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To Iris, it seemed as if her father had been given some semblance of strength in the last few days. At the King's funeral, he had walked beside her with only aid of her arm and the cane he seemed to carry around at all times these days. But the next day? It was as if he'd found an incredible sense of strength. Takis spent the morning playing with Phillipa until her governess pulled her away to her studies. Iris had had to leave to Aetaea to deliver the supplies that Queen Persephone had allotted to her for the rebuilding. Her father's retainer had accompanied her and aided in the organization and movement of the goods to the various sections of the province and then Iris had returned without him and had made it back to Athenia the morning of the third day after the King's death.
It was only then that Iris had gotten the news of Persephone's disappearance. Iris had spent a number of minutes, her hands braced against her desk in anger, worry, and frustration that so many forces had been pulling her in so many different directions. Would she have been able to help her friend? It was unlikely, but the thought didn't escape her. The idea that there could have been something she could have done to stop it, stop the attack on the Palati, hung sharply on her shoulders. What was truly wrong with Athenia to suddenly find itself so disorganized and losing two rulers within less than a week?
It was for this reason that Iris found herself on edge as she stepped out of her office, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. With so little sleep gained over the last few days all she honestly wanted to do was crawl into bed beside Aimias and catch at least two or three hours of sleep before the sun rose too high into the sky. There was something alluring and comforting about her friend's-- husband's warmth that allowed her to find some semblance of peace in all of the chaos.
But Takis promptly caught her arm as she passed through the door. Giving a surprised yelp, Iris turned more into her father, putting an arm around him in order to hug him properly. "Papa," she laughed a little, keeping her voice low as she looked up into his face. "You scared me. What are you doing up so early?" Iris questioned, an eyebrow lifting in perfect curiosity.
"I was looking to take a walk," Takis said with a smile, keeping his daughter's arm in his own. "Care to join me?" he asked. Something in his face had changed and Iris couldn't place it. Was he bothered by something? Did he feel ill? What did that determined expression mean? Was he finding healing strength after so long? In a moment of naivety, Iris couldn't help but feel pure joy at the thought. Shifting her arm, she settled it properly into the crook of Takis', giving a slow nod and a soft smile.
"Of course," Iris said lightly, "I've missed our morning routine," she added, letting her father lead her through the back of the house and into the small garden that he had installed all on a whim of her mother. According to him, Demetra had been a vibrant woman with a love of nature. As they had had to spend so much time in Athenia when they were first married, she'd pleaded for beds of flowers and vines to make it feel just a little bit like home. Iris had adored this garden in the years that she had spent in Athenia herself. When she was first learning the ways of court rather than the wild ways of soldiers and forests and sprawling footpaths.
Their stroll through the small garden was slow, easy. Fast enough to be considered exercise but slow enough for them to enjoy quiet company and conversation as they made pass after pass through the paths. They laughed and discussed nothing in particular, simply enjoying the company between father and daughter. Finally, Takis encouraged Iris to get a little bit of sleep, promising to see her when she woke.
Giving her father a soft kiss to his cheek, she left him in the gardens and trudged to her rooms. Undressing with silent ease, she crawled into bed beside her husband. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. More relaxed and at ease than she had been in a number of months, Iris didn't even wake when her husband left the bed and got ready for the day. But she did wake at the frantic calling of Elpis and the pounding of bare feet on stone and the throwing open of the door to her rooms. Iris shot up with alarm in her eyes, her heart racing faster than it ever had.
Elpis took in a sharp breath, tears in her eyes as she stopped on the threshold. Words didn't come and Iris threw the sheets back, reaching for her chiton and dressing quickly. "Take me to him," was all Iris said, letting her cousin lead her through the house. Had he fallen? Had he taken to his bed after their walk? That couldn't be because they'd just passed her father's chambers. The door was open and the bed made as neatly as it always was in the mornings. No, they passed deeper into the manor, taking the same path she and her father had taken only hours before. Into that small garden that her mother had loved so much.
Iris almost couldn't pass through the archway, knowing exactly what she would find further back. A shaking hand reached for one of the marble columns, her breathing coming out sharply and back in so deep she thought she might pass out. Taking the first few steps into the garden, she navigated the same path they had taken earlier that morning, running on memory and a few shreds of happiness. But there she found him, lying face up on the back path with his head in Hanna's lap. Her aunt was stroking his hair, looking up from her own tears to her niece. Frozen in place at the sight, Iris didn't register whether her cousins or her husband were around, her gaze locked on her father's peaceful face.
Approaching silently, Iris sunk to her knees beside her father, reaching out to touch him. He was ice cold. How long ago had he passed? How long had she been asleep? How long had it taken for anyone to find him? Leaning over her father's body, Iris pressed her ear to his chest, searching in vain for any heartbeat or signs of breathing. Anything at all that would tell her that this wasn't happening. That this hadn't been her father's end. That Takis of Argyris, faithful, stubborn, and loving hadn't died alone on this garden path with not a soul to ease his passing.
Something in the lady snapped, a sharp sob breaking in her chest as she lifted her head. Elpis was there then, putting her arms around Iris and pulling her toward her chest so that she could cry, shielded from the rest of the world. Iris' hands reached for one of her father's own, gripping it tightly as she turned her face into Elpis' chest and wept until someone else settled on her other side, Zoe, holding her tightly. Leda held onto Hanna, pressing her own mother's head into her shoulder with her eyes on Takis' body.
From there, everything was a whirlwind of tears, color, movement, and quietly murmured words. The Argyris women had taken Takis' body and washed him, anointing him with oils, and then dressing him in silence. With his body raised up for viewing, Iris stood at the side of the center room, feeling as if all of her tears had already been shed as friends, loved ones, and peers were permitted entry into the home to pay their respects. The furthest thing from her mind was the responsibility and duty that had just fallen to her shoulders. There would be a time and place to worry about that.
For now, she prayed silently to the gods to give her the strength she needed simply to withstand the burial of her beloved father.
In the silence of her mother's garden, Takis of Argyris, the Baron of Aetaea, was dead.
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To Iris, it seemed as if her father had been given some semblance of strength in the last few days. At the King's funeral, he had walked beside her with only aid of her arm and the cane he seemed to carry around at all times these days. But the next day? It was as if he'd found an incredible sense of strength. Takis spent the morning playing with Phillipa until her governess pulled her away to her studies. Iris had had to leave to Aetaea to deliver the supplies that Queen Persephone had allotted to her for the rebuilding. Her father's retainer had accompanied her and aided in the organization and movement of the goods to the various sections of the province and then Iris had returned without him and had made it back to Athenia the morning of the third day after the King's death.
It was only then that Iris had gotten the news of Persephone's disappearance. Iris had spent a number of minutes, her hands braced against her desk in anger, worry, and frustration that so many forces had been pulling her in so many different directions. Would she have been able to help her friend? It was unlikely, but the thought didn't escape her. The idea that there could have been something she could have done to stop it, stop the attack on the Palati, hung sharply on her shoulders. What was truly wrong with Athenia to suddenly find itself so disorganized and losing two rulers within less than a week?
It was for this reason that Iris found herself on edge as she stepped out of her office, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. With so little sleep gained over the last few days all she honestly wanted to do was crawl into bed beside Aimias and catch at least two or three hours of sleep before the sun rose too high into the sky. There was something alluring and comforting about her friend's-- husband's warmth that allowed her to find some semblance of peace in all of the chaos.
But Takis promptly caught her arm as she passed through the door. Giving a surprised yelp, Iris turned more into her father, putting an arm around him in order to hug him properly. "Papa," she laughed a little, keeping her voice low as she looked up into his face. "You scared me. What are you doing up so early?" Iris questioned, an eyebrow lifting in perfect curiosity.
"I was looking to take a walk," Takis said with a smile, keeping his daughter's arm in his own. "Care to join me?" he asked. Something in his face had changed and Iris couldn't place it. Was he bothered by something? Did he feel ill? What did that determined expression mean? Was he finding healing strength after so long? In a moment of naivety, Iris couldn't help but feel pure joy at the thought. Shifting her arm, she settled it properly into the crook of Takis', giving a slow nod and a soft smile.
"Of course," Iris said lightly, "I've missed our morning routine," she added, letting her father lead her through the back of the house and into the small garden that he had installed all on a whim of her mother. According to him, Demetra had been a vibrant woman with a love of nature. As they had had to spend so much time in Athenia when they were first married, she'd pleaded for beds of flowers and vines to make it feel just a little bit like home. Iris had adored this garden in the years that she had spent in Athenia herself. When she was first learning the ways of court rather than the wild ways of soldiers and forests and sprawling footpaths.
Their stroll through the small garden was slow, easy. Fast enough to be considered exercise but slow enough for them to enjoy quiet company and conversation as they made pass after pass through the paths. They laughed and discussed nothing in particular, simply enjoying the company between father and daughter. Finally, Takis encouraged Iris to get a little bit of sleep, promising to see her when she woke.
Giving her father a soft kiss to his cheek, she left him in the gardens and trudged to her rooms. Undressing with silent ease, she crawled into bed beside her husband. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. More relaxed and at ease than she had been in a number of months, Iris didn't even wake when her husband left the bed and got ready for the day. But she did wake at the frantic calling of Elpis and the pounding of bare feet on stone and the throwing open of the door to her rooms. Iris shot up with alarm in her eyes, her heart racing faster than it ever had.
Elpis took in a sharp breath, tears in her eyes as she stopped on the threshold. Words didn't come and Iris threw the sheets back, reaching for her chiton and dressing quickly. "Take me to him," was all Iris said, letting her cousin lead her through the house. Had he fallen? Had he taken to his bed after their walk? That couldn't be because they'd just passed her father's chambers. The door was open and the bed made as neatly as it always was in the mornings. No, they passed deeper into the manor, taking the same path she and her father had taken only hours before. Into that small garden that her mother had loved so much.
Iris almost couldn't pass through the archway, knowing exactly what she would find further back. A shaking hand reached for one of the marble columns, her breathing coming out sharply and back in so deep she thought she might pass out. Taking the first few steps into the garden, she navigated the same path they had taken earlier that morning, running on memory and a few shreds of happiness. But there she found him, lying face up on the back path with his head in Hanna's lap. Her aunt was stroking his hair, looking up from her own tears to her niece. Frozen in place at the sight, Iris didn't register whether her cousins or her husband were around, her gaze locked on her father's peaceful face.
Approaching silently, Iris sunk to her knees beside her father, reaching out to touch him. He was ice cold. How long ago had he passed? How long had she been asleep? How long had it taken for anyone to find him? Leaning over her father's body, Iris pressed her ear to his chest, searching in vain for any heartbeat or signs of breathing. Anything at all that would tell her that this wasn't happening. That this hadn't been her father's end. That Takis of Argyris, faithful, stubborn, and loving hadn't died alone on this garden path with not a soul to ease his passing.
Something in the lady snapped, a sharp sob breaking in her chest as she lifted her head. Elpis was there then, putting her arms around Iris and pulling her toward her chest so that she could cry, shielded from the rest of the world. Iris' hands reached for one of her father's own, gripping it tightly as she turned her face into Elpis' chest and wept until someone else settled on her other side, Zoe, holding her tightly. Leda held onto Hanna, pressing her own mother's head into her shoulder with her eyes on Takis' body.
