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It was a strange sort of stillness that had settled over the Mikaelidas manor. The house was still festooned with flowers, silks still hung from the trees in the gardens but the lanterns were not lit and the servants stepped quietly down the hallways, speaking in whispers. Such a contrast to the gaiety and celebration that had heralded the return of the wedding party, now death had left its silence like a veil over the archontiko.
It was all the more brutal a shock, coming as it did in the wake of such joy, some cruel act of the Gods that Achilleas did not dare let himself think upon too long, because when he considered the delays and obstacles that they had faced even to get to this day, it sent a prickle of unease deep into the core of him that the fates had chosen to play with them this way.
Congratulations had been replaced with condolences, their families remaining after the other guests had been ushered away. Theodora’s mother and younger sister had been conspicuously absent though, and his bride had eventually confessed to him of the brief goodbye she had shared with her mother before everything had fallen apart. He understood.
Eventually, those who had lingered to offer consolation and support had gone too, and Achilleas found he and Theodora alone for what felt like the first moment in a long while. He was sprawled across one of the klines in the less formal sitting room, one of the few spaces that was less bedecked with decoration, and in his hand was the chalice of wine that had been pressed upon him hours before. He had not drunk the wine within, but rather used it to fend off any subsequent offers.
It had become abundantly clear that the tradition of returning with his bride to his own home would not do, and so Achilleas had made the decision that they would remain in the Manor House for at least this night, before seeing what the dawn brought with it. And in the hours that followed the sharp ending to their celebrations, Achilleas had glanced often at his new bride, trying to gauge her true feelings about this change of plans.
What else could he do?. Absolutely everything had changed, and though the reality of it might not yet have been announced or formally acknowledged, he could feel it there already, a subtle knowledge that sat just beyond the sludgy nothingness that seemed to have taken up residence in his head, that odd empty feeling in his chest.
“I’m sorry” he offered after a moment, wanting to break the silence between them. “This is not precisely how I had imagined this night”.
The words sounded too flippant, he thought after they had left his mouth. Too trivial. Achilleas sat up and leaned forward, finally setting down the cup he had nursed all evening and wondered what the correct etiquette was to try and salvage your wedding night when your father had just died.
He looked at Theodora, still so beautiful despite looking a little tired, and tried to find a way to something that might bring them closer again, but struggling because he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel or act. He should be feeling..something, he thought. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want anything?” He asked the question as he pushed to his feet, prepared to go and seek out anything she desired, as though they had not been offered refreshments multiple times over the course of the evening, as if there were not platters of food sat spoiling on the table surface even now.
Achilleas seemed to catch himself then, realising the foolishness of his question and blinking, the “...probably not.” falling from his lips almost self-consciously before he extended a hand towards where Theodora sat, wanting to feel her and just stop saying foolish things.
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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 a strange sort of stillness that had settled over the Mikaelidas manor. The house was still festooned with flowers, silks still hung from the trees in the gardens but the lanterns were not lit and the servants stepped quietly down the hallways, speaking in whispers. Such a contrast to the gaiety and celebration that had heralded the return of the wedding party, now death had left its silence like a veil over the archontiko.
It was all the more brutal a shock, coming as it did in the wake of such joy, some cruel act of the Gods that Achilleas did not dare let himself think upon too long, because when he considered the delays and obstacles that they had faced even to get to this day, it sent a prickle of unease deep into the core of him that the fates had chosen to play with them this way.
Congratulations had been replaced with condolences, their families remaining after the other guests had been ushered away. Theodora’s mother and younger sister had been conspicuously absent though, and his bride had eventually confessed to him of the brief goodbye she had shared with her mother before everything had fallen apart. He understood.
Eventually, those who had lingered to offer consolation and support had gone too, and Achilleas found he and Theodora alone for what felt like the first moment in a long while. He was sprawled across one of the klines in the less formal sitting room, one of the few spaces that was less bedecked with decoration, and in his hand was the chalice of wine that had been pressed upon him hours before. He had not drunk the wine within, but rather used it to fend off any subsequent offers.
It had become abundantly clear that the tradition of returning with his bride to his own home would not do, and so Achilleas had made the decision that they would remain in the Manor House for at least this night, before seeing what the dawn brought with it. And in the hours that followed the sharp ending to their celebrations, Achilleas had glanced often at his new bride, trying to gauge her true feelings about this change of plans.
What else could he do?. Absolutely everything had changed, and though the reality of it might not yet have been announced or formally acknowledged, he could feel it there already, a subtle knowledge that sat just beyond the sludgy nothingness that seemed to have taken up residence in his head, that odd empty feeling in his chest.
