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The date almost escaped Timaeus given how little time mattered without his brother present in his life anymore. Every day was another miserable trod as he tried to pick up the pieces and accept that Nico was never coming back. But how was he supposed to do that? A part of him had died that day, almost as if Thanatos had reaped two souls instead of just one at that fateful dinner. He couldn’t see it. If asked, Timaeus would not be able to name the part of him that had been torn from him. It was maddening as it had been taken so roughly that he could still feel the jagged pieces of where he had once been whole -- pressing and scraping against every fiber of his being, forever reminding him that things should not be this way. Nicomedes had always been the strong brother. He had been the leader. Every single time things had gotten rough, Timaeus knew that he could turn to his older brother who would try to help -- of course, only after gently knocking him upside the head for being an idiot in the first place.
Never in a thousand years had Timaeus ever thought that Nicomedes would disappear, taken from them all as if he had never existed in the first place.
As Timaeus scaled the rocky cliff, searching for that flat ledge high above the ground, he couldn’t help feeling bitter with the way the fates had decided that the courses of history must turn. Nicomedes was supposed to be the Baron right now. He was supposed to be the one that the family lineage depended on. Nico was going to be the one who got to grow old as he forged the next grand era for the Valaoritis family. Tim was supposed to be the one who rose through the military ranks, brought pride to the Valaoritis name through conquests to the north and the south. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that drove it forward like this.
Nicomedes had been the politician of the family. He had been the one who sat with father during all of those senate meetings in the capital. He had always been the one who had no problem lifting his voice to the same level of the princes and the kings when faced with political matters in the Senate. If Timaeus wasn’t always sure to sit near Zanon, one of the Kotas princes, he would have absolutely no clue what was going on half of the time… and now that Timaeus had just turned in his resignation from the post of Captain just a short while prior… it just wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was never meant to be in this position, a leader for his family and guardian over his province. Yet there was nothing he could do about it. This would be his role until he died and the most that he could hope for was that his end would be just as untimely as both of the men that had come before him.
It was a horrible thing to think. Wishing for one’s own death, but Timaeus didn’t know how he was going to fulfill this duty suddenly placed upon his shoulders. Nico, always being so smart, at least had the foresight to teach Tim a few things in case the worst happened, but he was still woefully unprepared. He knew it. Others could see it. Oh, how Timaeus longed to escape it all just even for a short while.
That was why he was here climbing the cliff face and utterly not caring about whether or not if his grip was tight enough upon the stones. Would death really be that terrible of an option right now? It would free him from the shackles that politics and family duty had placed upon him and given that he was cracking beneath the pressure of these great weights, it would do him some good. He’d be with Nico again. Timaeus would finally get to speak with his father again -- a man who he had not seen since that fateful night when he was sixteen, where he had fled from the Midas manor in a fit of rage, only to return when news of the man’s death reached his ears. What wouldn’t he give for a chance to set things right? As grand as those adventures had been, Timaeus would trade it all in an instant if it meant that he got the chance to say goodbye. His years at sea just wasn’t worth the pain that came with knowing that his last words to the man who had raised him had been spat out in anger.
As he finally reached the overlook, hauling his sore body over the edge as he glanced down at the valley below, Timaeus knew that no matter how appealing launching himself over the lip would be at this moment, he couldn’t do it. He could be downright selfish at the best of times, but he knew that he could not do this sort of thing. Not when Silanos too had disappeared in the night and left Timaeus all alone in Eubocris to fend off the hungry wolves of grief. Not when he knew that his mother and cousin were somewhere far down below and would never survive without one of the brothers at the helm. One was a bastard, the other was losing her mind. How on earth could Timaeus leave them destitute like a coward? Not to mention everything his ancestors had done before him. Would that be for nothing if his own heir had vanished to the wind with Timaeus unsure that he would ever see him again?
