still on the bottom of the bath, in that moment, as he turned to glance at his mother, lost all traction and Vangelis’ head immediately slipped beneath the surface. Only to reappear a moment later spluttering and rubbing vigorously at his eyes as the soap and tonics in the water burned and he made grumbling noises of pain that might have been a cry if it hadn’t been for his determination not to be a baby.
Yanni couldn’t help but laugh a little as he seemed confused and upset by her offer for assistance, and then spoke of the Gods being upset if he did so. She could practically hear Tython planting those words within young Vangelis’ mind, but the boy seemed to have taken them in a different context than it was meant.
She opened her mouth to answer him, to assure him that the Gods would not be displeased if he had help. After all, were the people who taught him both swordplay and other lessons not helping him? But before she could say anything to calm his fears, he started turning towards her and seemed to suddenly lose his footing. He slipped under the water, and the panicked look on his face just before he went down had Yanni covering her mouth with one hand to keep from laughing too much. Even when he was exhausted from his lessons for the day, Vangelis seemed to have the energy to be the child he still was. As much as he wanted to think he was a full grown man.
Yanni regained her composure and moved to grab a towel, holding it out for Vangelis so he could step out of the bath and be wrapped in it to dry off and keep warm.
“The Gods will not be displeased if you require help, my prince.” She said, continuing their earlier conversation once he was done falling in the bath.
“Everyone needs help once in awhile. It is better to ask for it, to take lessons from others and learn from their experience and wisdom than it is to struggle and do things incorrectly.” She said, wrapping him up in the towel before pressing a kiss to his forehead in a moment of sentimentality, whether he liked it or not.
Her hands went to his shoulders and she locked her gaze on his.
“Many times in your life, you will run into obstacles. You will come up against things that perhaps you are not entirely prepared for or knowledgeable on. In those times, you must learn to rely on those most trustworthy around you to help. Your brothers, your father, trusted friends that you will make. There is no shame in being helped, just as there is no shame in helping someone we care about when they need us to.” She assured him, then she dropped her hands from his shoulders and gave him a slight smile.
“Come, let us see you to your room and back into some clothes and your warm bed. It is far too late for you to still be awake.” She stated, not bothering with any of his dirty clothes or anything in the room, the serving staff would take care of that. Instead she planned on walking her son to his room and seeing him to his bed. Gone were the days when Vangelis requested she tell him a story as he fell asleep, but she would still make sure that he at least made it to bed, or he was likely to wander off and try to continue his studies well into the night.
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Mar 19, 2020 17:53:14 GMT
Posted In Never grow up on Mar 19, 2020 17:53:14 GMT
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Yanni couldn’t help but laugh a little as he seemed confused and upset by her offer for assistance, and then spoke of the Gods being upset if he did so. She could practically hear Tython planting those words within young Vangelis’ mind, but the boy seemed to have taken them in a different context than it was meant.
She opened her mouth to answer him, to assure him that the Gods would not be displeased if he had help. After all, were the people who taught him both swordplay and other lessons not helping him? But before she could say anything to calm his fears, he started turning towards her and seemed to suddenly lose his footing. He slipped under the water, and the panicked look on his face just before he went down had Yanni covering her mouth with one hand to keep from laughing too much. Even when he was exhausted from his lessons for the day, Vangelis seemed to have the energy to be the child he still was. As much as he wanted to think he was a full grown man.
Yanni regained her composure and moved to grab a towel, holding it out for Vangelis so he could step out of the bath and be wrapped in it to dry off and keep warm.
“The Gods will not be displeased if you require help, my prince.” She said, continuing their earlier conversation once he was done falling in the bath.
“Everyone needs help once in awhile. It is better to ask for it, to take lessons from others and learn from their experience and wisdom than it is to struggle and do things incorrectly.” She said, wrapping him up in the towel before pressing a kiss to his forehead in a moment of sentimentality, whether he liked it or not.
Her hands went to his shoulders and she locked her gaze on his.
“Many times in your life, you will run into obstacles. You will come up against things that perhaps you are not entirely prepared for or knowledgeable on. In those times, you must learn to rely on those most trustworthy around you to help. Your brothers, your father, trusted friends that you will make. There is no shame in being helped, just as there is no shame in helping someone we care about when they need us to.” She assured him, then she dropped her hands from his shoulders and gave him a slight smile.