“I’m sorry” he offered after a moment, wanting to break the silence between them. “This is not precisely how I had imagined this night”.
The words sounded too flippant, he thought after they had left his mouth. Too trivial. Achilleas sat up and leaned forward, finally setting down the cup he had nursed all evening and wondered what the correct etiquette was to try and salvage your wedding night when your father had just died.
He looked at Theodora, still so beautiful despite looking a little tired, and tried to find a way to something that might bring them closer again, but struggling because he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel or act. He should be feeling..something, he thought. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want anything?” He asked the question as he pushed to his feet, prepared to go and seek out anything she desired, as though they had not been offered refreshments multiple times over the course of the evening, as if there were not platters of food sat spoiling on the table surface even now.
Achilleas seemed to catch himself then, realising the foolishness of his question and blinking, the “...probably not.” falling from his lips almost self-consciously before he extended a hand towards where Theodora sat, wanting to feel her and just stop saying foolish things.
It was a strange sort of stillness that had settled over the Mikaelidas manor. The house was still festooned with flowers, silks still hung from the trees in the gardens but the lanterns were not lit and the servants stepped quietly down the hallways, speaking in whispers. Such a contrast to the gaiety and celebration that had heralded the return of the wedding party, now death had left its silence like a veil over the archontiko.
It was all the more brutal a shock, coming as it did in the wake of such joy, some cruel act of the Gods that Achilleas did not dare let himself think upon too long, because when he considered the delays and obstacles that they had faced even to get to this day, it sent a prickle of unease deep into the core of him that the fates had chosen to play with them this way.
Congratulations had been replaced with condolences, their families remaining after the other guests had been ushered away. Theodora’s mother and younger sister had been conspicuously absent though, and his bride had eventually confessed to him of the brief goodbye she had shared with her mother before everything had fallen apart. He understood.
Eventually, those who had lingered to offer consolation and support had gone too, and Achilleas found he and Theodora alone for what felt like the first moment in a long while. He was sprawled across one of the klines in the less formal sitting room, one of the few spaces that was less bedecked with decoration, and in his hand was the chalice of wine that had been pressed upon him hours before. He had not drunk the wine within, but rather used it to fend off any subsequent offers.
It had become abundantly clear that the tradition of returning with his bride to his own home would not do, and so Achilleas had made the decision that they would remain in the Manor House for at least this night, before seeing what the dawn brought with it. And in the hours that followed the sharp ending to their celebrations, Achilleas had glanced often at his new bride, trying to gauge her true feelings about this change of plans.
What else could he do?. Absolutely everything had changed, and though the reality of it might not yet have been announced or formally acknowledged, he could feel it there already, a subtle knowledge that sat just beyond the sludgy nothingness that seemed to have taken up residence in his head, that odd empty feeling in his chest.
“I’m sorry” he offered after a moment, wanting to break the silence between them. “This is not precisely how I had imagined this night”.
The words sounded too flippant, he thought after they had left his mouth. Too trivial. Achilleas sat up and leaned forward, finally setting down the cup he had nursed all evening and wondered what the correct etiquette was to try and salvage your wedding night when your father had just died.
He looked at Theodora, still so beautiful despite looking a little tired, and tried to find a way to something that might bring them closer again, but struggling because he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel or act. He should be feeling..something, he thought. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want anything?” He asked the question as he pushed to his feet, prepared to go and seek out anything she desired, as though they had not been offered refreshments multiple times over the course of the evening, as if there were not platters of food sat spoiling on the table surface even now.
Achilleas seemed to catch himself then, realising the foolishness of his question and blinking, the “...probably not.” falling from his lips almost self-consciously before he extended a hand towards where Theodora sat, wanting to feel her and just stop saying foolish things.
Theo was beside herself with frustration. A frustration that she knew was entirely selfish and unfair in this moment... after the happenings of the day they had all just passed through. There were a thousand and one emotions spiralling within her, but 'frustration' seemed to be the strongest and most appropriate word.
There were benevolent thoughts within her. Moments in which she thought upon the family she had just married into and her compassion and genuinely kind heart broke for those who had lost he who was close to them. Whilst she did not fall into this category herself - whilst she had never considered herself to know, feel or care for the late King of Taengea, she did care for those who would be affected by his death. And she felt for them in a manner that had her heart bleeding.