From there, everything was a whirlwind of tears, color, movement, and quietly murmured words. The Argyris women had taken Takis' body and washed him, anointing him with oils, and then dressing him in silence. With his body raised up for viewing, Iris stood at the side of the center room, feeling as if all of her tears had already been shed as friends, loved ones, and peers were permitted entry into the home to pay their respects. The furthest thing from her mind was the responsibility and duty that had just fallen to her shoulders. There would be a time and place to worry about that.
For now, she prayed silently to the gods to give her the strength she needed simply to withstand the burial of her beloved father.
In the silence of her mother's garden, Takis of Argyris, the Baron of Aetaea, was dead.
To Iris, it seemed as if her father had been given some semblance of strength in the last few days. At the King's funeral, he had walked beside her with only aid of her arm and the cane he seemed to carry around at all times these days. But the next day? It was as if he'd found an incredible sense of strength. Takis spent the morning playing with Phillipa until her governess pulled her away to her studies. Iris had had to leave to Aetaea to deliver the supplies that Queen Persephone had allotted to her for the rebuilding. Her father's retainer had accompanied her and aided in the organization and movement of the goods to the various sections of the province and then Iris had returned without him and had made it back to Athenia the morning of the third day after the King's death.
It was only then that Iris had gotten the news of Persephone's disappearance. Iris had spent a number of minutes, her hands braced against her desk in anger, worry, and frustration that so many forces had been pulling her in so many different directions. Would she have been able to help her friend? It was unlikely, but the thought didn't escape her. The idea that there could have been something she could have done to stop it, stop the attack on the Palati, hung sharply on her shoulders. What was truly wrong with Athenia to suddenly find itself so disorganized and losing two rulers within less than a week?
It was for this reason that Iris found herself on edge as she stepped out of her office, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin. With so little sleep gained over the last few days all she honestly wanted to do was crawl into bed beside Aimias and catch at least two or three hours of sleep before the sun rose too high into the sky. There was something alluring and comforting about her friend's-- husband's warmth that allowed her to find some semblance of peace in all of the chaos.
But Takis promptly caught her arm as she passed through the door. Giving a surprised yelp, Iris turned more into her father, putting an arm around him in order to hug him properly. "Papa," she laughed a little, keeping her voice low as she looked up into his face. "You scared me. What are you doing up so early?" Iris questioned, an eyebrow lifting in perfect curiosity.
"I was looking to take a walk," Takis said with a smile, keeping his daughter's arm in his own. "Care to join me?" he asked. Something in his face had changed and Iris couldn't place it. Was he bothered by something? Did he feel ill? What did that determined expression mean? Was he finding healing strength after so long? In a moment of naivety, Iris couldn't help but feel pure joy at the thought. Shifting her arm, she settled it properly into the crook of Takis', giving a slow nod and a soft smile.
"Of course," Iris said lightly, "I've missed our morning routine," she added, letting her father lead her through the back of the house and into the small garden that he had installed all on a whim of her mother. According to him, Demetra had been a vibrant woman with a love of nature. As they had had to spend so much time in Athenia when they were first married, she'd pleaded for beds of flowers and vines to make it feel just a little bit like home. Iris had adored this garden in the years that she had spent in Athenia herself. When she was first learning the ways of court rather than the wild ways of soldiers and forests and sprawling footpaths.
Their stroll through the small garden was slow, easy. Fast enough to be considered exercise but slow enough for them to enjoy quiet company and conversation as they made pass after pass through the paths. They laughed and discussed nothing in particular, simply enjoying the company between father and daughter. Finally, Takis encouraged Iris to get a little bit of sleep, promising to see her when she woke.
Giving her father a soft kiss to his cheek, she left him in the gardens and trudged to her rooms. Undressing with silent ease, she crawled into bed beside her husband. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. More relaxed and at ease than she had been in a number of months, Iris didn't even wake when her husband left the bed and got ready for the day. But she did wake at the frantic calling of Elpis and the pounding of bare feet on stone and the throwing open of the door to her rooms. Iris shot up with alarm in her eyes, her heart racing faster than it ever had.
Elpis took in a sharp breath, tears in her eyes as she stopped on the threshold. Words didn't come and Iris threw the sheets back, reaching for her chiton and dressing quickly. "Take me to him," was all Iris said, letting her cousin lead her through the house. Had he fallen? Had he taken to his bed after their walk? That couldn't be because they'd just passed her father's chambers. The door was open and the bed made as neatly as it always was in the mornings. No, they passed deeper into the manor, taking the same path she and her father had taken only hours before. Into that small garden that her mother had loved so much.
Iris almost couldn't pass through the archway, knowing exactly what she would find further back. A shaking hand reached for one of the marble columns, her breathing coming out sharply and back in so deep she thought she might pass out. Taking the first few steps into the garden, she navigated the same path they had taken earlier that morning, running on memory and a few shreds of happiness. But there she found him, lying face up on the back path with his head in Hanna's lap. Her aunt was stroking his hair, looking up from her own tears to her niece. Frozen in place at the sight, Iris didn't register whether her cousins or her husband were around, her gaze locked on her father's peaceful face.
Approaching silently, Iris sunk to her knees beside her father, reaching out to touch him. He was ice cold. How long ago had he passed? How long had she been asleep? How long had it taken for anyone to find him? Leaning over her father's body, Iris pressed her ear to his chest, searching in vain for any heartbeat or signs of breathing. Anything at all that would tell her that this wasn't happening. That this hadn't been her father's end. That Takis of Argyris, faithful, stubborn, and loving hadn't died alone on this garden path with not a soul to ease his passing.
Something in the lady snapped, a sharp sob breaking in her chest as she lifted her head. Elpis was there then, putting her arms around Iris and pulling her toward her chest so that she could cry, shielded from the rest of the world. Iris' hands reached for one of her father's own, gripping it tightly as she turned her face into Elpis' chest and wept until someone else settled on her other side, Zoe, holding her tightly. Leda held onto Hanna, pressing her own mother's head into her shoulder with her eyes on Takis' body.
From there, everything was a whirlwind of tears, color, movement, and quietly murmured words. The Argyris women had taken Takis' body and washed him, anointing him with oils, and then dressing him in silence. With his body raised up for viewing, Iris stood at the side of the center room, feeling as if all of her tears had already been shed as friends, loved ones, and peers were permitted entry into the home to pay their respects. The furthest thing from her mind was the responsibility and duty that had just fallen to her shoulders. There would be a time and place to worry about that.
For now, she prayed silently to the gods to give her the strength she needed simply to withstand the burial of her beloved father.
In the silence of her mother's garden, Takis of Argyris, the Baron of Aetaea, was dead.
He was still getting use to the idea of being married again.
When he had married his first wife, it had been from love and devotion that he had taken her as his bride. Aimias hadn’t expected her to die after the birth of their first child, hadn’t expected so few years with her. There wasn’t exactly a desire to marry again, not when Phillipa required as much care and attention as she did. And certainly not with his growing responsibilities to the kingdom.
And yet, the thought of marrying someone who had been his friend so long ago hadn’t scared him. He liked the idea of getting to know the woman who was his wife again. Iris had left her mark on him on those years ago.
There was a role he hadn’t wanted to take on-- that of a Baron. For starters, he would have to give up his position with the Xanthos family if he wished to do that. And secondly, he had very little experience with the responsibilities that went into running a barony. He would have figured most of it out with the help of Iris, but he didn’t know if that was something he should do. And luckily for him, it didn’t seem as if he needed to. She wanted nothing more than to continue to be in charge of her lands. And it was quite a relief for him to not need to change everything he was used to. Perhaps he would change his mind once he knew Persephone was secure in the throne. But, for now, he didn’t feel as if he could just leave.
She would have to dismiss him for him to go, and that was that.
He was still in their rooms, which was odd to think about. She had been pulled away early on, and his late night up had meant that he had wished to sleep in a bit. The soft rap on the door pulled him from the covers, which he wrapped around his bare torso. A maid he didn’t recognize told him of his need in the gardens. At first, sleep kept him from putting two and two together. He tried to focus on her words, but it wasn’t until she quietly repeated that the Baron had been found dead in the gardens that morning that he sprung into action. Dismissing her with his thanks, he quickly pulled a plain shirt over his head, over the pants he had taken to wearing to bed with his wife. Phillipa was already with her tutor, so he didn’t have to worry about her as he weaved his way to the Baron’s bedroom.
He didn’t bother knocking as he pushed the doors open, searching for the face of his wife. While he wasn’t used to comforting a woman in a time of loss, he knew that he was needed. And if she would let him, he would be there for her. She appeared to be focused on the task at hand, most likely missing his entrance. ”My Lady?” He said quietly, drawing the attention of the rest of the women in the room as well.
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He was still getting use to the idea of being married again.
When he had married his first wife, it had been from love and devotion that he had taken her as his bride. Aimias hadn’t expected her to die after the birth of their first child, hadn’t expected so few years with her. There wasn’t exactly a desire to marry again, not when Phillipa required as much care and attention as she did. And certainly not with his growing responsibilities to the kingdom.
And yet, the thought of marrying someone who had been his friend so long ago hadn’t scared him. He liked the idea of getting to know the woman who was his wife again. Iris had left her mark on him on those years ago.
There was a role he hadn’t wanted to take on-- that of a Baron. For starters, he would have to give up his position with the Xanthos family if he wished to do that. And secondly, he had very little experience with the responsibilities that went into running a barony. He would have figured most of it out with the help of Iris, but he didn’t know if that was something he should do. And luckily for him, it didn’t seem as if he needed to. She wanted nothing more than to continue to be in charge of her lands. And it was quite a relief for him to not need to change everything he was used to. Perhaps he would change his mind once he knew Persephone was secure in the throne. But, for now, he didn’t feel as if he could just leave.
She would have to dismiss him for him to go, and that was that.
He was still in their rooms, which was odd to think about. She had been pulled away early on, and his late night up had meant that he had wished to sleep in a bit. The soft rap on the door pulled him from the covers, which he wrapped around his bare torso. A maid he didn’t recognize told him of his need in the gardens. At first, sleep kept him from putting two and two together. He tried to focus on her words, but it wasn’t until she quietly repeated that the Baron had been found dead in the gardens that morning that he sprung into action. Dismissing her with his thanks, he quickly pulled a plain shirt over his head, over the pants he had taken to wearing to bed with his wife. Phillipa was already with her tutor, so he didn’t have to worry about her as he weaved his way to the Baron’s bedroom.
He didn’t bother knocking as he pushed the doors open, searching for the face of his wife. While he wasn’t used to comforting a woman in a time of loss, he knew that he was needed. And if she would let him, he would be there for her. She appeared to be focused on the task at hand, most likely missing his entrance. ”My Lady?” He said quietly, drawing the attention of the rest of the women in the room as well.
He was still getting use to the idea of being married again.
When he had married his first wife, it had been from love and devotion that he had taken her as his bride. Aimias hadn’t expected her to die after the birth of their first child, hadn’t expected so few years with her. There wasn’t exactly a desire to marry again, not when Phillipa required as much care and attention as she did. And certainly not with his growing responsibilities to the kingdom.
And yet, the thought of marrying someone who had been his friend so long ago hadn’t scared him. He liked the idea of getting to know the woman who was his wife again. Iris had left her mark on him on those years ago.
There was a role he hadn’t wanted to take on-- that of a Baron. For starters, he would have to give up his position with the Xanthos family if he wished to do that. And secondly, he had very little experience with the responsibilities that went into running a barony. He would have figured most of it out with the help of Iris, but he didn’t know if that was something he should do. And luckily for him, it didn’t seem as if he needed to. She wanted nothing more than to continue to be in charge of her lands. And it was quite a relief for him to not need to change everything he was used to. Perhaps he would change his mind once he knew Persephone was secure in the throne. But, for now, he didn’t feel as if he could just leave.