Laying down on the harsh stone, Timaeus closed his eyes wishing that this would all go away. If the fates were kind, he would climb back down later and find that the clock had turned backward in order to raise the dead from their graves. Everything would be fine. Everything would be alright. But what was the point of wishing for things that will never come to pass? Nicomedes was dead. Silanos was gone. No amount of willing for it to change would make this come to pass. All he could do was learn how to accept the reality of this mess, but could he ever really do that? Would he ever learn to be comfortable with this new lot in life? How on earth could he ever be comfortable with the fact that his life was no longer his own to live and now he was bound to a duty to the dead to make sure that everything they had worked for did not disappear because of one miserable twenty-two-year-old. As much as he hated it, there was nothing that he could do about it beyond just listening to the wind as he cleared his head, hoping that Boreas might bring him some sort of strength to continue on when everything felt so hopeless.
He would have to find it.
No matter how awful things might seem, Timaeus would have to shoulder the burden as there was no one else to do it. A part of him might have withered and died the moment that Nicomedes left him -- but the rest of Tim was still here. Others needed him to stay here and if he couldn’t do it for himself, he would at least do it for them. Do it for the mother that couldn’t lose another son. Do it for the cousin that would have no hopes as a cursed bastard. Do it for the men who had left him so that at least they would be able to rest easy in the Fields of Asphodel, Elysium, or wherever else they had ended up. That was the only thing that he could really do, after all, and after Tim spent a few hours up here on his own, he would eventually find his way back down to the ground where he would pretend that everything was fine until he could get a krater of wine into his belly like he had done every other night for the past six months.
Clear your head and soldier on.
That was the Valaoritis way, wasn’t it?
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Check out their information page here.
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Six months.
It had been six months since Nicomedes had died.
The date almost escaped Timaeus given how little time mattered without his brother present in his life anymore. Every day was another miserable trod as he tried to pick up the pieces and accept that Nico was never coming back. But how was he supposed to do that? A part of him had died that day, almost as if Thanatos had reaped two souls instead of just one at that fateful dinner. He couldn’t see it. If asked, Timaeus would not be able to name the part of him that had been torn from him. It was maddening as it had been taken so roughly that he could still feel the jagged pieces of where he had once been whole -- pressing and scraping against every fiber of his being, forever reminding him that things should not be this way. Nicomedes had always been the strong brother. He had been the leader. Every single time things had gotten rough, Timaeus knew that he could turn to his older brother who would try to help -- of course, only after gently knocking him upside the head for being an idiot in the first place.
Never in a thousand years had Timaeus ever thought that Nicomedes would disappear, taken from them all as if he had never existed in the first place.
As Timaeus scaled the rocky cliff, searching for that flat ledge high above the ground, he couldn’t help feeling bitter with the way the fates had decided that the courses of history must turn. Nicomedes was supposed to be the Baron right now. He was supposed to be the one that the family lineage depended on. Nico was going to be the one who got to grow old as he forged the next grand era for the Valaoritis family. Tim was supposed to be the one who rose through the military ranks, brought pride to the Valaoritis name through conquests to the north and the south. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that drove it forward like this.
Nicomedes had been the politician of the family. He had been the one who sat with father during all of those senate meetings in the capital. He had always been the one who had no problem lifting his voice to the same level of the princes and the kings when faced with political matters in the Senate. If Timaeus wasn’t always sure to sit near Zanon, one of the Kotas princes, he would have absolutely no clue what was going on half of the time… and now that Timaeus had just turned in his resignation from the post of Captain just a short while prior… it just wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was never meant to be in this position, a leader for his family and guardian over his province. Yet there was nothing he could do about it. This would be his role until he died and the most that he could hope for was that his end would be just as untimely as both of the men that had come before him.
It was a horrible thing to think. Wishing for one’s own death, but Timaeus didn’t know how he was going to fulfill this duty suddenly placed upon his shoulders. Nico, always being so smart, at least had the foresight to teach Tim a few things in case the worst happened, but he was still woefully unprepared. He knew it. Others could see it. Oh, how Timaeus longed to escape it all just even for a short while.