Then there were the feelings of anger and resentment. The fact that she felt idle and immobile in helping those who suffered. These emotions she could do a little about. Whilst servants and slaves alike were in a mindset to be of no use this day and she did not wish for the Mikaelidas family to be disturbed in the late hours of the evening by the noise of bustling preparations, she had ensured that all household staff were aware of their tasks for the morning; that all traces of the wedding and its celebrations were to be removed from the grounds and rooms of the manor. She was certain that, while she could not control it, the family would keep themselves cloistered in the morning and would not be there to witness the removal of gaiety from the walls of the estate. They would be able to leave their chambers and awake to the world as it had been two days ago; no sad reminders of the events of the day, fluttering as grotesque reminders of the happiness they should have been souvenirs of.
After instructing the Chief Slave and household steward on how the clean-up should be carried out, she had also ensured that preparations were made that food be collected for the kitchens and meals prepared for the next few days. Especially given that Achilleas and she - not to mention many others in the Mikaelidas clan - would be spending much time within the estate in the next few days. Wine and healthy, hearty food would be needed.
Yet all such orders and instructions - given whilst Achilleas handled preparations for his father's body to be moved to the privacy of a chamber in the outer wing of the manor - seemed minimal; a pathetic attempt to diminish a hurt too painful to be subdued with a wine and decor.
Hence the frustration.
Theodora was supposed to be her husband's wife. Able to solve his problems and support him in his times of need. And how was she coping with that now? Ensuring streamers were put away and food was in the cupboards? Meagre. Very meagre...
Some Queen she was going to become, if she did not do something to improve her ways...
For what Queen would have a third set of feelings? Unfair and entirely self-centred. That her wedding - her wedding; that she had been holding onto with bated breath, that she had tried to avoid and then wanted to complete, then been tormented by her choice for months... to finally be able to commit to the event and to her husband, only to have this happen just hours after the Gods had blessed their union?
How was this fair?
Did she not deserve just one thing to go right for her on the one and only wedding day she would ever have?
And what kind of selfish witch would even dwell on such thoughts when her husband had just lost his sire, father and mentor?
Now late in the evening, Achilleas had found himself in one of the sitting rooms of the Mikaelidas' private chambers. The room was still large compared to the homes of those of common rank, but it was decorated with style and expense, the colours of crimson and gold a heavy motif. Several klines, large cushions and small tables that were more decorative than useful dotted the room, with bookcases occupying some of the walls. The rest were left bare to the white marble, blue veins scattering across the expanse of palest white.
Like the Mikaelidas family right now... strong, white stone... with the tiniest veins of weakness, cracking with every monarch that was lost to their lands or world.
Theodora swallowed at the very notion.
Allowing her husband - a title and thought that she had become used to attributing to Achilleas surprisingly quickly - to keep to his own space and thoughts and lounging upon a kline in a posture that was possibly the most disorganised and casual she had ever seen of him, Theodora had moved to take one of the small stools set beside one of the little tables just a few feet away.
Perching herself demurely upon the cushioned top, her chitons carefully arranged in a pool of red and white, Theo wished she knew what to do and say but, given she was failing in that also, she took to occupying her hands and attentions. The least she could do was not stare at the man in a manner that demanded attention or answers.
Her jewellery was where she placed her focus. Whilst she would normally have a servant to aid her in disrobing, Theodora worked upon the raiment herself, taking off rings and bracelets and setting them quietly upon the surface of the little stand. Her necklaces were next and then she bent low, her gown swooping along the marble floor as she wrapped her delicate fingers around the straps of her sandals.
A few moments later, the gold pieces were set to one side and her bare toes curled against the stone floor.
It was as she was reaching up to unfasten the diadem from her black curls that Achilleas apologised to her and then seemed determined to ask if there was anything she needed. The man appeared desperate for a purpose, as he first sat up on the kline and then came to his feet, sensing purpose in the opportunity to fetch her something.
Removing the piece from the last of her curls and placing it to one side, Theo placed the palm of her hand on the little table and pushed herself to her feet. Taking a handful of her skirts so that she could walk across the room without fear of tripping, her pale feet and ankles offering a pinkish hue against the white of the floor, she reached out to take the hand that Achilleas offered to her.
Wrapping her fingers around his, and dropping her skirts to place a touch upon his shoulder and encourage him to recline once more, Theo found a space for herself beside him. She settled onto the edge of the kline, his legs behind her and his chest before, her hip beside his pelvis.
With a soft smile, Theodora reached up to his hair, brushing the thick locks away from his temple.
"I think..." She said carefully, choosing her words slowly and with a sense of serene genuineness. "... that a wedding night is supposed to be a moment of liberty... free to be handled and held however the bride and groom wish." Her eyes sparked with compassion. "And I would like to spend mine... ensuring that my husband finds some kind of peace..."
One of the curls she played with, flopped against her knuckles as her fingertips found the side of his face. She curled her digits and brushed her smooth and soft knuckles gently around his cheekbone and a little along his jaw.
