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He was supposed to be enjoying an archery lesson with his uncle, Mihail, and getting told how good he was getting at it. He’d been practicing constantly since the last lesson, wanting badly to be impressive like his uncle. But instead of preparing to show off how much he improved, Dion was holding back tears. He couldn’t cry in the carriage. He wasn’t a baby but—
It had been all Uncle Yiannis’ fault! Dion had thrown a tantrum because his bed had been made wrong (and, no, he would not hear the assurances that it had been prepared in the same way as usual). Uncle Yiannis didn’t like when he was upset or when he cried. Instead of making that dumb slave fix it like Uncle Mihail would, Yiannis told him that he would soon be sent to the mines.
—he couldn’t stop thinking about his uncle’s words. They were scary! He’d argued then that it wasn’t true even though Grandpa had sent his father and his Kotas uncles to the mines. His evening was fraught with nightmares but he refused to say a word to anyone, terrified that he’d be told his uncle spoke the truth.
He wouldn’t be able to keep it together for long.
The moment he arrived at the Thanasi archontiko, Dion ran for Mihail’s room. If anyone could assure him and fix this, it was—
“Uncle Mimi!” He rushed forward for a hug, no longer able to hold back tears. “Tell me Uncle Yiannis is lying!”
Ché
Dion
Ché
Dion
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He was supposed to be enjoying an archery lesson with his uncle, Mihail, and getting told how good he was getting at it. He’d been practicing constantly since the last lesson, wanting badly to be impressive like his uncle. But instead of preparing to show off how much he improved, Dion was holding back tears. He couldn’t cry in the carriage. He wasn’t a baby but—
It had been all Uncle Yiannis’ fault! Dion had thrown a tantrum because his bed had been made wrong (and, no, he would not hear the assurances that it had been prepared in the same way as usual). Uncle Yiannis didn’t like when he was upset or when he cried. Instead of making that dumb slave fix it like Uncle Mihail would, Yiannis told him that he would soon be sent to the mines.
—he couldn’t stop thinking about his uncle’s words. They were scary! He’d argued then that it wasn’t true even though Grandpa had sent his father and his Kotas uncles to the mines. His evening was fraught with nightmares but he refused to say a word to anyone, terrified that he’d be told his uncle spoke the truth.
He wouldn’t be able to keep it together for long.
The moment he arrived at the Thanasi archontiko, Dion ran for Mihail’s room. If anyone could assure him and fix this, it was—
“Uncle Mimi!” He rushed forward for a hug, no longer able to hold back tears. “Tell me Uncle Yiannis is lying!”
Today was supposed to be fun.
He was supposed to be enjoying an archery lesson with his uncle, Mihail, and getting told how good he was getting at it. He’d been practicing constantly since the last lesson, wanting badly to be impressive like his uncle. But instead of preparing to show off how much he improved, Dion was holding back tears. He couldn’t cry in the carriage. He wasn’t a baby but—
It had been all Uncle Yiannis’ fault! Dion had thrown a tantrum because his bed had been made wrong (and, no, he would not hear the assurances that it had been prepared in the same way as usual). Uncle Yiannis didn’t like when he was upset or when he cried. Instead of making that dumb slave fix it like Uncle Mihail would, Yiannis told him that he would soon be sent to the mines.
—he couldn’t stop thinking about his uncle’s words. They were scary! He’d argued then that it wasn’t true even though Grandpa had sent his father and his Kotas uncles to the mines. His evening was fraught with nightmares but he refused to say a word to anyone, terrified that he’d be told his uncle spoke the truth.
He wouldn’t be able to keep it together for long.
The moment he arrived at the Thanasi archontiko, Dion ran for Mihail’s room. If anyone could assure him and fix this, it was—
“Uncle Mimi!” He rushed forward for a hug, no longer able to hold back tears. “Tell me Uncle Yiannis is lying!”
Kindness did not come easily to Mihail.
It never had. There simply did not exist within him the capacity necessary to feign affection for most other individuals, for he found nothing more exhausting than having to spend his time caring for those who were thoroughly unworthy of his attention. There were only a small number of individuals that he thought of as anything close to worthy of his loving attention. Nethis, for one. Evras and Thea, of course, went without saying. Draco. But, perhaps strange given the nature of the boy’s paternal family and his dislike for the boy’s namesake, there was also a soft spot in Mihail’s heart for his beloved nephew, Dion.
Today, they were meant to be enjoying an archery lesson together. Since they had started their lessons together a year prior, Dion had already shown plenty of process, and Mihail was growing increasingly proud of him as he watched the boy succeed. Nonetheless, there was always room for improvement — his uncle, after all, had spent thirteen years practising his craft thus far — and Mihail was not planning to stop the classes until he was absolutely certain that his nephew had become one of the finest archers around. Perhaps not as fine as he, but certainly skilled.