That was why he was here climbing the cliff face and utterly not caring about whether or not if his grip was tight enough upon the stones. Would death really be that terrible of an option right now? It would free him from the shackles that politics and family duty had placed upon him and given that he was cracking beneath the pressure of these great weights, it would do him some good. He’d be with Nico again. Timaeus would finally get to speak with his father again -- a man who he had not seen since that fateful night when he was sixteen, where he had fled from the Midas manor in a fit of rage, only to return when news of the man’s death reached his ears. What wouldn’t he give for a chance to set things right? As grand as those adventures had been, Timaeus would trade it all in an instant if it meant that he got the chance to say goodbye. His years at sea just wasn’t worth the pain that came with knowing that his last words to the man who had raised him had been spat out in anger.
As he finally reached the overlook, hauling his sore body over the edge as he glanced down at the valley below, Timaeus knew that no matter how appealing launching himself over the lip would be at this moment, he couldn’t do it. He could be downright selfish at the best of times, but he knew that he could not do this sort of thing. Not when Silanos too had disappeared in the night and left Timaeus all alone in Eubocris to fend off the hungry wolves of grief. Not when he knew that his mother and cousin were somewhere far down below and would never survive without one of the brothers at the helm. One was a bastard, the other was losing her mind. How on earth could Timaeus leave them destitute like a coward? Not to mention everything his ancestors had done before him. Would that be for nothing if his own heir had vanished to the wind with Timaeus unsure that he would ever see him again?
Laying down on the harsh stone, Timaeus closed his eyes wishing that this would all go away. If the fates were kind, he would climb back down later and find that the clock had turned backward in order to raise the dead from their graves. Everything would be fine. Everything would be alright. But what was the point of wishing for things that will never come to pass? Nicomedes was dead. Silanos was gone. No amount of willing for it to change would make this come to pass. All he could do was learn how to accept the reality of this mess, but could he ever really do that? Would he ever learn to be comfortable with this new lot in life? How on earth could he ever be comfortable with the fact that his life was no longer his own to live and now he was bound to a duty to the dead to make sure that everything they had worked for did not disappear because of one miserable twenty-two-year-old. As much as he hated it, there was nothing that he could do about it beyond just listening to the wind as he cleared his head, hoping that Boreas might bring him some sort of strength to continue on when everything felt so hopeless.
He would have to find it.
No matter how awful things might seem, Timaeus would have to shoulder the burden as there was no one else to do it. A part of him might have withered and died the moment that Nicomedes left him -- but the rest of Tim was still here. Others needed him to stay here and if he couldn’t do it for himself, he would at least do it for them. Do it for the mother that couldn’t lose another son. Do it for the cousin that would have no hopes as a cursed bastard. Do it for the men who had left him so that at least they would be able to rest easy in the Fields of Asphodel, Elysium, or wherever else they had ended up. That was the only thing that he could really do, after all, and after Tim spent a few hours up here on his own, he would eventually find his way back down to the ground where he would pretend that everything was fine until he could get a krater of wine into his belly like he had done every other night for the past six months.
Clear your head and soldier on.
That was the Valaoritis way, wasn’t it?
Six months.
It had been six months since Nicomedes had died.
The date almost escaped Timaeus given how little time mattered without his brother present in his life anymore. Every day was another miserable trod as he tried to pick up the pieces and accept that Nico was never coming back. But how was he supposed to do that? A part of him had died that day, almost as if Thanatos had reaped two souls instead of just one at that fateful dinner. He couldn’t see it. If asked, Timaeus would not be able to name the part of him that had been torn from him. It was maddening as it had been taken so roughly that he could still feel the jagged pieces of where he had once been whole -- pressing and scraping against every fiber of his being, forever reminding him that things should not be this way. Nicomedes had always been the strong brother. He had been the leader. Every single time things had gotten rough, Timaeus knew that he could turn to his older brother who would try to help -- of course, only after gently knocking him upside the head for being an idiot in the first place.
Never in a thousand years had Timaeus ever thought that Nicomedes would disappear, taken from them all as if he had never existed in the first place.
As Timaeus scaled the rocky cliff, searching for that flat ledge high above the ground, he couldn’t help feeling bitter with the way the fates had decided that the courses of history must turn. Nicomedes was supposed to be the Baron right now. He was supposed to be the one that the family lineage depended on. Nico was going to be the one who got to grow old as he forged the next grand era for the Valaoritis family. Tim was supposed to be the one who rose through the military ranks, brought pride to the Valaoritis name through conquests to the north and the south. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that drove it forward like this.