"Which means that you have nothing to apologise for, my husband... Nor anything to fetch nor prepare..." Her features softened as the hand still curled around his began to brush the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand. "You just have to let me be a wife to you and regardless of... other circumstances... our wedding night will be just as it should be, don't you think?" Her eyes were bright as she smiled down at him, trying to at least alleviate any worries he held in her regard.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Theo was beside herself with frustration. A frustration that she knew was entirely selfish and unfair in this moment... after the happenings of the day they had all just passed through. There were a thousand and one emotions spiralling within her, but 'frustration' seemed to be the strongest and most appropriate word.
There were benevolent thoughts within her. Moments in which she thought upon the family she had just married into and her compassion and genuinely kind heart broke for those who had lost he who was close to them. Whilst she did not fall into this category herself - whilst she had never considered herself to know, feel or care for the late King of Taengea, she did care for those who would be affected by his death. And she felt for them in a manner that had her heart bleeding.
Then there were the feelings of anger and resentment. The fact that she felt idle and immobile in helping those who suffered. These emotions she could do a little about. Whilst servants and slaves alike were in a mindset to be of no use this day and she did not wish for the Mikaelidas family to be disturbed in the late hours of the evening by the noise of bustling preparations, she had ensured that all household staff were aware of their tasks for the morning; that all traces of the wedding and its celebrations were to be removed from the grounds and rooms of the manor. She was certain that, while she could not control it, the family would keep themselves cloistered in the morning and would not be there to witness the removal of gaiety from the walls of the estate. They would be able to leave their chambers and awake to the world as it had been two days ago; no sad reminders of the events of the day, fluttering as grotesque reminders of the happiness they should have been souvenirs of.
After instructing the Chief Slave and household steward on how the clean-up should be carried out, she had also ensured that preparations were made that food be collected for the kitchens and meals prepared for the next few days. Especially given that Achilleas and she - not to mention many others in the Mikaelidas clan - would be spending much time within the estate in the next few days. Wine and healthy, hearty food would be needed.
Yet all such orders and instructions - given whilst Achilleas handled preparations for his father's body to be moved to the privacy of a chamber in the outer wing of the manor - seemed minimal; a pathetic attempt to diminish a hurt too painful to be subdued with a wine and decor.
Hence the frustration.
Theodora was supposed to be her husband's wife. Able to solve his problems and support him in his times of need. And how was she coping with that now? Ensuring streamers were put away and food was in the cupboards? Meagre. Very meagre...
Some Queen she was going to become, if she did not do something to improve her ways...
For what Queen would have a third set of feelings? Unfair and entirely self-centred. That her wedding - her wedding; that she had been holding onto with bated breath, that she had tried to avoid and then wanted to complete, then been tormented by her choice for months... to finally be able to commit to the event and to her husband, only to have this happen just hours after the Gods had blessed their union?
How was this fair?
Did she not deserve just one thing to go right for her on the one and only wedding day she would ever have?
And what kind of selfish witch would even dwell on such thoughts when her husband had just lost his sire, father and mentor?
Now late in the evening, Achilleas had found himself in one of the sitting rooms of the Mikaelidas' private chambers. The room was still large compared to the homes of those of common rank, but it was decorated with style and expense, the colours of crimson and gold a heavy motif. Several klines, large cushions and small tables that were more decorative than useful dotted the room, with bookcases occupying some of the walls. The rest were left bare to the white marble, blue veins scattering across the expanse of palest white.
Like the Mikaelidas family right now... strong, white stone... with the tiniest veins of weakness, cracking with every monarch that was lost to their lands or world.
Theodora swallowed at the very notion.
Allowing her husband - a title and thought that she had become used to attributing to Achilleas surprisingly quickly - to keep to his own space and thoughts and lounging upon a kline in a posture that was possibly the most disorganised and casual she had ever seen of him, Theodora had moved to take one of the small stools set beside one of the little tables just a few feet away.
Perching herself demurely upon the cushioned top, her chitons carefully arranged in a pool of red and white, Theo wished she knew what to do and say but, given she was failing in that also, she took to occupying her hands and attentions. The least she could do was not stare at the man in a manner that demanded attention or answers.
Her jewellery was where she placed her focus. Whilst she would normally have a servant to aid her in disrobing, Theodora worked upon the raiment herself, taking off rings and bracelets and setting them quietly upon the surface of the little stand. Her necklaces were next and then she bent low, her gown swooping along the marble floor as she wrapped her delicate fingers around the straps of her sandals.
A few moments later, the gold pieces were set to one side and her bare toes curled against the stone floor.