She would have to dismiss him for him to go, and that was that.
He was still in their rooms, which was odd to think about. She had been pulled away early on, and his late night up had meant that he had wished to sleep in a bit. The soft rap on the door pulled him from the covers, which he wrapped around his bare torso. A maid he didn’t recognize told him of his need in the gardens. At first, sleep kept him from putting two and two together. He tried to focus on her words, but it wasn’t until she quietly repeated that the Baron had been found dead in the gardens that morning that he sprung into action. Dismissing her with his thanks, he quickly pulled a plain shirt over his head, over the pants he had taken to wearing to bed with his wife. Phillipa was already with her tutor, so he didn’t have to worry about her as he weaved his way to the Baron’s bedroom.
He didn’t bother knocking as he pushed the doors open, searching for the face of his wife. While he wasn’t used to comforting a woman in a time of loss, he knew that he was needed. And if she would let him, he would be there for her. She appeared to be focused on the task at hand, most likely missing his entrance. ”My Lady?” He said quietly, drawing the attention of the rest of the women in the room as well.
It was Hanna's gaze that lifted first, her eyes flicking to her niece who seemed not to hear the words Aimias spoke when he entered. In fact, Iris' gaze seemed almost glazed, unfocused. But the other Argyris ladies were aware of the complete paradigm shift that had occurred in the span of only a few hours. From the moment that Takis' last breath had faded, this man, Aimias, was now the one and only Lord of the Argyris family. Hanna rose slowly to her feet, as did her three daughters. All at once they sunk into slow bows of respect, gazes flicking to the floor and then back up to his face.
"Lord Argyris," Hanna said very quietly.
That alone seemed to strike Iris out of her silent struggle to maintain her composure. Green eyes settling with some sense of clarity, the young baroness turned her attention to her husband, only then comprehending the shift in leadership within the household. She would not bow. He was her equal. Her cousins were nobles of convenience. Shifting more into a steadier position, Iris held her husband's gaze. "My lord," she said very gently, giving him a slow nod to give him permission to fully enter the room.
It was as if she gravitated toward him then, so tense and unsure of her role in that moment that she was quickly seeking some sort of comfort. Not one to really show her emotions in a group of people, the young woman had to remind herself that she was among her family. They were all her family and they were just as affected by Takis' death as she was. Her steps were slow, but she reached Aimias' side, gazing up into his face and then turning her head away.
Iris didn't know what she wanted, nor what she was to do with her father's body in the room. Swallowing, she put distance between them and approached her father's bedside instead. Hanna rose and made room for Iris to settle before Takis. Breathing in slowly, Iris frantically brushed at the tears that had started to stream down her cheeks, desperate to protect herself even in this moment.
Observing the way that Iris seemed to struggle, Hanna motioned to her three daughters to leave the room. Ushering them out and letting the door close quietly behind them, Hanna left Iris and Aimias alone in the room.
Swallowing, Iris chewed on her bottom lip, "I came out of the study early this morning and he caught me. We took a walk and he insisted he was fine by himself and told me to go sleep when we were done," Iris said quietly, dropping her head into her hands. He had been smiling. Happy. "He said he would see me when I got up later," the woman sighed shakily, "This was not what I thought he meant." No. She had expected to see Takis alive and full of life as he had been for the last few days. Something she hadn't seen in so long before then.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was Hanna's gaze that lifted first, her eyes flicking to her niece who seemed not to hear the words Aimias spoke when he entered. In fact, Iris' gaze seemed almost glazed, unfocused. But the other Argyris ladies were aware of the complete paradigm shift that had occurred in the span of only a few hours. From the moment that Takis' last breath had faded, this man, Aimias, was now the one and only Lord of the Argyris family. Hanna rose slowly to her feet, as did her three daughters. All at once they sunk into slow bows of respect, gazes flicking to the floor and then back up to his face.
"Lord Argyris," Hanna said very quietly.
That alone seemed to strike Iris out of her silent struggle to maintain her composure. Green eyes settling with some sense of clarity, the young baroness turned her attention to her husband, only then comprehending the shift in leadership within the household. She would not bow. He was her equal. Her cousins were nobles of convenience. Shifting more into a steadier position, Iris held her husband's gaze. "My lord," she said very gently, giving him a slow nod to give him permission to fully enter the room.
It was as if she gravitated toward him then, so tense and unsure of her role in that moment that she was quickly seeking some sort of comfort. Not one to really show her emotions in a group of people, the young woman had to remind herself that she was among her family. They were all her family and they were just as affected by Takis' death as she was. Her steps were slow, but she reached Aimias' side, gazing up into his face and then turning her head away.
Iris didn't know what she wanted, nor what she was to do with her father's body in the room. Swallowing, she put distance between them and approached her father's bedside instead. Hanna rose and made room for Iris to settle before Takis. Breathing in slowly, Iris frantically brushed at the tears that had started to stream down her cheeks, desperate to protect herself even in this moment.
Observing the way that Iris seemed to struggle, Hanna motioned to her three daughters to leave the room. Ushering them out and letting the door close quietly behind them, Hanna left Iris and Aimias alone in the room.
Swallowing, Iris chewed on her bottom lip, "I came out of the study early this morning and he caught me. We took a walk and he insisted he was fine by himself and told me to go sleep when we were done," Iris said quietly, dropping her head into her hands. He had been smiling. Happy. "He said he would see me when I got up later," the woman sighed shakily, "This was not what I thought he meant." No. She had expected to see Takis alive and full of life as he had been for the last few days. Something she hadn't seen in so long before then.
It was Hanna's gaze that lifted first, her eyes flicking to her niece who seemed not to hear the words Aimias spoke when he entered. In fact, Iris' gaze seemed almost glazed, unfocused. But the other Argyris ladies were aware of the complete paradigm shift that had occurred in the span of only a few hours. From the moment that Takis' last breath had faded, this man, Aimias, was now the one and only Lord of the Argyris family. Hanna rose slowly to her feet, as did her three daughters. All at once they sunk into slow bows of respect, gazes flicking to the floor and then back up to his face.
"Lord Argyris," Hanna said very quietly.
That alone seemed to strike Iris out of her silent struggle to maintain her composure. Green eyes settling with some sense of clarity, the young baroness turned her attention to her husband, only then comprehending the shift in leadership within the household. She would not bow. He was her equal. Her cousins were nobles of convenience. Shifting more into a steadier position, Iris held her husband's gaze. "My lord," she said very gently, giving him a slow nod to give him permission to fully enter the room.
It was as if she gravitated toward him then, so tense and unsure of her role in that moment that she was quickly seeking some sort of comfort. Not one to really show her emotions in a group of people, the young woman had to remind herself that she was among her family. They were all her family and they were just as affected by Takis' death as she was. Her steps were slow, but she reached Aimias' side, gazing up into his face and then turning her head away.
Iris didn't know what she wanted, nor what she was to do with her father's body in the room. Swallowing, she put distance between them and approached her father's bedside instead. Hanna rose and made room for Iris to settle before Takis. Breathing in slowly, Iris frantically brushed at the tears that had started to stream down her cheeks, desperate to protect herself even in this moment.
Observing the way that Iris seemed to struggle, Hanna motioned to her three daughters to leave the room. Ushering them out and letting the door close quietly behind them, Hanna left Iris and Aimias alone in the room.
Swallowing, Iris chewed on her bottom lip, "I came out of the study early this morning and he caught me. We took a walk and he insisted he was fine by himself and told me to go sleep when we were done," Iris said quietly, dropping her head into her hands. He had been smiling. Happy. "He said he would see me when I got up later," the woman sighed shakily, "This was not what I thought he meant." No. She had expected to see Takis alive and full of life as he had been for the last few days. Something she hadn't seen in so long before then.
Lord Argyris
Just the sound of the title, directed at him, made it hard to swallow against the thickness that suddenly engulfed him. He was not a lord, had no intentions of ever being one. And yet, in marriage, he had become just that. In this moment, he was now a Baron. Titles did not sit well, in his mind. He was an advisor, and while some choose to address him in the formal manner, most opted to just use his name. And his preference for it was well known. Now, in this moment, a statement was being made by the ladies in the house.
He was titled. He was in charge.
Aimias was motionless for a moment, then nodded to them. He lacked any formal training when it came to the role of a true lord. His experience in court meant that he wasn’t totally hopeless. But that certainly didn’t give him any sort of idea on what was truly expected. He imagined ruling a kingdom (which, ironically enough, he had plenty of knowledge on) was far different. He wanted none of it, and it was laid at his feet. But his panicked mind vanished the moment his wife realized he was in the room.
She started to approach him, and he was ready to be what she needed him to be. An embrace would have felt a bit awkward, but he was prepared for that. Instead, she brushed past him, back to her father’s side to hide a bit of her pain from him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but from her, he was quickly learning that she had spent most of her life playing a part without thought to her own needs.
He barely acknowledged the girls as they left the room, instead focusing on his wife as she moved towards his father. Taking a breath, he moved around so that he was directly behind her. ”I am sorry, my lady.” With a gentle sigh, he placed a cautious hand on her shoulder. ”One last walk with his daughter? I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted anything else.” Aimias lightly touched her cheek, feeling the wetness there. ”I am sure he is no longer in pain. With your mother.” And that was what mattered, right? That he was no longer suffering from the illness that had plagued him for so long.
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Lord Argyris
Just the sound of the title, directed at him, made it hard to swallow against the thickness that suddenly engulfed him. He was not a lord, had no intentions of ever being one. And yet, in marriage, he had become just that. In this moment, he was now a Baron. Titles did not sit well, in his mind. He was an advisor, and while some choose to address him in the formal manner, most opted to just use his name. And his preference for it was well known. Now, in this moment, a statement was being made by the ladies in the house.
He was titled. He was in charge.
Aimias was motionless for a moment, then nodded to them. He lacked any formal training when it came to the role of a true lord. His experience in court meant that he wasn’t totally hopeless. But that certainly didn’t give him any sort of idea on what was truly expected. He imagined ruling a kingdom (which, ironically enough, he had plenty of knowledge on) was far different. He wanted none of it, and it was laid at his feet. But his panicked mind vanished the moment his wife realized he was in the room.
She started to approach him, and he was ready to be what she needed him to be. An embrace would have felt a bit awkward, but he was prepared for that. Instead, she brushed past him, back to her father’s side to hide a bit of her pain from him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but from her, he was quickly learning that she had spent most of her life playing a part without thought to her own needs.
He barely acknowledged the girls as they left the room, instead focusing on his wife as she moved towards his father. Taking a breath, he moved around so that he was directly behind her. ”I am sorry, my lady.” With a gentle sigh, he placed a cautious hand on her shoulder. ”One last walk with his daughter? I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted anything else.” Aimias lightly touched her cheek, feeling the wetness there. ”I am sure he is no longer in pain. With your mother.” And that was what mattered, right? That he was no longer suffering from the illness that had plagued him for so long.
Lord Argyris
Just the sound of the title, directed at him, made it hard to swallow against the thickness that suddenly engulfed him. He was not a lord, had no intentions of ever being one. And yet, in marriage, he had become just that. In this moment, he was now a Baron. Titles did not sit well, in his mind. He was an advisor, and while some choose to address him in the formal manner, most opted to just use his name. And his preference for it was well known. Now, in this moment, a statement was being made by the ladies in the house.