Nicomedes had been the politician of the family. He had been the one who sat with father during all of those senate meetings in the capital. He had always been the one who had no problem lifting his voice to the same level of the princes and the kings when faced with political matters in the Senate. If Timaeus wasn’t always sure to sit near Zanon, one of the Kotas princes, he would have absolutely no clue what was going on half of the time… and now that Timaeus had just turned in his resignation from the post of Captain just a short while prior… it just wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was never meant to be in this position, a leader for his family and guardian over his province. Yet there was nothing he could do about it. This would be his role until he died and the most that he could hope for was that his end would be just as untimely as both of the men that had come before him.
It was a horrible thing to think. Wishing for one’s own death, but Timaeus didn’t know how he was going to fulfill this duty suddenly placed upon his shoulders. Nico, always being so smart, at least had the foresight to teach Tim a few things in case the worst happened, but he was still woefully unprepared. He knew it. Others could see it. Oh, how Timaeus longed to escape it all just even for a short while.
That was why he was here climbing the cliff face and utterly not caring about whether or not if his grip was tight enough upon the stones. Would death really be that terrible of an option right now? It would free him from the shackles that politics and family duty had placed upon him and given that he was cracking beneath the pressure of these great weights, it would do him some good. He’d be with Nico again. Timaeus would finally get to speak with his father again -- a man who he had not seen since that fateful night when he was sixteen, where he had fled from the Midas manor in a fit of rage, only to return when news of the man’s death reached his ears. What wouldn’t he give for a chance to set things right? As grand as those adventures had been, Timaeus would trade it all in an instant if it meant that he got the chance to say goodbye. His years at sea just wasn’t worth the pain that came with knowing that his last words to the man who had raised him had been spat out in anger.
As he finally reached the overlook, hauling his sore body over the edge as he glanced down at the valley below, Timaeus knew that no matter how appealing launching himself over the lip would be at this moment, he couldn’t do it. He could be downright selfish at the best of times, but he knew that he could not do this sort of thing. Not when Silanos too had disappeared in the night and left Timaeus all alone in Eubocris to fend off the hungry wolves of grief. Not when he knew that his mother and cousin were somewhere far down below and would never survive without one of the brothers at the helm. One was a bastard, the other was losing her mind. How on earth could Timaeus leave them destitute like a coward? Not to mention everything his ancestors had done before him. Would that be for nothing if his own heir had vanished to the wind with Timaeus unsure that he would ever see him again?
Laying down on the harsh stone, Timaeus closed his eyes wishing that this would all go away. If the fates were kind, he would climb back down later and find that the clock had turned backward in order to raise the dead from their graves. Everything would be fine. Everything would be alright. But what was the point of wishing for things that will never come to pass? Nicomedes was dead. Silanos was gone. No amount of willing for it to change would make this come to pass. All he could do was learn how to accept the reality of this mess, but could he ever really do that? Would he ever learn to be comfortable with this new lot in life? How on earth could he ever be comfortable with the fact that his life was no longer his own to live and now he was bound to a duty to the dead to make sure that everything they had worked for did not disappear because of one miserable twenty-two-year-old. As much as he hated it, there was nothing that he could do about it beyond just listening to the wind as he cleared his head, hoping that Boreas might bring him some sort of strength to continue on when everything felt so hopeless.
He would have to find it.
No matter how awful things might seem, Timaeus would have to shoulder the burden as there was no one else to do it. A part of him might have withered and died the moment that Nicomedes left him -- but the rest of Tim was still here. Others needed him to stay here and if he couldn’t do it for himself, he would at least do it for them. Do it for the mother that couldn’t lose another son. Do it for the cousin that would have no hopes as a cursed bastard. Do it for the men who had left him so that at least they would be able to rest easy in the Fields of Asphodel, Elysium, or wherever else they had ended up. That was the only thing that he could really do, after all, and after Tim spent a few hours up here on his own, he would eventually find his way back down to the ground where he would pretend that everything was fine until he could get a krater of wine into his belly like he had done every other night for the past six months.