It was as she was reaching up to unfasten the diadem from her black curls that Achilleas apologised to her and then seemed determined to ask if there was anything she needed. The man appeared desperate for a purpose, as he first sat up on the kline and then came to his feet, sensing purpose in the opportunity to fetch her something.
Removing the piece from the last of her curls and placing it to one side, Theo placed the palm of her hand on the little table and pushed herself to her feet. Taking a handful of her skirts so that she could walk across the room without fear of tripping, her pale feet and ankles offering a pinkish hue against the white of the floor, she reached out to take the hand that Achilleas offered to her.
Wrapping her fingers around his, and dropping her skirts to place a touch upon his shoulder and encourage him to recline once more, Theo found a space for herself beside him. She settled onto the edge of the kline, his legs behind her and his chest before, her hip beside his pelvis.
With a soft smile, Theodora reached up to his hair, brushing the thick locks away from his temple.
"I think..." She said carefully, choosing her words slowly and with a sense of serene genuineness. "... that a wedding night is supposed to be a moment of liberty... free to be handled and held however the bride and groom wish." Her eyes sparked with compassion. "And I would like to spend mine... ensuring that my husband finds some kind of peace..."
One of the curls she played with, flopped against her knuckles as her fingertips found the side of his face. She curled her digits and brushed her smooth and soft knuckles gently around his cheekbone and a little along his jaw.
"Which means that you have nothing to apologise for, my husband... Nor anything to fetch nor prepare..." Her features softened as the hand still curled around his began to brush the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand. "You just have to let me be a wife to you and regardless of... other circumstances... our wedding night will be just as it should be, don't you think?" Her eyes were bright as she smiled down at him, trying to at least alleviate any worries he held in her regard.
Theo was beside herself with frustration. A frustration that she knew was entirely selfish and unfair in this moment... after the happenings of the day they had all just passed through. There were a thousand and one emotions spiralling within her, but 'frustration' seemed to be the strongest and most appropriate word.
There were benevolent thoughts within her. Moments in which she thought upon the family she had just married into and her compassion and genuinely kind heart broke for those who had lost he who was close to them. Whilst she did not fall into this category herself - whilst she had never considered herself to know, feel or care for the late King of Taengea, she did care for those who would be affected by his death. And she felt for them in a manner that had her heart bleeding.
Then there were the feelings of anger and resentment. The fact that she felt idle and immobile in helping those who suffered. These emotions she could do a little about. Whilst servants and slaves alike were in a mindset to be of no use this day and she did not wish for the Mikaelidas family to be disturbed in the late hours of the evening by the noise of bustling preparations, she had ensured that all household staff were aware of their tasks for the morning; that all traces of the wedding and its celebrations were to be removed from the grounds and rooms of the manor. She was certain that, while she could not control it, the family would keep themselves cloistered in the morning and would not be there to witness the removal of gaiety from the walls of the estate. They would be able to leave their chambers and awake to the world as it had been two days ago; no sad reminders of the events of the day, fluttering as grotesque reminders of the happiness they should have been souvenirs of.
After instructing the Chief Slave and household steward on how the clean-up should be carried out, she had also ensured that preparations were made that food be collected for the kitchens and meals prepared for the next few days. Especially given that Achilleas and she - not to mention many others in the Mikaelidas clan - would be spending much time within the estate in the next few days. Wine and healthy, hearty food would be needed.
Yet all such orders and instructions - given whilst Achilleas handled preparations for his father's body to be moved to the privacy of a chamber in the outer wing of the manor - seemed minimal; a pathetic attempt to diminish a hurt too painful to be subdued with a wine and decor.
Hence the frustration.
Theodora was supposed to be her husband's wife. Able to solve his problems and support him in his times of need. And how was she coping with that now? Ensuring streamers were put away and food was in the cupboards? Meagre. Very meagre...
Some Queen she was going to become, if she did not do something to improve her ways...
For what Queen would have a third set of feelings? Unfair and entirely self-centred. That her wedding - her wedding; that she had been holding onto with bated breath, that she had tried to avoid and then wanted to complete, then been tormented by her choice for months... to finally be able to commit to the event and to her husband, only to have this happen just hours after the Gods had blessed their union?
How was this fair?
Did she not deserve just one thing to go right for her on the one and only wedding day she would ever have?
And what kind of selfish witch would even dwell on such thoughts when her husband had just lost his sire, father and mentor?
Now late in the evening, Achilleas had found himself in one of the sitting rooms of the Mikaelidas' private chambers. The room was still large compared to the homes of those of common rank, but it was decorated with style and expense, the colours of crimson and gold a heavy motif. Several klines, large cushions and small tables that were more decorative than useful dotted the room, with bookcases occupying some of the walls. The rest were left bare to the white marble, blue veins scattering across the expanse of palest white.