“Come, let us see you to your room and back into some clothes and your warm bed. It is far too late for you to still be awake.” She stated, not bothering with any of his dirty clothes or anything in the room, the serving staff would take care of that. Instead she planned on walking her son to his room and seeing him to his bed. Gone were the days when Vangelis requested she tell him a story as he fell asleep, but she would still make sure that he at least made it to bed, or he was likely to wander off and try to continue his studies well into the night.
Yanni couldn’t help but laugh a little as he seemed confused and upset by her offer for assistance, and then spoke of the Gods being upset if he did so. She could practically hear Tython planting those words within young Vangelis’ mind, but the boy seemed to have taken them in a different context than it was meant.
She opened her mouth to answer him, to assure him that the Gods would not be displeased if he had help. After all, were the people who taught him both swordplay and other lessons not helping him? But before she could say anything to calm his fears, he started turning towards her and seemed to suddenly lose his footing. He slipped under the water, and the panicked look on his face just before he went down had Yanni covering her mouth with one hand to keep from laughing too much. Even when he was exhausted from his lessons for the day, Vangelis seemed to have the energy to be the child he still was. As much as he wanted to think he was a full grown man.
Yanni regained her composure and moved to grab a towel, holding it out for Vangelis so he could step out of the bath and be wrapped in it to dry off and keep warm.
“The Gods will not be displeased if you require help, my prince.” She said, continuing their earlier conversation once he was done falling in the bath.
“Everyone needs help once in awhile. It is better to ask for it, to take lessons from others and learn from their experience and wisdom than it is to struggle and do things incorrectly.” She said, wrapping him up in the towel before pressing a kiss to his forehead in a moment of sentimentality, whether he liked it or not.
Her hands went to his shoulders and she locked her gaze on his.
“Many times in your life, you will run into obstacles. You will come up against things that perhaps you are not entirely prepared for or knowledgeable on. In those times, you must learn to rely on those most trustworthy around you to help. Your brothers, your father, trusted friends that you will make. There is no shame in being helped, just as there is no shame in helping someone we care about when they need us to.” She assured him, then she dropped her hands from his shoulders and gave him a slight smile.
“Come, let us see you to your room and back into some clothes and your warm bed. It is far too late for you to still be awake.” She stated, not bothering with any of his dirty clothes or anything in the room, the serving staff would take care of that. Instead she planned on walking her son to his room and seeing him to his bed. Gone were the days when Vangelis requested she tell him a story as he fell asleep, but she would still make sure that he at least made it to bed, or he was likely to wander off and try to continue his studies well into the night.
Spluttering as he came up for air but at least unaware that his mother was having a humorous moment at his expense, Vangelis was able to clear his eyesight and cough the remaining bathwater from his lungs easily enough. Shaking his head like a dog and sending droplets of water in every direction, he grinned when his mother yelped a little in faux reaction and encouraged him out of the bathtub and into a water towel of wool and cloth.
Immediately, Vangelis wrapped it around himself, pulling it tight and reached an end up to rub at his nose childishly. The squelching noise of water in his nostrils cleaned and he breathed easily again. His hair dripping onto the cloth around his shoulders, Vangelis watched his mother with wide blue eyes taking in her lessons regarding help and support with an ear of trust and consideration that only young boys could possess when it came to their mothers.
When she told him not to be so selective on what was considered help and what was not - that aiding another was just as important as knowing when you yourself required such aid - Vangelis nodded thoughtfully at her words.
"Yes, Mother." He assured her in agreement, though his mind was still churning over such ideals and wondering how to match them like irregular pieces that should somehow fit together with those his father had given him.
It being too late to argue and his mind too occupied with rehashing the ideas to be able to debate the topic at hand right now, Vangelis followed the lead of the Queen and returned to his bedchamber with his mother. Once released from the guiding hand she had placed between his shoulder blades, Vangelis relinquished the towel to the floor, ran to jump into his bed with a flashing shock of naked bottom, and then quickly pulled the covers back and over himself. His skin dry but his hair still wet there would be a light soddenness to his pillow come morning but with the fire in the hearth burning ready for the night ahead, he would not perish in the cold...