He was titled. He was in charge.
Aimias was motionless for a moment, then nodded to them. He lacked any formal training when it came to the role of a true lord. His experience in court meant that he wasn’t totally hopeless. But that certainly didn’t give him any sort of idea on what was truly expected. He imagined ruling a kingdom (which, ironically enough, he had plenty of knowledge on) was far different. He wanted none of it, and it was laid at his feet. But his panicked mind vanished the moment his wife realized he was in the room.
She started to approach him, and he was ready to be what she needed him to be. An embrace would have felt a bit awkward, but he was prepared for that. Instead, she brushed past him, back to her father’s side to hide a bit of her pain from him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but from her, he was quickly learning that she had spent most of her life playing a part without thought to her own needs.
He barely acknowledged the girls as they left the room, instead focusing on his wife as she moved towards his father. Taking a breath, he moved around so that he was directly behind her. ”I am sorry, my lady.” With a gentle sigh, he placed a cautious hand on her shoulder. ”One last walk with his daughter? I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted anything else.” Aimias lightly touched her cheek, feeling the wetness there. ”I am sure he is no longer in pain. With your mother.” And that was what mattered, right? That he was no longer suffering from the illness that had plagued him for so long.
With the lack of her aunt and her cousins in the room, she felt like she was finally able to breathe. Her entire life, there had been major emphasis put on keeping herself proper and showing little emotion outside of happiness or contentment. Confidence is what her father had always encouraged her in. Even when she was feeling anything but confident.
Iris did not feel confident now, but there was no longer that expectation to remain composed. To not show her pain in front of her family when she was the one who needed to be strongest. Because she and her husband were now the head of the family. Every choice they made, together, would affect the four women under their care and all of their servants in addition. She was already feeling the pressure. The innate, silent need not to stumble and ruin everything she had already worked for.
There was no more guidance from her father. The only people she truly had to lean on were those of her household, Gaios, and Acantha. That would have to suffice. For now. She could not turn to Persephone as she may have in the weeks before.
Because she was gone.
Iris was very aware of Aimias' hand on her shoulder and then her cheek and the woman found herself leaning into the comforting touch. She wouldn't say it, but ever since Phillipa had been sent away, she had been bothered by the lessening affection of her husband. Initially, he hadn't hesitated with little touches like this. It was... strange what a few days could change. What one little, tiny life and the absence of that presence could cause. Now, with the lack of both her step-daughter and her father, this home was feeling even more empty than it had before.
She could not find it in herself to be angry with her father for leaving her behind. She was just sad that the corners of his mouth would never turn up into a smile and his blue eyes would never watch her with silent amusement. And suddenly she couldn't watch his serene face anymore. Turning slowly, Iris tucked herself in against Aimias' chest.
"He was just... so lively the last few days," Iris admitted gently, her voice muffled slightly against the fabric of Aimias' clothing. "I was starting to think the gods had spared him," she added absently, turning her head as she slowly brought her arms up to rest against his back, her gaze resting on the wall facing toward her father. "He always said he'd be happy to finally see her again," Iris finally sighed, squeezing him a little.
"Thank you for being here. I know you did not find sleep well," Iris whispered then, "I don't know what I did to deserve such consideration."
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With the lack of her aunt and her cousins in the room, she felt like she was finally able to breathe. Her entire life, there had been major emphasis put on keeping herself proper and showing little emotion outside of happiness or contentment. Confidence is what her father had always encouraged her in. Even when she was feeling anything but confident.
Iris did not feel confident now, but there was no longer that expectation to remain composed. To not show her pain in front of her family when she was the one who needed to be strongest. Because she and her husband were now the head of the family. Every choice they made, together, would affect the four women under their care and all of their servants in addition. She was already feeling the pressure. The innate, silent need not to stumble and ruin everything she had already worked for.
There was no more guidance from her father. The only people she truly had to lean on were those of her household, Gaios, and Acantha. That would have to suffice. For now. She could not turn to Persephone as she may have in the weeks before.
Because she was gone.
Iris was very aware of Aimias' hand on her shoulder and then her cheek and the woman found herself leaning into the comforting touch. She wouldn't say it, but ever since Phillipa had been sent away, she had been bothered by the lessening affection of her husband. Initially, he hadn't hesitated with little touches like this. It was... strange what a few days could change. What one little, tiny life and the absence of that presence could cause. Now, with the lack of both her step-daughter and her father, this home was feeling even more empty than it had before.
She could not find it in herself to be angry with her father for leaving her behind. She was just sad that the corners of his mouth would never turn up into a smile and his blue eyes would never watch her with silent amusement. And suddenly she couldn't watch his serene face anymore. Turning slowly, Iris tucked herself in against Aimias' chest.
"He was just... so lively the last few days," Iris admitted gently, her voice muffled slightly against the fabric of Aimias' clothing. "I was starting to think the gods had spared him," she added absently, turning her head as she slowly brought her arms up to rest against his back, her gaze resting on the wall facing toward her father. "He always said he'd be happy to finally see her again," Iris finally sighed, squeezing him a little.
"Thank you for being here. I know you did not find sleep well," Iris whispered then, "I don't know what I did to deserve such consideration."
With the lack of her aunt and her cousins in the room, she felt like she was finally able to breathe. Her entire life, there had been major emphasis put on keeping herself proper and showing little emotion outside of happiness or contentment. Confidence is what her father had always encouraged her in. Even when she was feeling anything but confident.
Iris did not feel confident now, but there was no longer that expectation to remain composed. To not show her pain in front of her family when she was the one who needed to be strongest. Because she and her husband were now the head of the family. Every choice they made, together, would affect the four women under their care and all of their servants in addition. She was already feeling the pressure. The innate, silent need not to stumble and ruin everything she had already worked for.
There was no more guidance from her father. The only people she truly had to lean on were those of her household, Gaios, and Acantha. That would have to suffice. For now. She could not turn to Persephone as she may have in the weeks before.
Because she was gone.
Iris was very aware of Aimias' hand on her shoulder and then her cheek and the woman found herself leaning into the comforting touch. She wouldn't say it, but ever since Phillipa had been sent away, she had been bothered by the lessening affection of her husband. Initially, he hadn't hesitated with little touches like this. It was... strange what a few days could change. What one little, tiny life and the absence of that presence could cause. Now, with the lack of both her step-daughter and her father, this home was feeling even more empty than it had before.
She could not find it in herself to be angry with her father for leaving her behind. She was just sad that the corners of his mouth would never turn up into a smile and his blue eyes would never watch her with silent amusement. And suddenly she couldn't watch his serene face anymore. Turning slowly, Iris tucked herself in against Aimias' chest.
"He was just... so lively the last few days," Iris admitted gently, her voice muffled slightly against the fabric of Aimias' clothing. "I was starting to think the gods had spared him," she added absently, turning her head as she slowly brought her arms up to rest against his back, her gaze resting on the wall facing toward her father. "He always said he'd be happy to finally see her again," Iris finally sighed, squeezing him a little.
"Thank you for being here. I know you did not find sleep well," Iris whispered then, "I don't know what I did to deserve such consideration."
He knew loss, knew how it could take hold of your very soul and refuse to let go. He knew the ache of not being there in the final moments. And he certainly understood the numbness that was first on display. The death of his wife was suddenly fresh in his mind. He could smell the blood and sweat within the room, the heavily scented oils used to aid the process. He could hear the wails of the babe, desperate for the warm embrace of her mother. And he could see the body of his wife, gone from this world to wait in the next.
Aimias wished he could tell her that he understood what she was going through. A poor man when it came to emotions and feelings, the best he could rely on was her cues from him. And even with those, he felt like he was falling short of her expectations of him.
He was drowning in roles he didn’t know how to play. Baron. Husband. Lord. They all felt like a joke, things that should have never been meant for him that were suddenly his.
As she turned into him, he froze, unsure exactly what to do. But it didn’t take him long to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. He listened to her speak, as he was known to do, without interrupting. He longed for something to tell her, for some words that would make her feel better than she was feeling. But he came up blank with anything original. Instead, he relied on what he knew. ”I once read that the God’s bless us with an extra bit of energy at the end to leave those we love with happier memories.” He couldn’t give her more than that, because he hadn’t been given the same gift.
Phillipa had been precious, but it took him a long time to appreciate his daughter. It had been hard not to blame her.
Listening to her thanks, he shook his head. A kiss was pressed to the top of her crown. ”I am your humble servant and husband always, my lady.” His words were said with a bit of jest, hoping to pull a smile from the corner of her lips. ”I am forever at your command. Always.” He knew his responsibilities had changed, and would change again. But even if he was rusty, he knew what was required of a husband. ”Your pain is my pain, and I would happily take it on completely to save you the sorrow that comes with it.”
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He knew loss, knew how it could take hold of your very soul and refuse to let go. He knew the ache of not being there in the final moments. And he certainly understood the numbness that was first on display. The death of his wife was suddenly fresh in his mind. He could smell the blood and sweat within the room, the heavily scented oils used to aid the process. He could hear the wails of the babe, desperate for the warm embrace of her mother. And he could see the body of his wife, gone from this world to wait in the next.
Aimias wished he could tell her that he understood what she was going through. A poor man when it came to emotions and feelings, the best he could rely on was her cues from him. And even with those, he felt like he was falling short of her expectations of him.
He was drowning in roles he didn’t know how to play. Baron. Husband. Lord. They all felt like a joke, things that should have never been meant for him that were suddenly his.
As she turned into him, he froze, unsure exactly what to do. But it didn’t take him long to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. He listened to her speak, as he was known to do, without interrupting. He longed for something to tell her, for some words that would make her feel better than she was feeling. But he came up blank with anything original. Instead, he relied on what he knew. ”I once read that the God’s bless us with an extra bit of energy at the end to leave those we love with happier memories.” He couldn’t give her more than that, because he hadn’t been given the same gift.
Phillipa had been precious, but it took him a long time to appreciate his daughter. It had been hard not to blame her.
Listening to her thanks, he shook his head. A kiss was pressed to the top of her crown. ”I am your humble servant and husband always, my lady.” His words were said with a bit of jest, hoping to pull a smile from the corner of her lips. ”I am forever at your command. Always.” He knew his responsibilities had changed, and would change again. But even if he was rusty, he knew what was required of a husband. ”Your pain is my pain, and I would happily take it on completely to save you the sorrow that comes with it.”
He knew loss, knew how it could take hold of your very soul and refuse to let go. He knew the ache of not being there in the final moments. And he certainly understood the numbness that was first on display. The death of his wife was suddenly fresh in his mind. He could smell the blood and sweat within the room, the heavily scented oils used to aid the process. He could hear the wails of the babe, desperate for the warm embrace of her mother. And he could see the body of his wife, gone from this world to wait in the next.
Aimias wished he could tell her that he understood what she was going through. A poor man when it came to emotions and feelings, the best he could rely on was her cues from him. And even with those, he felt like he was falling short of her expectations of him.
He was drowning in roles he didn’t know how to play. Baron. Husband. Lord. They all felt like a joke, things that should have never been meant for him that were suddenly his.
As she turned into him, he froze, unsure exactly what to do. But it didn’t take him long to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. He listened to her speak, as he was known to do, without interrupting. He longed for something to tell her, for some words that would make her feel better than she was feeling. But he came up blank with anything original. Instead, he relied on what he knew. ”I once read that the God’s bless us with an extra bit of energy at the end to leave those we love with happier memories.” He couldn’t give her more than that, because he hadn’t been given the same gift.