Like the Mikaelidas family right now... strong, white stone... with the tiniest veins of weakness, cracking with every monarch that was lost to their lands or world.
Theodora swallowed at the very notion.
Allowing her husband - a title and thought that she had become used to attributing to Achilleas surprisingly quickly - to keep to his own space and thoughts and lounging upon a kline in a posture that was possibly the most disorganised and casual she had ever seen of him, Theodora had moved to take one of the small stools set beside one of the little tables just a few feet away.
Perching herself demurely upon the cushioned top, her chitons carefully arranged in a pool of red and white, Theo wished she knew what to do and say but, given she was failing in that also, she took to occupying her hands and attentions. The least she could do was not stare at the man in a manner that demanded attention or answers.
Her jewellery was where she placed her focus. Whilst she would normally have a servant to aid her in disrobing, Theodora worked upon the raiment herself, taking off rings and bracelets and setting them quietly upon the surface of the little stand. Her necklaces were next and then she bent low, her gown swooping along the marble floor as she wrapped her delicate fingers around the straps of her sandals.
A few moments later, the gold pieces were set to one side and her bare toes curled against the stone floor.
It was as she was reaching up to unfasten the diadem from her black curls that Achilleas apologised to her and then seemed determined to ask if there was anything she needed. The man appeared desperate for a purpose, as he first sat up on the kline and then came to his feet, sensing purpose in the opportunity to fetch her something.
Removing the piece from the last of her curls and placing it to one side, Theo placed the palm of her hand on the little table and pushed herself to her feet. Taking a handful of her skirts so that she could walk across the room without fear of tripping, her pale feet and ankles offering a pinkish hue against the white of the floor, she reached out to take the hand that Achilleas offered to her.
Wrapping her fingers around his, and dropping her skirts to place a touch upon his shoulder and encourage him to recline once more, Theo found a space for herself beside him. She settled onto the edge of the kline, his legs behind her and his chest before, her hip beside his pelvis.
With a soft smile, Theodora reached up to his hair, brushing the thick locks away from his temple.
"I think..." She said carefully, choosing her words slowly and with a sense of serene genuineness. "... that a wedding night is supposed to be a moment of liberty... free to be handled and held however the bride and groom wish." Her eyes sparked with compassion. "And I would like to spend mine... ensuring that my husband finds some kind of peace..."
One of the curls she played with, flopped against her knuckles as her fingertips found the side of his face. She curled her digits and brushed her smooth and soft knuckles gently around his cheekbone and a little along his jaw.
"Which means that you have nothing to apologise for, my husband... Nor anything to fetch nor prepare..." Her features softened as the hand still curled around his began to brush the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand. "You just have to let me be a wife to you and regardless of... other circumstances... our wedding night will be just as it should be, don't you think?" Her eyes were bright as she smiled down at him, trying to at least alleviate any worries he held in her regard.
It was not hard to recognise Theodora’s efforts to give him space. On one hand he was grateful for it, because all day he had felt as if someone wanted something of him, and there came a point where a man had little left to give. Even Achilleas, who, after only a momentary flicker of his public face had slipped seamlessly from his role as bridegroom into that of dutiful son, sombre and yet controlled in everything he had done since the moment Emilios had spoken those words. “He is Dead”.
With the Mikaelidas House staff politely dismissing their guests, Achilleas had busied himself ensuring that his father’s body was treated with all the due reverence it deserved. It was not his place to be involved in the ritual washing and anointing of the body, but he had orchestrated it from afar, and the dead King now lay in the quiet west wing of the manor, appropriately garbed, wearing the customary wreath and with Charon’s obol in place so as to ensure the safe crossing of the river Styx.
He had done his duty in that.
The other thing,the Crown, he had accepted from his brother when Emilios left him with no other choice, presenting it to him in full view of those guests that had not yet left. And Achilleas’ hands had been steady when he placed it upon his brow, wordlessly accepting yet another role that he had not been expecting, straightening his shoulders as he adjusted to the weight of it. He did not falter in front of the eyes that rested upon him.
Not until they had retired to this room, the semblance of privacy despite the royal guard that now stood outside the door, had Achilleas taken off the crown, set it aside like Theodora discarded her jewels so for now, they were just man and wife. That was enough, wasn’t it? It was too much, he wasn’t ready to really think about everything that went along with that wrought gold band yet. Tomorrow.
