Rene smiled radiantly over at her, momentarily abandoning her perusal of the art supplies to give answer to her inquiry.

'It never requires coercion to convince me to visit your splendid homeland. I plan on returning very soon to continue my studies,' this news brought Ophelia great joy. She let out a quiet gasp, gently taking one of the young girl's hands and squeezing her delicate fingers.
"DOes this mean that you indeed intend to enroll in our art school?" she queried. "For should you choose to, you would be spending a lot if time in Teangea!"
The very thought caused the Condos's heart to flutter with eager anticipation.
"I do hope that, should your desire not be to further your name at court, you will indeed continue your education in Taengea; you know that we praise the arts most highly, and I would revel in the opportunity to spend more time with you."

'My dear Ophelia, I should hardly be qualified to advise you what to display on your altar. It is not the fruit of our labors exclusively that please the gods, it is the content of our hearts. An apple offered in humility is a greater gift than a crown offered in casual passing.'
She was right, of course, as she so often was. Despite her youth, Lady Rene was in possession of a wisdom far beyond her years, a wisdom that Ophelia never took for granted.
"You are, as usual, correct, my dear," the older noble replied. "Your wisdom never fails to astound me. I meant only that perhaps you might grant me some artistic inspiration, for I find your work to be second to none. I cannot decide if I next wish to try my hand at sculpting an owl, or Athena herself -- perhaps I should combine the two, and sculpt a statuette of Athena with an owl on her shoulder to make as an offering?" she suggested, wondering what Rene would make of this idea. "I could perhaps even sew a miniature chitton for her, and fashion fibulae small enough to pin the garment in place upon the sculpture. It would not be the first garment I have made. Many of my own are made by my own hand, as I may have told you."

It was true. Though many of the fine pieces in her extensive wardrobe were bought, many were not. She had a keen eye for design and could work at the wheel for hours without tiring or succumbing to boredom. Many noblewomen had mistaken her own designs for those of well-known dressmaners, and it had been with quiet modesty that she had corrected them. Most of the garments she made were for the less fortunate. They were always glad to receive a chitton, hymation or cloak, especially since she put such care and thought into each piece she made. Although they were for lesser beings, she still made the effort to make them comely and comfortable, a sentiment which did not go unnoticed by those who received her charity.

Much to her relief, Rene seemed quite happy to accept her suggestion of a less formal approach between them, explaining only that since Ophelia was a lady, she could not help but address her as such on occasion. Ophelia beamed brightly, quite happy to take this as a reasonable explanation.
"Just as you are an undisputed Lady, and undoubtedly one of my dearest friends, my sweet artisan," she turned then to Alexandros, not wanting to leave him out of the conversation. "And by all means, Sir, you may feel free to call me Ophelia also, if it pleases you, for I would not wish to hold you to formality at a celebration of peace. In turn, may I be so bold as to request the favour of addressing you by your given name? Would it offend you if I were to call you Alexandros?"

She listened carefully to Rene's next words, taking in all that she said. She took the time to truly think on her response, for Rene had that effect on her. The questions she posed were deeply thought-provoking, which was one of the many reasons Ophelia enjoyed her company. Conversations with the young Nikolaos were rarely frivolous. Was it that men truly outshone women, or was it that women had seldom been given the chance to prove themselves superior or equal? She supposed a woman rarely could, as women were seldom educated as well as their male counterparts and thus could not hope to fairly compete. It warmed the Taengean's heart, however, to hear that Rene held her in such such esteem. The knowledge that her dear friend believed her to be a pioneer of women's rights was truly a blessing.
"My dear, your sweet words move me more than I can say. As you know, I ask not that our sex be the dominant, merely that we be given a fair chance to display our talents, and that they be appreciated as sometimes they are not," realizing that this might all seem rather revolutionary, she turned to Alexandros with a small smile. "Our words may shock you, my dear soldier, but I assure you that we are quite harmless in our wants. I myself wish only for my dear friend here to be recognized for the brilliance of her art as a man might be for the brilliance of his, for there are many male artists of great talent who I revere very much."
To both, she continued her musing, fixing one eye upon the soldier and another upon the artisan. "I believe that a part of the problem is that women are not educated as they should be. Do forgive me, Sir, if I express any notions with which you disagree -- it is not my intention to shock or displease you. I simply mean that most women are at a disadvantage because they have no access to a tutor and are only schooled by their mothers in domestic matters. This is all very well for wifely preparation, but what if that woman had an untapped potential? A gift that went undiscovered because her mother knew not how to harness it? As a noblewoman, I have been fortunate because I was give tutors, but at first those tutors focussed only on the feminine arts. They began educating me more thoroughly when one in particular, a male tutor, took note of my inquisitive mind. He said that my mind was far advanced for my sex, and that it would be a shame to waste such a gift, and so took it upon himself to educate me in a manner that nearly equalled my brother. To that kind and dear man I shall be forever grateful."
She loved that man. He was as dear to her as bloodkin, for in those hours they had spent hunched over dusty volumes by candlelight, an unbreakable bond had formed between them. The lines between student and teacher, noble and sage, man and woman had blurred, and they had eventually become merely two people with a thirst for knowledge and a fierce loyalty towards each other.
"Do forgive me for my ramblings, my friends. I meant only to say that I believe both women and men to be in possession of great talents, sometimes even the same talents, but the talents of men are easier to spot. Sometimes, it takes a kind and patient man such as my dear tutor to spot the talents of a woman and bring them to the forefront. I do hope however that the playing field shall be expanded, and we will seek great things in the future from both genders."