However, when the boy arrived, rushing into his room without even bothering to knock as though such a thing was not dangerous in the Thanasi household, he was in tears, and his words came out in a rushed panic. Mihail naturally extended his arms as though hugs were not a foreign concept to him, letting the boy wrap himself around his waist. Plenty of awful things could be said about the youngest Thanasi, but the one certain positive was that he was always there for his beloved nephew, no matter what. After all, it was not as if the Kotas family were particularly known for their softness and somebody needed to teach the boy that men could show their own vulnerability.
“Dion,” he whispered, his voice low so as not to overwhelm the boy further. “Dion. Breathe with me.” He did not pull away, but kept his body steady as he held his nephew, breathing gently so that the dark-haired youth could follow his pattern and begin to calm himself in turn. “Now, when you can, tell me what your Uncle Yiannis said. What happened?” He could guess, but he would rather not make an assumption when most such things tended to lead to foolishness.
Az
Mihail
Az
Mihail
Awards
First Impressions:Slim; Broken nose, piercing gaze, red-painted nails.
Address: Your His Lordship
It never had. There simply did not exist within him the capacity necessary to feign affection for most other individuals, for he found nothing more exhausting than having to spend his time caring for those who were thoroughly unworthy of his attention. There were only a small number of individuals that he thought of as anything close to worthy of his loving attention. Nethis, for one. Evras and Thea, of course, went without saying. Draco. But, perhaps strange given the nature of the boy’s paternal family and his dislike for the boy’s namesake, there was also a soft spot in Mihail’s heart for his beloved nephew, Dion.
Today, they were meant to be enjoying an archery lesson together. Since they had started their lessons together a year prior, Dion had already shown plenty of process, and Mihail was growing increasingly proud of him as he watched the boy succeed. Nonetheless, there was always room for improvement — his uncle, after all, had spent thirteen years practising his craft thus far — and Mihail was not planning to stop the classes until he was absolutely certain that his nephew had become one of the finest archers around. Perhaps not as fine as he, but certainly skilled.
However, when the boy arrived, rushing into his room without even bothering to knock as though such a thing was not dangerous in the Thanasi household, he was in tears, and his words came out in a rushed panic. Mihail naturally extended his arms as though hugs were not a foreign concept to him, letting the boy wrap himself around his waist. Plenty of awful things could be said about the youngest Thanasi, but the one certain positive was that he was always there for his beloved nephew, no matter what. After all, it was not as if the Kotas family were particularly known for their softness and somebody needed to teach the boy that men could show their own vulnerability.
“Dion,” he whispered, his voice low so as not to overwhelm the boy further. “Dion. Breathe with me.” He did not pull away, but kept his body steady as he held his nephew, breathing gently so that the dark-haired youth could follow his pattern and begin to calm himself in turn. “Now, when you can, tell me what your Uncle Yiannis said. What happened?” He could guess, but he would rather not make an assumption when most such things tended to lead to foolishness.
Kindness did not come easily to Mihail.
It never had. There simply did not exist within him the capacity necessary to feign affection for most other individuals, for he found nothing more exhausting than having to spend his time caring for those who were thoroughly unworthy of his attention. There were only a small number of individuals that he thought of as anything close to worthy of his loving attention. Nethis, for one. Evras and Thea, of course, went without saying. Draco. But, perhaps strange given the nature of the boy’s paternal family and his dislike for the boy’s namesake, there was also a soft spot in Mihail’s heart for his beloved nephew, Dion.
Today, they were meant to be enjoying an archery lesson together. Since they had started their lessons together a year prior, Dion had already shown plenty of process, and Mihail was growing increasingly proud of him as he watched the boy succeed. Nonetheless, there was always room for improvement — his uncle, after all, had spent thirteen years practising his craft thus far — and Mihail was not planning to stop the classes until he was absolutely certain that his nephew had become one of the finest archers around. Perhaps not as fine as he, but certainly skilled.
However, when the boy arrived, rushing into his room without even bothering to knock as though such a thing was not dangerous in the Thanasi household, he was in tears, and his words came out in a rushed panic. Mihail naturally extended his arms as though hugs were not a foreign concept to him, letting the boy wrap himself around his waist. Plenty of awful things could be said about the youngest Thanasi, but the one certain positive was that he was always there for his beloved nephew, no matter what. After all, it was not as if the Kotas family were particularly known for their softness and somebody needed to teach the boy that men could show their own vulnerability.
“Dion,” he whispered, his voice low so as not to overwhelm the boy further. “Dion. Breathe with me.” He did not pull away, but kept his body steady as he held his nephew, breathing gently so that the dark-haired youth could follow his pattern and begin to calm himself in turn. “Now, when you can, tell me what your Uncle Yiannis said. What happened?” He could guess, but he would rather not make an assumption when most such things tended to lead to foolishness.