So yes, he was grateful in some way for the quiet distance Theodora kept. And yet, some part of him too resented it, the man not above sharing some of her frustration that the day had been so far cast off from what it should have been. His wife should not have been sitting across the room from him, trying to conceal her regard. And he should not be sitting in some kind of stunned silence, listening to the soft click and jangle of her jewellery being removed, trying to find something to say that would span the space between them.
His attempt was perhaps not well executed but it least prompted Theodora to join him, and Achilleas shifted over so she had room to perch upon the edge of kline, watching her as she settled herself beside him, an unreadable expression upon his face as he listened to her speak.
Liberty? He could not think of a word less appropriate to describe what he felt right then. And yet even as he thought such a thing, he knew he would not speak of it to Theodora. It was known that all of the Leventi girls were prepped and primed to chase status and title, and here was he, uncomfortable under the most lauded of all. He swallowed, smiled a faint smile that did not reach the blue of his eyes. If not the words themselves, he could least appreciate that she was attempting to ease him.
There was the slightest tightening of his fingers about hers as she went on, as she swept up the chaos of their day in ‘other circumstances’, and Achilleas wondered if he had it within him to be husband on top of son, of top of King, despite her assurances. He stared at where their hands joined and was quiet for a long moment before giving the tiniest shake of his head.
“I don’t.., I have seen death before. But I wasn’t prepared for…it's different.” He had not been ready to see his own father so still, and when it came to it, Achilleas had moved away, hadn’t been there when Irakles had gasped his last words. He thought he should feel ashamed at that, but like everything else he kept thinking he ought to be feeling, nothing seemed to resonate.
“You know I had a conversation with your Uncle Fotios only a few weeks ago about his health? I knew he wasn’t well. He said I ought to call a physician to attend him myself, and I made a joke of it and said that he was better suited to it, being his friend. I made a joke of it, and never did anything about it.” There was little inflection in the new King’s voice as he spoke, but he looked at Theodora intently. “And I have been so busy sneaking around behind his back that I have barely seen him these past days.”
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It was not hard to recognise Theodora’s efforts to give him space. On one hand he was grateful for it, because all day he had felt as if someone wanted something of him, and there came a point where a man had little left to give. Even Achilleas, who, after only a momentary flicker of his public face had slipped seamlessly from his role as bridegroom into that of dutiful son, sombre and yet controlled in everything he had done since the moment Emilios had spoken those words. “He is Dead”.
With the Mikaelidas House staff politely dismissing their guests, Achilleas had busied himself ensuring that his father’s body was treated with all the due reverence it deserved. It was not his place to be involved in the ritual washing and anointing of the body, but he had orchestrated it from afar, and the dead King now lay in the quiet west wing of the manor, appropriately garbed, wearing the customary wreath and with Charon’s obol in place so as to ensure the safe crossing of the river Styx.
He had done his duty in that.
The other thing,the Crown, he had accepted from his brother when Emilios left him with no other choice, presenting it to him in full view of those guests that had not yet left. And Achilleas’ hands had been steady when he placed it upon his brow, wordlessly accepting yet another role that he had not been expecting, straightening his shoulders as he adjusted to the weight of it. He did not falter in front of the eyes that rested upon him.
Not until they had retired to this room, the semblance of privacy despite the royal guard that now stood outside the door, had Achilleas taken off the crown, set it aside like Theodora discarded her jewels so for now, they were just man and wife. That was enough, wasn’t it? It was too much, he wasn’t ready to really think about everything that went along with that wrought gold band yet. Tomorrow.
So yes, he was grateful in some way for the quiet distance Theodora kept. And yet, some part of him too resented it, the man not above sharing some of her frustration that the day had been so far cast off from what it should have been. His wife should not have been sitting across the room from him, trying to conceal her regard. And he should not be sitting in some kind of stunned silence, listening to the soft click and jangle of her jewellery being removed, trying to find something to say that would span the space between them.
His attempt was perhaps not well executed but it least prompted Theodora to join him, and Achilleas shifted over so she had room to perch upon the edge of kline, watching her as she settled herself beside him, an unreadable expression upon his face as he listened to her speak.
Liberty? He could not think of a word less appropriate to describe what he felt right then. And yet even as he thought such a thing, he knew he would not speak of it to Theodora. It was known that all of the Leventi girls were prepped and primed to chase status and title, and here was he, uncomfortable under the most lauded of all. He swallowed, smiled a faint smile that did not reach the blue of his eyes. If not the words themselves, he could least appreciate that she was attempting to ease him.
There was the slightest tightening of his fingers about hers as she went on, as she swept up the chaos of their day in ‘other circumstances’, and Achilleas wondered if he had it within him to be husband on top of son, of top of King, despite her assurances. He stared at where their hands joined and was quiet for a long moment before giving the tiniest shake of his head.