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Spluttering as he came up for air but at least unaware that his mother was having a humorous moment at his expense, Vangelis was able to clear his eyesight and cough the remaining bathwater from his lungs easily enough. Shaking his head like a dog and sending droplets of water in every direction, he grinned when his mother yelped a little in faux reaction and encouraged him out of the bathtub and into a water towel of wool and cloth.
Immediately, Vangelis wrapped it around himself, pulling it tight and reached an end up to rub at his nose childishly. The squelching noise of water in his nostrils cleaned and he breathed easily again. His hair dripping onto the cloth around his shoulders, Vangelis watched his mother with wide blue eyes taking in her lessons regarding help and support with an ear of trust and consideration that only young boys could possess when it came to their mothers.
When she told him not to be so selective on what was considered help and what was not - that aiding another was just as important as knowing when you yourself required such aid - Vangelis nodded thoughtfully at her words.
"Yes, Mother." He assured her in agreement, though his mind was still churning over such ideals and wondering how to match them like irregular pieces that should somehow fit together with those his father had given him.
It being too late to argue and his mind too occupied with rehashing the ideas to be able to debate the topic at hand right now, Vangelis followed the lead of the Queen and returned to his bedchamber with his mother. Once released from the guiding hand she had placed between his shoulder blades, Vangelis relinquished the towel to the floor, ran to jump into his bed with a flashing shock of naked bottom, and then quickly pulled the covers back and over himself. His skin dry but his hair still wet there would be a light soddenness to his pillow come morning but with the fire in the hearth burning ready for the night ahead, he would not perish in the cold...
Spluttering as he came up for air but at least unaware that his mother was having a humorous moment at his expense, Vangelis was able to clear his eyesight and cough the remaining bathwater from his lungs easily enough. Shaking his head like a dog and sending droplets of water in every direction, he grinned when his mother yelped a little in faux reaction and encouraged him out of the bathtub and into a water towel of wool and cloth.
Immediately, Vangelis wrapped it around himself, pulling it tight and reached an end up to rub at his nose childishly. The squelching noise of water in his nostrils cleaned and he breathed easily again. His hair dripping onto the cloth around his shoulders, Vangelis watched his mother with wide blue eyes taking in her lessons regarding help and support with an ear of trust and consideration that only young boys could possess when it came to their mothers.
When she told him not to be so selective on what was considered help and what was not - that aiding another was just as important as knowing when you yourself required such aid - Vangelis nodded thoughtfully at her words.
"Yes, Mother." He assured her in agreement, though his mind was still churning over such ideals and wondering how to match them like irregular pieces that should somehow fit together with those his father had given him.
It being too late to argue and his mind too occupied with rehashing the ideas to be able to debate the topic at hand right now, Vangelis followed the lead of the Queen and returned to his bedchamber with his mother. Once released from the guiding hand she had placed between his shoulder blades, Vangelis relinquished the towel to the floor, ran to jump into his bed with a flashing shock of naked bottom, and then quickly pulled the covers back and over himself. His skin dry but his hair still wet there would be a light soddenness to his pillow come morning but with the fire in the hearth burning ready for the night ahead, he would not perish in the cold...
Yanni walked with her son back to his room. Likely he would claim he was too old for her stories before sleeping any more, and he would have much on his mind after his lessons for the day, so she thought it best just to say her goodnight and leave him to it. Though there was one thing Yanni refused to give up on as a mother just yet, and so she approached the boy, making sure he was covered up with the blankets properly before planting a kiss on his forehead. He was still her child, and until he insisted that she not say goodnight to him in such a way, he would be subject to her small token of affection.
“Sweet dreams, my son. Do not let your lessons for the day keep you from slumber.” She said in her motherly tone. She gave his shoulder a squeeze and lingered for just a moment longer before she removed her hand. He was growing up far too fast for her liking, though she would never really say that to him. She was sure he felt that he was not growing up fast enough, all children seemed to be in a rush to grow up and be able to do adult things.
She had to force herself to turn around and head for the door, she wanted to baby him, but he was right, he was almost a man now. She needed to start treating him as a little less of a child, she was just finding it difficult to do so. At least her other children were still young enough for such things, she could take comfort in that for a little bit longer.
Yanni slipped out of the door to her sons room, closing it behind her. When the door was closed and she was out of sight, she paused for a moment and let out a bit of a sigh. She had not known that it would be this tough when her children started to grow. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, her children were now all safely in bed for the night, and the serving staff would tend to them through the night if it was needed. She had to gather herself once more and push these feelings aside and go and join her husband in their own chambers.