Phillipa had been precious, but it took him a long time to appreciate his daughter. It had been hard not to blame her.
Listening to her thanks, he shook his head. A kiss was pressed to the top of her crown. ”I am your humble servant and husband always, my lady.” His words were said with a bit of jest, hoping to pull a smile from the corner of her lips. ”I am forever at your command. Always.” He knew his responsibilities had changed, and would change again. But even if he was rusty, he knew what was required of a husband. ”Your pain is my pain, and I would happily take it on completely to save you the sorrow that comes with it.”
This was not an ache that Iris was so familiar with and all of her preparations had not aided in her understanding of the morning’s events. Iris could not fathom the fact that the last time she had lain eyes on her father, he had seemed stronger than he had in years, with a smile on his features. She realized now that he had known that this would be the last time he would see her in this realm. He had wanted to spare her the pain of not being able to say goodbye. Which sounded entirely like her father. He had spent many of his years weak and infirm, but he still constantly thought of others rather than his own health.
It had been both infuriating and refreshing. To see him care for others while not at all worrying about how much shorter his own life might be cut short.
Aimias’ arms around her were welcome and calming. He may have been tense and unsure of his role as her husband, but thus far he had done an admirable job of supporting her. That was all she had truly wanted to ask of him. Support her. He did not need to love her. Not in the way that she still, even after ten years apart, still found herself admiring him. Their days of leaving little coded messages of flowers and knowledge for each other were long gone, but the gods had still thought to bring them back together. Feelings of affection aside, there must have been a reason. Maybe it was for this moment. This moment of comfort, rather than grief. The feeling of having someone hold her, it was much more of a relief than Iris usually would have admitted.
"Perhaps you are right," Iris said quietly, "Part of me just wishes I had been able to say a proper goodbye. There is so much more I want to tell him," Iris sighed, basking in being held and carefully pressing her own hands against his back. Normally, she would have found a smile at the sentiment that her husband murmured to her. But she just couldn't. As much as she appreciated the tender sentiment, she couldn't bring herself to crack that one smile that may have made her feel the slightest bit better.
"I have spent so much of my life preparing for this moment, Aimias. Now that it is here…" she trailed off at first, her gaze wandering back to her father. Iris didn't remove herself from his embrace. "How am I to do any of this without him?" the lady questioned softly, "How does one keep moving when the one person who has been their entire world is gone?" She wasn't thinking about the fact that he had lost his wife. That was the furthest thing from her mind, but she still thought he might have answers. Anything that could calm the ache in her chest. Was that so much to ask? Too much, even, to ask of the man who now held her name?
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This was not an ache that Iris was so familiar with and all of her preparations had not aided in her understanding of the morning’s events. Iris could not fathom the fact that the last time she had lain eyes on her father, he had seemed stronger than he had in years, with a smile on his features. She realized now that he had known that this would be the last time he would see her in this realm. He had wanted to spare her the pain of not being able to say goodbye. Which sounded entirely like her father. He had spent many of his years weak and infirm, but he still constantly thought of others rather than his own health.
It had been both infuriating and refreshing. To see him care for others while not at all worrying about how much shorter his own life might be cut short.
Aimias’ arms around her were welcome and calming. He may have been tense and unsure of his role as her husband, but thus far he had done an admirable job of supporting her. That was all she had truly wanted to ask of him. Support her. He did not need to love her. Not in the way that she still, even after ten years apart, still found herself admiring him. Their days of leaving little coded messages of flowers and knowledge for each other were long gone, but the gods had still thought to bring them back together. Feelings of affection aside, there must have been a reason. Maybe it was for this moment. This moment of comfort, rather than grief. The feeling of having someone hold her, it was much more of a relief than Iris usually would have admitted.
"Perhaps you are right," Iris said quietly, "Part of me just wishes I had been able to say a proper goodbye. There is so much more I want to tell him," Iris sighed, basking in being held and carefully pressing her own hands against his back. Normally, she would have found a smile at the sentiment that her husband murmured to her. But she just couldn't. As much as she appreciated the tender sentiment, she couldn't bring herself to crack that one smile that may have made her feel the slightest bit better.
"I have spent so much of my life preparing for this moment, Aimias. Now that it is here…" she trailed off at first, her gaze wandering back to her father. Iris didn't remove herself from his embrace. "How am I to do any of this without him?" the lady questioned softly, "How does one keep moving when the one person who has been their entire world is gone?" She wasn't thinking about the fact that he had lost his wife. That was the furthest thing from her mind, but she still thought he might have answers. Anything that could calm the ache in her chest. Was that so much to ask? Too much, even, to ask of the man who now held her name?
This was not an ache that Iris was so familiar with and all of her preparations had not aided in her understanding of the morning’s events. Iris could not fathom the fact that the last time she had lain eyes on her father, he had seemed stronger than he had in years, with a smile on his features. She realized now that he had known that this would be the last time he would see her in this realm. He had wanted to spare her the pain of not being able to say goodbye. Which sounded entirely like her father. He had spent many of his years weak and infirm, but he still constantly thought of others rather than his own health.
It had been both infuriating and refreshing. To see him care for others while not at all worrying about how much shorter his own life might be cut short.
Aimias’ arms around her were welcome and calming. He may have been tense and unsure of his role as her husband, but thus far he had done an admirable job of supporting her. That was all she had truly wanted to ask of him. Support her. He did not need to love her. Not in the way that she still, even after ten years apart, still found herself admiring him. Their days of leaving little coded messages of flowers and knowledge for each other were long gone, but the gods had still thought to bring them back together. Feelings of affection aside, there must have been a reason. Maybe it was for this moment. This moment of comfort, rather than grief. The feeling of having someone hold her, it was much more of a relief than Iris usually would have admitted.
"Perhaps you are right," Iris said quietly, "Part of me just wishes I had been able to say a proper goodbye. There is so much more I want to tell him," Iris sighed, basking in being held and carefully pressing her own hands against his back. Normally, she would have found a smile at the sentiment that her husband murmured to her. But she just couldn't. As much as she appreciated the tender sentiment, she couldn't bring herself to crack that one smile that may have made her feel the slightest bit better.
"I have spent so much of my life preparing for this moment, Aimias. Now that it is here…" she trailed off at first, her gaze wandering back to her father. Iris didn't remove herself from his embrace. "How am I to do any of this without him?" the lady questioned softly, "How does one keep moving when the one person who has been their entire world is gone?" She wasn't thinking about the fact that he had lost his wife. That was the furthest thing from her mind, but she still thought he might have answers. Anything that could calm the ache in her chest. Was that so much to ask? Too much, even, to ask of the man who now held her name?
The day had started off like any other and her morning had been so full of promise and plans. But by midmorning, she and her husband and two children were shut up in their carriage and rolling through the streets to her cousin’s city house. The distance was no great thing for adult legs but Elysia argued that her children, both of whom were younger than six, did not need to walk the whole distance, and she wasn’t totally sure her own legs would support her the whole way. Their daughter, Idalia, sat with Cicero across from her, while she kept Rastus on her lap, snuggled right to her chest. She held him rather the way someone would hold a stuffed animal and he kept fidgeting. Every so often she would dab at the corner of her eye, take a great sniff, and then swat his little hand gently to keep him still.
By the time they reached the Argyris house, she’d traded Rastus for Idalia, who was no better about fidgeting and Elysia made sure that the nanny, who rode with them, made sure to keep the children constantly entertained. “I am distraught,” she said, glancing at her husband and then half glowering at the nanny. “I do not wish to be disturbed in my distress.”
”Yes, mistress,” the nanny shot Cicero a look as though begging not to be a nanny, just once, but Elysia didn’t have much pity. To tend the children was this woman’s job. It was what they paid her for. The carriage lurched to a stop and Elysia pushed at her hair, ensuring it was tragic enough, and then looked at her husband.
“I don’t expect you to cry, but please don’t make it worse. Just...stand there, looking calamitous.” He wouldn’t embarrass her. He would never. But he wasn’t exactly the most emotional of men and she didn’t want Iris upset if something less than the most sentimental were to leave his mouth. Cicero could do many things, but she did know if he could weep on command. They’d never crossed that bridge. She could, and she would work up even more tears than necessary, if it looked like Iris was crying too hard to be decorous. She wouldn’t leave her cousin to look silly alone.
Once out of the carriage, it was a little harder than she expected to take the necessary steps forward into a house she knew so well, knowing that one of the men who’d meant most to her, her uncle who’d served as a surrogate father, would be lying on a table. She would see him, but he wouldn’t be aware of her at all. Slipping her arm through her husband’s, they made their way together up the walk and were admitted into the house.
”Your arrival will be announced,” the steward said, and left them alone. Two blurs bounced past her as her children scampered into the the house with the nanny in active pursuit. She sighed. Well. Touching her hair again, she turned, heading into the room that she felt Takis would likely have been lain, and leaned on the doorframe, finding him sure enough. She did not approach, however. She simply looked him over, not ready to touch his still form just yet.
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The day had started off like any other and her morning had been so full of promise and plans. But by midmorning, she and her husband and two children were shut up in their carriage and rolling through the streets to her cousin’s city house. The distance was no great thing for adult legs but Elysia argued that her children, both of whom were younger than six, did not need to walk the whole distance, and she wasn’t totally sure her own legs would support her the whole way. Their daughter, Idalia, sat with Cicero across from her, while she kept Rastus on her lap, snuggled right to her chest. She held him rather the way someone would hold a stuffed animal and he kept fidgeting. Every so often she would dab at the corner of her eye, take a great sniff, and then swat his little hand gently to keep him still.
By the time they reached the Argyris house, she’d traded Rastus for Idalia, who was no better about fidgeting and Elysia made sure that the nanny, who rode with them, made sure to keep the children constantly entertained. “I am distraught,” she said, glancing at her husband and then half glowering at the nanny. “I do not wish to be disturbed in my distress.”
”Yes, mistress,” the nanny shot Cicero a look as though begging not to be a nanny, just once, but Elysia didn’t have much pity. To tend the children was this woman’s job. It was what they paid her for. The carriage lurched to a stop and Elysia pushed at her hair, ensuring it was tragic enough, and then looked at her husband.
“I don’t expect you to cry, but please don’t make it worse. Just...stand there, looking calamitous.” He wouldn’t embarrass her. He would never. But he wasn’t exactly the most emotional of men and she didn’t want Iris upset if something less than the most sentimental were to leave his mouth. Cicero could do many things, but she did know if he could weep on command. They’d never crossed that bridge. She could, and she would work up even more tears than necessary, if it looked like Iris was crying too hard to be decorous. She wouldn’t leave her cousin to look silly alone.
Once out of the carriage, it was a little harder than she expected to take the necessary steps forward into a house she knew so well, knowing that one of the men who’d meant most to her, her uncle who’d served as a surrogate father, would be lying on a table. She would see him, but he wouldn’t be aware of her at all. Slipping her arm through her husband’s, they made their way together up the walk and were admitted into the house.
”Your arrival will be announced,” the steward said, and left them alone. Two blurs bounced past her as her children scampered into the the house with the nanny in active pursuit. She sighed. Well. Touching her hair again, she turned, heading into the room that she felt Takis would likely have been lain, and leaned on the doorframe, finding him sure enough. She did not approach, however. She simply looked him over, not ready to touch his still form just yet.