Alexandros' comment on art mediums was clearly surprising to Rene. It delighted Ophelia, however, for she knew it would give her cherished friend an opportunity to speak at length on the subject she loved best. As predicted, Rene's eyes lit up with glee as she launched into her musings. Once Rene was finished examining the slate, Ophelia picked it up, lightly tracing the trident with her fingers. It was a stunning piece, but she would much rather craft her own offering to Poseidon. The journey to Colchis had been rough, so she had determined to leave an offering on the shore before boarding the ship to return to Taengea. Gently setting the slate on the table once more, she made a note to begin her creation as soon as she possibly could, lest it displease the God of the Sea.
'Very few things, in life, are immovable,' Rene's words drifted over to her, bringing her attention back to the conversation. 'One must simply have the patience and the delicacy and the determination to chisel gently. Is the material art? Or the subject? Who determines what art is? Myself as the creator? You as the critic and viewer? Both of us? Neither of us?'

That was a good question, one that Ophelia took some time to ponder. In her mind, it was both of them, both the artist and the person looking upon it. Rene had something to say with her piece, therefore she determined one interpretation; gazing at the art, the thoughts and feelings of the critic made up another.

'Were I to take a sword, and plunge it into that tree, it would signify nothing, maybe perhaps a moment of anger, but little more, no? But if I were to plunge a sword into a tree, and paint its portrait, or create a sculpt of it, or merely put up a sign in front of the tree with the word ‘frustration’ on it, does it not suddenly mean something? Does one not suddenly wonder about the story behind the sword in the tree? Who placed it there? What was the measure of their frustration? Did it begin with the tree? Or end with it? Was it a lengthy battle of many days, and great losses, and the last bastions of strength saw a foe missed but tree impaled, and there such the sword remained, could that be a possibility?'

Ophelia glanced at the tree, a thousand visions flashing through her mind all at once. She envisioned a mischievous dryad tormenting a lustful nobleman until, enraged, he plunged his sword into the tree of her residence; a terrified woman concealing herself from an unwanted betrothed within the high branches of a tree, only for his sword to shake the bough so violently that she toppled to her death. Already she could see these tragic scenes taking form in her mind, words weaving together as easily as a spider's web, all because of the question Rene had posed. Metaphors were her paint, similes her brushes.

'What is art, Master Soldier? Is it clay? Is it a sword? Is it a tree? Is it all of those things? Or none of them? Or is it...a concept? A feeling? What is art if not a vehicle for people to communicate. Can one not look upon the great sculpture The Dying Gaul, the fatally wounded Galatian who is succumbing to his battle wounds, and not weep? Art is hardly an answer, and nearly always a question. In its purest form, is it not me, as the artist asking you, the viewer and aesthete, of what stirs within you in response?'

