Rafail was a sound sleeper, and always hard to wake once he eventually nodded off for the night, a fact which was aided in part by the fact that the ten-year-old tended to live quite the active life. It was hardly strange: he was young enough that every day was a burst of energy, and he had always had most anything he wanted to while away the many long hours of the day.

This day had been no different. He had woken up bright and early, his eyes snapping wide open almost at the same time as the sun shone through the windows. He had downed his milk unceremoniously at breakfast, so that there was a white stain on his face which his new nursemaid, Delia, had had to wipe off - Papa would have not have been happy had he seen - and fidgeted uncomfortably when the woman had tried to lead him to the bath and dress him. He would have gladly rushed to play right then, had she not dragged him away to some lesson or another which he truly did not enjoy. The tutor was the finest in Athenia or Greece or something like that, but Rafail thoroughly did not care because lessons were dull and, for whatever reason, skipping them was the one thing he was always denied.

When, at long last, Rafail had been released from the dull confines of his education (like anybody needed to be able to name every single province in Athenia), he had been happy to clamber back to his chambers to play. He didn't want to brag, but he had the best toys. Lots of dolls to mimic soldiers and princes and princesses (it wasn't girly at all because they were only there to be rescued, as he'd informed Sofia in the past in case she had tried to play with them), and intricately carved wooden models of palaces and fortresses and grand estates so he could almost build his own miniature replica of Athenia in his bedroom. He'd even asked Papa to buy him a whole minuscule set of armour in expensive bronze that had been carved to fit his child's body, and a blunted sword that he liked to stab at the Marikas guards.

Today, he had dressed up in his fancy armour and a lovely golden crown to play the role of the prince, hands placed proudly on his hips so he could look at his handsome reflection before playing. He knew he was supposed to be a baron very soon, and then one day probably the king, but he liked to think that he was good at acting, and would have made an excellent stage actor, if Papa would have let him. Rafail's entire bedroom production was rather spectacular, to be fair, especially when he made Delia sit and play the part of the princess in his story, though he refused to kiss her at any point. She was all poor and weird, and she wasn't even pretty. Maybe he would ask Papa if he could get him a new one.

In the afternoon, when he had gotten bored with his make-believe fighting games, already broken one of his models by accidentally stepping through it in the thrill of the recreation, and possibly thrown several of the dolls at the wall as part of their punishment for standing in the way of his fake princess, cracking them in the process, the young lord had decided to go riding and abandon the mess of his home. He was growing up to become an excellent rider, and was of the mind that, by the time he was twelve, Papa would most definitely let him start training as a charioteer. Maybe Rafail could do that when he was a grown-up.

All this fun bred tiredness, however, and by the time the night had rolled around, the blonde was exhausted. He had almost fallen asleep at dinner, if not for wanting to make Papa proud by staying awake. But, no sooner had he returned to his chambers, half-hanging off Delia's hand as she led him up the stairs, eyes drifting closed already when she started to help him into his bedclothes, Rafail clambered into bed.

"Do you want a story?" she asked, lingering a moment to pour a goblet of water from the jug sat by his bedside.

"No," he announced, trying to sound imperious despite already having wrapped himself in his blankets. "Go away." She wasn't a patch on Mama, anyhow.

Rafail had fallen asleep before she had left the room, embroiled in some sweet dream which he would not remember when he woke up but which involved him being a prince and Mama still being alive and everything being perfect. He would easily have stayed asleep the full night had it not been for the sudden shake of his shoulder, and he rolled his head around, ready to tell his nursemaid to go away once more. Instead, when his eyes cracked open, they landed on the face of his younger sister.

There was a storm blowing, loud enough to rattle the wooden shutters of the windows. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, still confused as he attempted to wake himself, already muttering something about how it was the middle of the night and she should not have woken him. But the fear on her face changed his mind, and he decided to humour the girl just because. He did love his sister, after all.

"Fine," the boy muttered, looking around for something which would occupy Sofia's mind enough that she would forget all about the storm. His room was a horrific mess of toys and cushions and everything he owned tossed about carelessly because he could always have another if something went wrong. Cushions. That was an idea. Rafail reached for the pillow he had been lying on a moment earlier, nodding towards the rest of the room, where plenty lay strewn about. "The only way we can hide from the storm is by building our own fortress, like all the soldiers do so they can train, and where the princesses hide." That seemed reasonable enough.

He slipped from the bed, holding out a hand to aid his sister in doing the same. "Everybody knows that Zeus's lightning bolts cannot penetrate the mighty power of cushions. Thus, they shall be the materials for our fortress. A little challenge first." Challenge because he was tired and, really, tidying was a job for girls which he didn't want to do, and picking up pillows was close enough to that. Rafail reached for his beside goblet, sipping the water to try and wake up a little better. "We need to gather together each and every one of the cushions in these rooms and bring them here to the bed - but be quiet, in case we wake Papa. I will get the ones from the sofa." Maybe that would buy him a few more lovely minutes of sitting down.

As Sofia ran back and forth with gods knew how many cushions, Rafail took advantage of the moment to deposit himself comfortably on the couch, vaguely attempting to pile some of the cushions on his lap in a manner which implied he would have much rather been asleep just then. He might have allowed his eyelids to drift shut, and sleep to overcome him once more, had it not been for the sounds of his sister's footsteps pattering back and forth on the stone floor, and a nagging feeling that he should really stay awake and make sure she was alright, because Papa and Pavlos certainly weren't going to do that.

He finally heaved himself from the seat, moderately more awake than he had been a few moments prior, and gathered up the heap of cushions he had claimed from the couch. "We will be safe," he agreed as he dropped them on the bed beside his sister's own collection, scanning the pile she had made. There were enough, he thought, to build a reasonably-sized for the pair of them, although Rafail wasn't exactly the best at tasks like this. Building something seemed an awful lot like servants' work, but he supposed now was not the time to call his nursemaid from wherever she spent her nights. They would have to work this one out alone.

Sofia had already started gathering things, but the structure was falling down no matter how she tried things. For a moment, he watched, trying to figure out a solution that wouldn't lead to everything tumbling down on top of her and then, at last, when she seemed close to giving up, he poked his head inside the gap, worried that even that action would cause it to tumble down again.

"Sofi," he whispered, raising his voice just high enough to allow for some degree of soothing to fall among his words. "It's going to be alright. We just have to work out how to put them together. So..." Rafail glanced over the cushions once again, trying to remember anything he could from his lessons that might help them. "Right. We have to set the biggest ones up at the bottom, so they can hold everything up. You know, like when you see the temples and they have those big pillars that hold all the bits together? Like that." Rafail wasn't exactly sure whether or not that made sense, but it seemed right to him, so, as if to act on his words, he started to take those larger cushions himself, setting them into a comfortable structure around Sofia that he thought appeared suitably fortress-like. "There. That will help."

The only trouble was that there wasn't enough room for Rafail inside the pillow fortress itself, though he did not mind so much, and sat cross-legged in the entrance, reaching in a hand to pat Sofia gently in some level of reassurance. "Here, Sofi. I'll sit here, and then no one can get in and hurt you, alright? I'm going to guard you. I promise that no one will ever hurt you so long as I'm here. Not even Zeus!" He tried to think for a moment, then said: "But you know that Zeus doesn't want to hurt you, right? You're a perfect lady, you could never have done anything to anger him. So if he's shooting his lightning bolts, there's nothing you have to be scared about, even though it's loud."