The day had started off like any other and her morning had been so full of promise and plans. But by midmorning, she and her husband and two children were shut up in their carriage and rolling through the streets to her cousin’s city house. The distance was no great thing for adult legs but Elysia argued that her children, both of whom were younger than six, did not need to walk the whole distance, and she wasn’t totally sure her own legs would support her the whole way. Their daughter, Idalia, sat with Cicero across from her, while she kept Rastus on her lap, snuggled right to her chest. She held him rather the way someone would hold a stuffed animal and he kept fidgeting. Every so often she would dab at the corner of her eye, take a great sniff, and then swat his little hand gently to keep him still.
By the time they reached the Argyris house, she’d traded Rastus for Idalia, who was no better about fidgeting and Elysia made sure that the nanny, who rode with them, made sure to keep the children constantly entertained. “I am distraught,” she said, glancing at her husband and then half glowering at the nanny. “I do not wish to be disturbed in my distress.”
”Yes, mistress,” the nanny shot Cicero a look as though begging not to be a nanny, just once, but Elysia didn’t have much pity. To tend the children was this woman’s job. It was what they paid her for. The carriage lurched to a stop and Elysia pushed at her hair, ensuring it was tragic enough, and then looked at her husband.
“I don’t expect you to cry, but please don’t make it worse. Just...stand there, looking calamitous.” He wouldn’t embarrass her. He would never. But he wasn’t exactly the most emotional of men and she didn’t want Iris upset if something less than the most sentimental were to leave his mouth. Cicero could do many things, but she did know if he could weep on command. They’d never crossed that bridge. She could, and she would work up even more tears than necessary, if it looked like Iris was crying too hard to be decorous. She wouldn’t leave her cousin to look silly alone.
Once out of the carriage, it was a little harder than she expected to take the necessary steps forward into a house she knew so well, knowing that one of the men who’d meant most to her, her uncle who’d served as a surrogate father, would be lying on a table. She would see him, but he wouldn’t be aware of her at all. Slipping her arm through her husband’s, they made their way together up the walk and were admitted into the house.
”Your arrival will be announced,” the steward said, and left them alone. Two blurs bounced past her as her children scampered into the the house with the nanny in active pursuit. She sighed. Well. Touching her hair again, she turned, heading into the room that she felt Takis would likely have been lain, and leaned on the doorframe, finding him sure enough. She did not approach, however. She simply looked him over, not ready to touch his still form just yet.
Iris hadn't needed to be alerted to the presence of her cousin. Honestly, she was more welcome here than Elysia likely realized. Though she still had many things to ask her husband, uselessly and out loud, Iris took the appearance of her cousin in the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Letting go of Aimias, Iris swallowed down the tears that threatened to keep spilling over. The young baroness trailed across the floor toward Elysia, holding her hands out to the woman with a furrowed brow.
"I am sorry that word did not reach you sooner, Elysia," she said gently, cracking only the slightest bit of a fake smile that quickly wavered and disappeared. "He went this morning. In the gardens," Iris murmured low, glancing back at the body of her father as if he might still be listening. Takis wouldn't have wanted any of them to find sadness in his passing, but the family had all been close. It was difficult not to feel grief even if you knew the end was a long time coming.
"Please," she then murmured, motioning toward her father, "Visit with him. I'm sure that if he were still here he would be annoyed with my constant hovering," Iris murmured, excusing herself quietly in order to try and escape the room. She gave only a single glance back toward her husband as she exited the room and came to lean her back against the wall beside the doorway. With her green eyes closing and her head tipping back, Iris let out a slow, steadying breath, her knee bouncing slightly as if she still couldn't rid herself of the overwhelming nerves that the day had brought them.
Honestly, she was glad that Elysia was here, but she both found that she couldn't stand by her father anymore, and that she wanted to give her cousin a moment of privacy. Instead, she glanced toward Cicero with a slight frown, "Where are the little ones?" she asked, finding that she might be at home with the children, including little Phillipa, than she would be lording over her own father's corpse. She heard the giggles, but she hadn't taken the moment to search for them herself. Not yet, at least. Iris herself was unsure of what the children would think of the somber nature of the home. She wondered if they had any concept of death at all, but figured that it was unlikely, them being so young.
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Iris hadn't needed to be alerted to the presence of her cousin. Honestly, she was more welcome here than Elysia likely realized. Though she still had many things to ask her husband, uselessly and out loud, Iris took the appearance of her cousin in the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Letting go of Aimias, Iris swallowed down the tears that threatened to keep spilling over. The young baroness trailed across the floor toward Elysia, holding her hands out to the woman with a furrowed brow.
"I am sorry that word did not reach you sooner, Elysia," she said gently, cracking only the slightest bit of a fake smile that quickly wavered and disappeared. "He went this morning. In the gardens," Iris murmured low, glancing back at the body of her father as if he might still be listening. Takis wouldn't have wanted any of them to find sadness in his passing, but the family had all been close. It was difficult not to feel grief even if you knew the end was a long time coming.
"Please," she then murmured, motioning toward her father, "Visit with him. I'm sure that if he were still here he would be annoyed with my constant hovering," Iris murmured, excusing herself quietly in order to try and escape the room. She gave only a single glance back toward her husband as she exited the room and came to lean her back against the wall beside the doorway. With her green eyes closing and her head tipping back, Iris let out a slow, steadying breath, her knee bouncing slightly as if she still couldn't rid herself of the overwhelming nerves that the day had brought them.
Honestly, she was glad that Elysia was here, but she both found that she couldn't stand by her father anymore, and that she wanted to give her cousin a moment of privacy. Instead, she glanced toward Cicero with a slight frown, "Where are the little ones?" she asked, finding that she might be at home with the children, including little Phillipa, than she would be lording over her own father's corpse. She heard the giggles, but she hadn't taken the moment to search for them herself. Not yet, at least. Iris herself was unsure of what the children would think of the somber nature of the home. She wondered if they had any concept of death at all, but figured that it was unlikely, them being so young.
Iris hadn't needed to be alerted to the presence of her cousin. Honestly, she was more welcome here than Elysia likely realized. Though she still had many things to ask her husband, uselessly and out loud, Iris took the appearance of her cousin in the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Letting go of Aimias, Iris swallowed down the tears that threatened to keep spilling over. The young baroness trailed across the floor toward Elysia, holding her hands out to the woman with a furrowed brow.
"I am sorry that word did not reach you sooner, Elysia," she said gently, cracking only the slightest bit of a fake smile that quickly wavered and disappeared. "He went this morning. In the gardens," Iris murmured low, glancing back at the body of her father as if he might still be listening. Takis wouldn't have wanted any of them to find sadness in his passing, but the family had all been close. It was difficult not to feel grief even if you knew the end was a long time coming.
"Please," she then murmured, motioning toward her father, "Visit with him. I'm sure that if he were still here he would be annoyed with my constant hovering," Iris murmured, excusing herself quietly in order to try and escape the room. She gave only a single glance back toward her husband as she exited the room and came to lean her back against the wall beside the doorway. With her green eyes closing and her head tipping back, Iris let out a slow, steadying breath, her knee bouncing slightly as if she still couldn't rid herself of the overwhelming nerves that the day had brought them.
Honestly, she was glad that Elysia was here, but she both found that she couldn't stand by her father anymore, and that she wanted to give her cousin a moment of privacy. Instead, she glanced toward Cicero with a slight frown, "Where are the little ones?" she asked, finding that she might be at home with the children, including little Phillipa, than she would be lording over her own father's corpse. She heard the giggles, but she hadn't taken the moment to search for them herself. Not yet, at least. Iris herself was unsure of what the children would think of the somber nature of the home. She wondered if they had any concept of death at all, but figured that it was unlikely, them being so young.
"I am sorry that word did not reach you sooner, Elysia." Iris’s teary voice came at almost the same time Elysia found herself wrapped in a hug. It was the whisper of fabric that made Elysia turn and grasp her cousin’s hands, pulling her toward herself so that it was impossible to tell who’d hugged who first. She held onto Iris for a few long seconds before letting go and gently folding her own arms across her chest, her eyes following where Iris had glanced back at Takis.
The body was unbearably still. In life, he’d been a quiet force of nature. Unignorable if he was in the same room, even if he said nothing. Now, in death, she still could not ignore him, but he seemed smaller, somehow. What had made him a person was gone and they were left with this shell that had once held his spirit. Elysia dabbed two fingers at the corner of her eye and pulling her fingers back to look at the shiny tears. She sniffed and listened to Iris describing Takis’s last moment and nodded silently.
It was good that he’d taken his last breaths in the garden. Out under the morning sky, surrounded by the verdant green plants and fresh air. Things that made her feel so alive. His passage into death almost sounded soothing. Lying in the grass, birds singing overhead, watching insects creep through the blades of grass until his soul left his body. The macabre beauty of it made her eyes well up afresh but she said nothing of this to her cousin. Grieving the loss of a father, she didn’t feel that Iris would be in a position to appreciate that kind of comfort.
“Don’t be silly,” Elysia’s voice was thick and she waved off her cousin’s apology. “I’m here now and that’s what matters.” She’d been about to ask about Iris’s new husband but before she could, her cousin spoke first.
"Please, visit with him. I'm sure that if he were still here he would be annoyed with my constant hovering.”
“He would,” Elysia agreed and stepped into the room only to suddenly find herself alone again. She approached the body, tears drying now that Iris was away from her. Never prone to excessive tears, the ones she’d cried just now were more sympathy tears with Iris, and she couldn’t seem to conjure more. There was a hollow nothing feeling as she looked down, brushing her fingers against Takis’s hand. She almost wanted to jerk back because touching his skin was so strange. There was absolutely no warmth to it, no movement of blood beneath the surface. It was like touching an imposter. Half turning when she heard Iris speaking to Cicero, she sighed and looked back at Takis. She hated mourning. It was the exact opposite of what she wanted to feel and she wished that the body before her would disappear and that the man himself would appear in the far doorway and demand to know why everyone was being so silly.
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"I am sorry that word did not reach you sooner, Elysia." Iris’s teary voice came at almost the same time Elysia found herself wrapped in a hug. It was the whisper of fabric that made Elysia turn and grasp her cousin’s hands, pulling her toward herself so that it was impossible to tell who’d hugged who first. She held onto Iris for a few long seconds before letting go and gently folding her own arms across her chest, her eyes following where Iris had glanced back at Takis.
The body was unbearably still. In life, he’d been a quiet force of nature. Unignorable if he was in the same room, even if he said nothing. Now, in death, she still could not ignore him, but he seemed smaller, somehow. What had made him a person was gone and they were left with this shell that had once held his spirit. Elysia dabbed two fingers at the corner of her eye and pulling her fingers back to look at the shiny tears. She sniffed and listened to Iris describing Takis’s last moment and nodded silently.
It was good that he’d taken his last breaths in the garden. Out under the morning sky, surrounded by the verdant green plants and fresh air. Things that made her feel so alive. His passage into death almost sounded soothing. Lying in the grass, birds singing overhead, watching insects creep through the blades of grass until his soul left his body. The macabre beauty of it made her eyes well up afresh but she said nothing of this to her cousin. Grieving the loss of a father, she didn’t feel that Iris would be in a position to appreciate that kind of comfort.
“Don’t be silly,” Elysia’s voice was thick and she waved off her cousin’s apology. “I’m here now and that’s what matters.” She’d been about to ask about Iris’s new husband but before she could, her cousin spoke first.