"I know not what our dear new friend will say, but I believe art is all of those things and more. Art is in the eye of the beholder; art is interpretation, both that of the creator and those who have the privilege of gazing upon the creation. I know I shall be thinking about trees for a long time to come now. I will be very shocked if at least ten poems do not come from the questions you have posed today. From the image of that sword alone, I have five potential poems begging to be written! You inspire even when you do not mean to, little dove -- I have absolutely no idea how you do it."

'What gifts, pray tell, do your hands possess?' the artist asked the soldier. Ophelia turned to him, most curious to hear his answer.

At the mention of ceramics, Alexandros enquired if perhaps Rene might be of assistance, for he was in need of a new pitcher, and would rightfully prefer to trust a friend than a stranger with his coin. Rene immediately launched into a description of the three types of ceramics, enquiring as to which would suit his needs best. The rich aroma of the honeyed duck lingered tantalizingly in the air, mingling with the scent of wine, tea and other delectable treats.

She too had been shocked by the sharp note in Rene's voice, for it was so unlike her typical sweetness. Although she was right, and hubris was a dangerous thing, she pitied the soldier immediately. His apology seemed genuine, as did everything about him. Rene, too, appeared to realize this, for she softened almost instantly, her chiding becoming milder before she too offered an apology of her own.
"My friend is correct in stating that pride comes before a fall, but I can see why you might take pride in your accomplishments, brave a man as you are," Ophelia stated diplomatically. "The Gods have been most gracious in granting us all our individual talents, and we find yours most interested. I did not lie when I said that I believed you possess the physique to model as one of the great heroes. I am no commissioned artist, but perhaps you would do me the honour of modelling for me anyway, despite my amateur status?" Ophelia's smile was almost shy as she addressed him. She hoped that her words would smooth over any awkward bumps that had formed between the trinity, and that once more they could all be amicable. She would, however, be grateful for such a model. Though she was no professional, she did enjoy art very much, and she could easily see him as Theseus with Medusa's head held high, or even Perseus slaying the minotaur. "Of course, you are under no obligation to accept, but I shall be in Colchis for one month, should you find yourself available to me."

Her heart ached for him as he spoke, his words so filled with candor as to cause her once more to reach out to him. She settled her hand lightly on his shoulder, her emerald eyes meeting his with warmth and sympathy. She could not imagine what it must be like to march into battle day after day, suffering through hours of physical exhaustion and mental strain, never knowing if this fight would be your last. She could only guess at what a terrible thing it must be for both sides. Did the opposing sides ever consider that? Did they sympathize with their foes? Did they wonder whose father, brother or sun they were slaying as they drove their sword into another man's chest and watched the life drain from their eyes? Ophelia held back a shudder, lightly squeezing her new friend's shoulder before drawing her hand away.

"It must be terrible for you," she murmured. "For all of you, the other side included. Just imagining it gives me chills. I assure you, your rambles as you call them are not inappropriate. I find them highly insightful, and consider myself blessed that you have permitted me to glimpse the inner workings of your mind. You are an extraordinary man, Alexandros. Please, feel free to share anything you wish with us; unburden yourself entirely. I am more than eager to listen. I cannot make your life an easier one, though I wish I could, but I can offer you my deepest sympathies, and tell you that for your endurance of such a life, I think you one of the best of our species. I wish you safety in every future battle. Now that I know you, I shall pray for you often."
Rene seemed to share her sentiment, for she encouraged Alexandros to go on also, explaining that she found Alexandros's ramblings fascinating. She was right, they were fascinating. Ophelia had never known a man to speak so plainly before of his emotions and experiences, and she did not wish him to stop. Getting to know this man was a wonderful experience. True, her heart now ached to make his life less burdensome, but the ache served to remind her of how very fortunate she was, a lesson she would not soon forget.

And then things got strange. Rene spoke of a skill she possessed. She did not say what it was, but apparently to demonstrate it, she would need a shield and a sword. Ophelia's head whipped around and she stared at the girl as if she had suddenly grown an extra head. It was not that she objected to Rene possessing skills in self-defense, if indeed she did, for Evanthe was well-versed in such matters. It was simply that she had never known that Rene could even lift a sword.

"Rene, why in Hera's name do you need a sword?" she questioned with undisguised curiosity. "I mean, I imagine we can find a way to get you one, but to brandish one out here in the open might not be such a good idea, dearest. The guards would be upon us before you can say Poseidon."