And so she did exactly that, her feet carrying her down the hallways towards their shared room as she took some deep and calming breaths to root herself and clear her mind of thoughts of her children growing too quickly. This was the reality of life and of being a mother, they could not remain small children for ever, she knew that. By the time she made it back to her and Tython’s chambers, she had managed to push aside those thoughts and feelings, and no trace of it remained on her face or in her eyes as she stepped into her own room to find sleep for herself.
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May 13, 2020 14:18:58 GMT
Posted In Never grow up on May 13, 2020 14:18:58 GMT
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Yanni walked with her son back to his room. Likely he would claim he was too old for her stories before sleeping any more, and he would have much on his mind after his lessons for the day, so she thought it best just to say her goodnight and leave him to it. Though there was one thing Yanni refused to give up on as a mother just yet, and so she approached the boy, making sure he was covered up with the blankets properly before planting a kiss on his forehead. He was still her child, and until he insisted that she not say goodnight to him in such a way, he would be subject to her small token of affection.
“Sweet dreams, my son. Do not let your lessons for the day keep you from slumber.” She said in her motherly tone. She gave his shoulder a squeeze and lingered for just a moment longer before she removed her hand. He was growing up far too fast for her liking, though she would never really say that to him. She was sure he felt that he was not growing up fast enough, all children seemed to be in a rush to grow up and be able to do adult things.
She had to force herself to turn around and head for the door, she wanted to baby him, but he was right, he was almost a man now. She needed to start treating him as a little less of a child, she was just finding it difficult to do so. At least her other children were still young enough for such things, she could take comfort in that for a little bit longer.
Yanni slipped out of the door to her sons room, closing it behind her. When the door was closed and she was out of sight, she paused for a moment and let out a bit of a sigh. She had not known that it would be this tough when her children started to grow. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, her children were now all safely in bed for the night, and the serving staff would tend to them through the night if it was needed. She had to gather herself once more and push these feelings aside and go and join her husband in their own chambers.
And so she did exactly that, her feet carrying her down the hallways towards their shared room as she took some deep and calming breaths to root herself and clear her mind of thoughts of her children growing too quickly. This was the reality of life and of being a mother, they could not remain small children for ever, she knew that. By the time she made it back to her and Tython’s chambers, she had managed to push aside those thoughts and feelings, and no trace of it remained on her face or in her eyes as she stepped into her own room to find sleep for herself.
Yanni walked with her son back to his room. Likely he would claim he was too old for her stories before sleeping any more, and he would have much on his mind after his lessons for the day, so she thought it best just to say her goodnight and leave him to it. Though there was one thing Yanni refused to give up on as a mother just yet, and so she approached the boy, making sure he was covered up with the blankets properly before planting a kiss on his forehead. He was still her child, and until he insisted that she not say goodnight to him in such a way, he would be subject to her small token of affection.
“Sweet dreams, my son. Do not let your lessons for the day keep you from slumber.” She said in her motherly tone. She gave his shoulder a squeeze and lingered for just a moment longer before she removed her hand. He was growing up far too fast for her liking, though she would never really say that to him. She was sure he felt that he was not growing up fast enough, all children seemed to be in a rush to grow up and be able to do adult things.
She had to force herself to turn around and head for the door, she wanted to baby him, but he was right, he was almost a man now. She needed to start treating him as a little less of a child, she was just finding it difficult to do so. At least her other children were still young enough for such things, she could take comfort in that for a little bit longer.
Yanni slipped out of the door to her sons room, closing it behind her. When the door was closed and she was out of sight, she paused for a moment and let out a bit of a sigh. She had not known that it would be this tough when her children started to grow. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, her children were now all safely in bed for the night, and the serving staff would tend to them through the night if it was needed. She had to gather herself once more and push these feelings aside and go and join her husband in their own chambers.
And so she did exactly that, her feet carrying her down the hallways towards their shared room as she took some deep and calming breaths to root herself and clear her mind of thoughts of her children growing too quickly. This was the reality of life and of being a mother, they could not remain small children for ever, she knew that. By the time she made it back to her and Tython’s chambers, she had managed to push aside those thoughts and feelings, and no trace of it remained on her face or in her eyes as she stepped into her own room to find sleep for herself.