"Please, visit with him. I'm sure that if he were still here he would be annoyed with my constant hovering.”
“He would,” Elysia agreed and stepped into the room only to suddenly find herself alone again. She approached the body, tears drying now that Iris was away from her. Never prone to excessive tears, the ones she’d cried just now were more sympathy tears with Iris, and she couldn’t seem to conjure more. There was a hollow nothing feeling as she looked down, brushing her fingers against Takis’s hand. She almost wanted to jerk back because touching his skin was so strange. There was absolutely no warmth to it, no movement of blood beneath the surface. It was like touching an imposter. Half turning when she heard Iris speaking to Cicero, she sighed and looked back at Takis. She hated mourning. It was the exact opposite of what she wanted to feel and she wished that the body before her would disappear and that the man himself would appear in the far doorway and demand to know why everyone was being so silly.
"I am sorry that word did not reach you sooner, Elysia." Iris’s teary voice came at almost the same time Elysia found herself wrapped in a hug. It was the whisper of fabric that made Elysia turn and grasp her cousin’s hands, pulling her toward herself so that it was impossible to tell who’d hugged who first. She held onto Iris for a few long seconds before letting go and gently folding her own arms across her chest, her eyes following where Iris had glanced back at Takis.
The body was unbearably still. In life, he’d been a quiet force of nature. Unignorable if he was in the same room, even if he said nothing. Now, in death, she still could not ignore him, but he seemed smaller, somehow. What had made him a person was gone and they were left with this shell that had once held his spirit. Elysia dabbed two fingers at the corner of her eye and pulling her fingers back to look at the shiny tears. She sniffed and listened to Iris describing Takis’s last moment and nodded silently.
It was good that he’d taken his last breaths in the garden. Out under the morning sky, surrounded by the verdant green plants and fresh air. Things that made her feel so alive. His passage into death almost sounded soothing. Lying in the grass, birds singing overhead, watching insects creep through the blades of grass until his soul left his body. The macabre beauty of it made her eyes well up afresh but she said nothing of this to her cousin. Grieving the loss of a father, she didn’t feel that Iris would be in a position to appreciate that kind of comfort.
“Don’t be silly,” Elysia’s voice was thick and she waved off her cousin’s apology. “I’m here now and that’s what matters.” She’d been about to ask about Iris’s new husband but before she could, her cousin spoke first.
"Please, visit with him. I'm sure that if he were still here he would be annoyed with my constant hovering.”
“He would,” Elysia agreed and stepped into the room only to suddenly find herself alone again. She approached the body, tears drying now that Iris was away from her. Never prone to excessive tears, the ones she’d cried just now were more sympathy tears with Iris, and she couldn’t seem to conjure more. There was a hollow nothing feeling as she looked down, brushing her fingers against Takis’s hand. She almost wanted to jerk back because touching his skin was so strange. There was absolutely no warmth to it, no movement of blood beneath the surface. It was like touching an imposter. Half turning when she heard Iris speaking to Cicero, she sighed and looked back at Takis. She hated mourning. It was the exact opposite of what she wanted to feel and she wished that the body before her would disappear and that the man himself would appear in the far doorway and demand to know why everyone was being so silly.
Death could be so terribly....inconvenient, Cicero considered as he surveyed his wife’s tear reddened eyes and conspicuous eye dabbing. He had been right on the edge of completing his notes regarding an important matter he’d been looking into, but the man knew well enough the moments that distracted genius would work as an excuse to avoid family responsibilities, and this was not one of them. And so he sat in the carriage, Idalia perched on his knee and chattering on about those dear things that young children tended to babble on about and that he had so little space for in a mind already full to the bursting.
“Yes darling” he murmured, smoothing a hand over the girl’s hair, and blinking as she poked him in the eye. It meant he could lay claim to at least one watery eye when Elysia briefed him on what would be considered an appropriate countenance as they drew close to her cousin's house, and he fixed his wife with a long level look.
“Calamitous. Got it” he said dryly, but when the carriage came to a halt and the nanny stewarded the children onwards, Cicero most unusually hung back and reached over to give Elysia’s hand a fleeting squeeze. For a man not given at all to public displays of affection, it suggested her grief was at least apparent enough to her husband.
When the doors opened and Idalia and Rastus darted off at a pace that promised chaos, Cicero looked mildly pained. It was an expression that he locked in place as they made their way within, and he hung back when Elysia moved toward a room where her Uncle lay, cold and stiff in death.
Rather than stare at her as she went through whatever emotional..journey she felt she needed to, Cicero moved idly around the grand hallway, picking things up, inspecting them, putting them down again. He was trying and failing not to be listing all of the things he could better be doing with his time, and when Lady Iris first spoke, he didn’t realise she was addressing him and so there was a long awkward pause before he lifted his eyebrows and blinked at her. “They are here,” Cicero said as if the fact that they were in fact nowhere to be seen did not matter. And then because he felt Elysia’s eyes upon him, he added an abrupt “I am sorry for your loss” to the address before calmly setting down the trinket he had been examining.
Not known as a verbose man until you got him talking upon a subject of interest, Cicero did not attempt to make any further conversation, instead rocked on heels and did a very good impression of looking impatient, until he recalled his wife’s words and made himself still and somber. Calamitous even.
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Death could be so terribly....inconvenient, Cicero considered as he surveyed his wife’s tear reddened eyes and conspicuous eye dabbing. He had been right on the edge of completing his notes regarding an important matter he’d been looking into, but the man knew well enough the moments that distracted genius would work as an excuse to avoid family responsibilities, and this was not one of them. And so he sat in the carriage, Idalia perched on his knee and chattering on about those dear things that young children tended to babble on about and that he had so little space for in a mind already full to the bursting.
“Yes darling” he murmured, smoothing a hand over the girl’s hair, and blinking as she poked him in the eye. It meant he could lay claim to at least one watery eye when Elysia briefed him on what would be considered an appropriate countenance as they drew close to her cousin's house, and he fixed his wife with a long level look.
“Calamitous. Got it” he said dryly, but when the carriage came to a halt and the nanny stewarded the children onwards, Cicero most unusually hung back and reached over to give Elysia’s hand a fleeting squeeze. For a man not given at all to public displays of affection, it suggested her grief was at least apparent enough to her husband.
When the doors opened and Idalia and Rastus darted off at a pace that promised chaos, Cicero looked mildly pained. It was an expression that he locked in place as they made their way within, and he hung back when Elysia moved toward a room where her Uncle lay, cold and stiff in death.
Rather than stare at her as she went through whatever emotional..journey she felt she needed to, Cicero moved idly around the grand hallway, picking things up, inspecting them, putting them down again. He was trying and failing not to be listing all of the things he could better be doing with his time, and when Lady Iris first spoke, he didn’t realise she was addressing him and so there was a long awkward pause before he lifted his eyebrows and blinked at her. “They are here,” Cicero said as if the fact that they were in fact nowhere to be seen did not matter. And then because he felt Elysia’s eyes upon him, he added an abrupt “I am sorry for your loss” to the address before calmly setting down the trinket he had been examining.
Not known as a verbose man until you got him talking upon a subject of interest, Cicero did not attempt to make any further conversation, instead rocked on heels and did a very good impression of looking impatient, until he recalled his wife’s words and made himself still and somber. Calamitous even.
Death could be so terribly....inconvenient, Cicero considered as he surveyed his wife’s tear reddened eyes and conspicuous eye dabbing. He had been right on the edge of completing his notes regarding an important matter he’d been looking into, but the man knew well enough the moments that distracted genius would work as an excuse to avoid family responsibilities, and this was not one of them. And so he sat in the carriage, Idalia perched on his knee and chattering on about those dear things that young children tended to babble on about and that he had so little space for in a mind already full to the bursting.
“Yes darling” he murmured, smoothing a hand over the girl’s hair, and blinking as she poked him in the eye. It meant he could lay claim to at least one watery eye when Elysia briefed him on what would be considered an appropriate countenance as they drew close to her cousin's house, and he fixed his wife with a long level look.
“Calamitous. Got it” he said dryly, but when the carriage came to a halt and the nanny stewarded the children onwards, Cicero most unusually hung back and reached over to give Elysia’s hand a fleeting squeeze. For a man not given at all to public displays of affection, it suggested her grief was at least apparent enough to her husband.
When the doors opened and Idalia and Rastus darted off at a pace that promised chaos, Cicero looked mildly pained. It was an expression that he locked in place as they made their way within, and he hung back when Elysia moved toward a room where her Uncle lay, cold and stiff in death.
Rather than stare at her as she went through whatever emotional..journey she felt she needed to, Cicero moved idly around the grand hallway, picking things up, inspecting them, putting them down again. He was trying and failing not to be listing all of the things he could better be doing with his time, and when Lady Iris first spoke, he didn’t realise she was addressing him and so there was a long awkward pause before he lifted his eyebrows and blinked at her. “They are here,” Cicero said as if the fact that they were in fact nowhere to be seen did not matter. And then because he felt Elysia’s eyes upon him, he added an abrupt “I am sorry for your loss” to the address before calmly setting down the trinket he had been examining.
Not known as a verbose man until you got him talking upon a subject of interest, Cicero did not attempt to make any further conversation, instead rocked on heels and did a very good impression of looking impatient, until he recalled his wife’s words and made himself still and somber. Calamitous even.
He knew exactly what she was feeling in this moment. But even if they had enough time, could pause life to be able to say everything that needed to be said, it would never be enough. Time was a thief, but it didn’t discriminate. His first wife had been ripped from him in childbirth, the suddenness of her departure left everything unsaid. There had been no warning, no time for him to make his peace with things. The cry of the infant from above had brought him so much joy, only to have the happiness shattered moments later with news of his wife’s death. ”Perhaps we are lucky enough that Hades lets them stay for a bit. You should still tell him what you wish him to know. There is no saying that he won’t hear it and take it with him.”
That thought had been the only thing that kept him going as he clung to the cold, lifeless hand of his own wife. He sat with her, described the baby in as much detail as his scholarly heart could manage. His fears opened to her like a chasm, pouring out everything he could, as if he needed her to know what she was leaving behind. But even then, it hasn’t helped his grief initially. It wasn’t until he had come to terms with being alone that his words to her had felt selfish. If she had heard him, it was not fair of him to send her to the afterlife with the guilt that would have come with his words.
He listened to her question, and with a sad smile, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. But before he could tell her, ”One moment at a time. You face one breath, then the next. And then, you face the minutes and hours and days. And soon, it is not as hard. The pain fades.”, they were interrupted. The couple that came in was one he recognized, but didn’t know himself. His words hung back on his own tongue, knowing he would have a moment in the future to assist her. They would have the rest of their lives to lean on each other. Right now, it seemed as if family was the better bet. He was reluctant to let her go, but allowed her to find her comfort elsewhere.
As the two women conferred, he moved towards the man. He knew Cicero from the senate, but not well enough to consider him a friend. Both just stood mostly in silence until Iris joined them. Her question as to where the children almost caused a brow to raise. Instead, the giggling sneaking in from the windows meant they were outside in the gardens. ”It sounds as if Phillipa has found them. I would imagine they will be occupied for the near future.” Clearing his throat, Aimias felt a growing awkwardness in the situation. There was little he knew to do in this situation. And when he was unsure of his place in a situation, he usually made his exit. He was not a man to entertain, or to know how to be what he now was. And it made him feel even more awkward. ”I shall leave you to your company wife. I shall be in our rooms, seeing the necessary missives, should you need me.” That was something he could, and should, do as the new baron. He needed to inform the right people of the senate, needed to make sure that the proper channels were in place so that his wife could mourn until she was ready to take over.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, offered a bow to man, and left the room so his wife might find comfort with faces more familiar than his own.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He knew exactly what she was feeling in this moment. But even if they had enough time, could pause life to be able to say everything that needed to be said, it would never be enough. Time was a thief, but it didn’t discriminate. His first wife had been ripped from him in childbirth, the suddenness of her departure left everything unsaid. There had been no warning, no time for him to make his peace with things. The cry of the infant from above had brought him so much joy, only to have the happiness shattered moments later with news of his wife’s death. ”Perhaps we are lucky enough that Hades lets them stay for a bit. You should still tell him what you wish him to know. There is no saying that he won’t hear it and take it with him.”
That thought had been the only thing that kept him going as he clung to the cold, lifeless hand of his own wife. He sat with her, described the baby in as much detail as his scholarly heart could manage. His fears opened to her like a chasm, pouring out everything he could, as if he needed her to know what she was leaving behind. But even then, it hasn’t helped his grief initially. It wasn’t until he had come to terms with being alone that his words to her had felt selfish. If she had heard him, it was not fair of him to send her to the afterlife with the guilt that would have come with his words.
He listened to her question, and with a sad smile, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. But before he could tell her, ”One moment at a time. You face one breath, then the next. And then, you face the minutes and hours and days. And soon, it is not as hard. The pain fades.”, they were interrupted. The couple that came in was one he recognized, but didn’t know himself. His words hung back on his own tongue, knowing he would have a moment in the future to assist her. They would have the rest of their lives to lean on each other. Right now, it seemed as if family was the better bet. He was reluctant to let her go, but allowed her to find her comfort elsewhere.
As the two women conferred, he moved towards the man. He knew Cicero from the senate, but not well enough to consider him a friend. Both just stood mostly in silence until Iris joined them. Her question as to where the children almost caused a brow to raise. Instead, the giggling sneaking in from the windows meant they were outside in the gardens. ”It sounds as if Phillipa has found them. I would imagine they will be occupied for the near future.” Clearing his throat, Aimias felt a growing awkwardness in the situation. There was little he knew to do in this situation. And when he was unsure of his place in a situation, he usually made his exit. He was not a man to entertain, or to know how to be what he now was. And it made him feel even more awkward. ”I shall leave you to your company wife. I shall be in our rooms, seeing the necessary missives, should you need me.” That was something he could, and should, do as the new baron. He needed to inform the right people of the senate, needed to make sure that the proper channels were in place so that his wife could mourn until she was ready to take over.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, offered a bow to man, and left the room so his wife might find comfort with faces more familiar than his own.
He knew exactly what she was feeling in this moment. But even if they had enough time, could pause life to be able to say everything that needed to be said, it would never be enough. Time was a thief, but it didn’t discriminate. His first wife had been ripped from him in childbirth, the suddenness of her departure left everything unsaid. There had been no warning, no time for him to make his peace with things. The cry of the infant from above had brought him so much joy, only to have the happiness shattered moments later with news of his wife’s death. ”Perhaps we are lucky enough that Hades lets them stay for a bit. You should still tell him what you wish him to know. There is no saying that he won’t hear it and take it with him.”
That thought had been the only thing that kept him going as he clung to the cold, lifeless hand of his own wife. He sat with her, described the baby in as much detail as his scholarly heart could manage. His fears opened to her like a chasm, pouring out everything he could, as if he needed her to know what she was leaving behind. But even then, it hasn’t helped his grief initially. It wasn’t until he had come to terms with being alone that his words to her had felt selfish. If she had heard him, it was not fair of him to send her to the afterlife with the guilt that would have come with his words.
He listened to her question, and with a sad smile, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. But before he could tell her, ”One moment at a time. You face one breath, then the next. And then, you face the minutes and hours and days. And soon, it is not as hard. The pain fades.”, they were interrupted. The couple that came in was one he recognized, but didn’t know himself. His words hung back on his own tongue, knowing he would have a moment in the future to assist her. They would have the rest of their lives to lean on each other. Right now, it seemed as if family was the better bet. He was reluctant to let her go, but allowed her to find her comfort elsewhere.
As the two women conferred, he moved towards the man. He knew Cicero from the senate, but not well enough to consider him a friend. Both just stood mostly in silence until Iris joined them. Her question as to where the children almost caused a brow to raise. Instead, the giggling sneaking in from the windows meant they were outside in the gardens. ”It sounds as if Phillipa has found them. I would imagine they will be occupied for the near future.” Clearing his throat, Aimias felt a growing awkwardness in the situation. There was little he knew to do in this situation. And when he was unsure of his place in a situation, he usually made his exit. He was not a man to entertain, or to know how to be what he now was. And it made him feel even more awkward. ”I shall leave you to your company wife. I shall be in our rooms, seeing the necessary missives, should you need me.” That was something he could, and should, do as the new baron. He needed to inform the right people of the senate, needed to make sure that the proper channels were in place so that his wife could mourn until she was ready to take over.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, offered a bow to man, and left the room so his wife might find comfort with faces more familiar than his own.
Iris stared at Elysia's husband, her expression almost amused in nature. She'd known Cicero long enough to know that he did not talk much and was more likely to stand awkwardly in a corner watching the world around him than actually have a full conversation. How her cousin had lured him into her claws always confused Iris in a way that she would never deny. Despite the somber nature of their situation together, Iris found herself brushing her hands down the front of her gown, trying to hide the almost secretive smile that settled on her lips.
Having been about to speak to him, she glanced up when her husband joined them, standing just as awkwardly in the same vacinity of her as Cicero was now. It was entirely clear that she could hardly contain the overwhelming need to laugh, and Aimias' declaration that he was going to work since Phillipa was occupied with Iris' niece and nephew, Iris could only nod, leaning a bit closer to Aimias when he kissed her cheek and then walked off.
When he was gone, Iris broke into a fit of giggles, shaking her head vehemently. "I am sorry, Cicero. But I know that you are not truly sorry," Iris said lightly, "But I thank you for the consideration and forthought you have put in to assure me that you are," she finished, giving him a bit of an almost cheerful smile now. "Nor do I blame you. We women need someone to ground us and be practical even in the face of grief that you don't understand yourself," she declared, shrugging one fo her shoulders.
"The sitting room is open to you if you wish to find yourself comfortable rather than melting into the stone walls like a chamelion," Iris said lightly, glancing toward one of the servants who was coming down the hall. "Please make the Master Informer comfortable," she declared and then turned away, moving to stand back in the doorway of her father's room.
She stood there for the longest time, simply watching Elysia's back before she stepped in to join her, silently offering a small hand of comfoft on her lower back as Iris silently said her own final goodbyes to her father. Honestly, this would be easier with Elysia here. There was no doubt about that. Not to mention their othe cousins and aunt would be a soothing force in the coming days, and that was all that Iris needed right then. The knowledge that she would not grieve alone. Resting her head on Elysia's shoulder, she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said to both her father and to her cousin, though she did feel relief that Takis was no longer in pain. No longer suffering. Marrying Aimais had been the one thing he had wanted, and it had made him exceedingly happy until he'd passed.
At least she knew that she hadn't failed as a daughter.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Iris stared at Elysia's husband, her expression almost amused in nature. She'd known Cicero long enough to know that he did not talk much and was more likely to stand awkwardly in a corner watching the world around him than actually have a full conversation. How her cousin had lured him into her claws always confused Iris in a way that she would never deny. Despite the somber nature of their situation together, Iris found herself brushing her hands down the front of her gown, trying to hide the almost secretive smile that settled on her lips.
Having been about to speak to him, she glanced up when her husband joined them, standing just as awkwardly in the same vacinity of her as Cicero was now. It was entirely clear that she could hardly contain the overwhelming need to laugh, and Aimias' declaration that he was going to work since Phillipa was occupied with Iris' niece and nephew, Iris could only nod, leaning a bit closer to Aimias when he kissed her cheek and then walked off.
When he was gone, Iris broke into a fit of giggles, shaking her head vehemently. "I am sorry, Cicero. But I know that you are not truly sorry," Iris said lightly, "But I thank you for the consideration and forthought you have put in to assure me that you are," she finished, giving him a bit of an almost cheerful smile now. "Nor do I blame you. We women need someone to ground us and be practical even in the face of grief that you don't understand yourself," she declared, shrugging one fo her shoulders.
"The sitting room is open to you if you wish to find yourself comfortable rather than melting into the stone walls like a chamelion," Iris said lightly, glancing toward one of the servants who was coming down the hall. "Please make the Master Informer comfortable," she declared and then turned away, moving to stand back in the doorway of her father's room.
She stood there for the longest time, simply watching Elysia's back before she stepped in to join her, silently offering a small hand of comfoft on her lower back as Iris silently said her own final goodbyes to her father. Honestly, this would be easier with Elysia here. There was no doubt about that. Not to mention their othe cousins and aunt would be a soothing force in the coming days, and that was all that Iris needed right then. The knowledge that she would not grieve alone. Resting her head on Elysia's shoulder, she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said to both her father and to her cousin, though she did feel relief that Takis was no longer in pain. No longer suffering. Marrying Aimais had been the one thing he had wanted, and it had made him exceedingly happy until he'd passed.
At least she knew that she hadn't failed as a daughter.
Iris stared at Elysia's husband, her expression almost amused in nature. She'd known Cicero long enough to know that he did not talk much and was more likely to stand awkwardly in a corner watching the world around him than actually have a full conversation. How her cousin had lured him into her claws always confused Iris in a way that she would never deny. Despite the somber nature of their situation together, Iris found herself brushing her hands down the front of her gown, trying to hide the almost secretive smile that settled on her lips.
Having been about to speak to him, she glanced up when her husband joined them, standing just as awkwardly in the same vacinity of her as Cicero was now. It was entirely clear that she could hardly contain the overwhelming need to laugh, and Aimias' declaration that he was going to work since Phillipa was occupied with Iris' niece and nephew, Iris could only nod, leaning a bit closer to Aimias when he kissed her cheek and then walked off.
When he was gone, Iris broke into a fit of giggles, shaking her head vehemently. "I am sorry, Cicero. But I know that you are not truly sorry," Iris said lightly, "But I thank you for the consideration and forthought you have put in to assure me that you are," she finished, giving him a bit of an almost cheerful smile now. "Nor do I blame you. We women need someone to ground us and be practical even in the face of grief that you don't understand yourself," she declared, shrugging one fo her shoulders.
"The sitting room is open to you if you wish to find yourself comfortable rather than melting into the stone walls like a chamelion," Iris said lightly, glancing toward one of the servants who was coming down the hall. "Please make the Master Informer comfortable," she declared and then turned away, moving to stand back in the doorway of her father's room.
She stood there for the longest time, simply watching Elysia's back before she stepped in to join her, silently offering a small hand of comfoft on her lower back as Iris silently said her own final goodbyes to her father. Honestly, this would be easier with Elysia here. There was no doubt about that. Not to mention their othe cousins and aunt would be a soothing force in the coming days, and that was all that Iris needed right then. The knowledge that she would not grieve alone. Resting her head on Elysia's shoulder, she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said to both her father and to her cousin, though she did feel relief that Takis was no longer in pain. No longer suffering. Marrying Aimais had been the one thing he had wanted, and it had made him exceedingly happy until he'd passed.
At least she knew that she hadn't failed as a daughter.