“I don’t.., I have seen death before. But I wasn’t prepared for…it's different.” He had not been ready to see his own father so still, and when it came to it, Achilleas had moved away, hadn’t been there when Irakles had gasped his last words. He thought he should feel ashamed at that, but like everything else he kept thinking he ought to be feeling, nothing seemed to resonate.
“You know I had a conversation with your Uncle Fotios only a few weeks ago about his health? I knew he wasn’t well. He said I ought to call a physician to attend him myself, and I made a joke of it and said that he was better suited to it, being his friend. I made a joke of it, and never did anything about it.” There was little inflection in the new King’s voice as he spoke, but he looked at Theodora intently. “And I have been so busy sneaking around behind his back that I have barely seen him these past days.”
It was not hard to recognise Theodora’s efforts to give him space. On one hand he was grateful for it, because all day he had felt as if someone wanted something of him, and there came a point where a man had little left to give. Even Achilleas, who, after only a momentary flicker of his public face had slipped seamlessly from his role as bridegroom into that of dutiful son, sombre and yet controlled in everything he had done since the moment Emilios had spoken those words. “He is Dead”.
With the Mikaelidas House staff politely dismissing their guests, Achilleas had busied himself ensuring that his father’s body was treated with all the due reverence it deserved. It was not his place to be involved in the ritual washing and anointing of the body, but he had orchestrated it from afar, and the dead King now lay in the quiet west wing of the manor, appropriately garbed, wearing the customary wreath and with Charon’s obol in place so as to ensure the safe crossing of the river Styx.
He had done his duty in that.
The other thing,the Crown, he had accepted from his brother when Emilios left him with no other choice, presenting it to him in full view of those guests that had not yet left. And Achilleas’ hands had been steady when he placed it upon his brow, wordlessly accepting yet another role that he had not been expecting, straightening his shoulders as he adjusted to the weight of it. He did not falter in front of the eyes that rested upon him.
Not until they had retired to this room, the semblance of privacy despite the royal guard that now stood outside the door, had Achilleas taken off the crown, set it aside like Theodora discarded her jewels so for now, they were just man and wife. That was enough, wasn’t it? It was too much, he wasn’t ready to really think about everything that went along with that wrought gold band yet. Tomorrow.
So yes, he was grateful in some way for the quiet distance Theodora kept. And yet, some part of him too resented it, the man not above sharing some of her frustration that the day had been so far cast off from what it should have been. His wife should not have been sitting across the room from him, trying to conceal her regard. And he should not be sitting in some kind of stunned silence, listening to the soft click and jangle of her jewellery being removed, trying to find something to say that would span the space between them.
His attempt was perhaps not well executed but it least prompted Theodora to join him, and Achilleas shifted over so she had room to perch upon the edge of kline, watching her as she settled herself beside him, an unreadable expression upon his face as he listened to her speak.
Liberty? He could not think of a word less appropriate to describe what he felt right then. And yet even as he thought such a thing, he knew he would not speak of it to Theodora. It was known that all of the Leventi girls were prepped and primed to chase status and title, and here was he, uncomfortable under the most lauded of all. He swallowed, smiled a faint smile that did not reach the blue of his eyes. If not the words themselves, he could least appreciate that she was attempting to ease him.
There was the slightest tightening of his fingers about hers as she went on, as she swept up the chaos of their day in ‘other circumstances’, and Achilleas wondered if he had it within him to be husband on top of son, of top of King, despite her assurances. He stared at where their hands joined and was quiet for a long moment before giving the tiniest shake of his head.
“I don’t.., I have seen death before. But I wasn’t prepared for…it's different.” He had not been ready to see his own father so still, and when it came to it, Achilleas had moved away, hadn’t been there when Irakles had gasped his last words. He thought he should feel ashamed at that, but like everything else he kept thinking he ought to be feeling, nothing seemed to resonate.
“You know I had a conversation with your Uncle Fotios only a few weeks ago about his health? I knew he wasn’t well. He said I ought to call a physician to attend him myself, and I made a joke of it and said that he was better suited to it, being his friend. I made a joke of it, and never did anything about it.” There was little inflection in the new King’s voice as he spoke, but he looked at Theodora intently. “And I have been so busy sneaking around behind his back that I have barely seen him these past days.”
Theodora felt her heart go out to her husband. He said how he had seen and known death. And whilst she was no soldier and had never before been closer to a battlefield than the occasional offering that she made to the Gods to protect those who fought for Taengea, she had her own opinion on that. Not that she would ever voice it for fear of seeming arrogant to the man so clearly suffering.
But she did not feel that Achilleas had perhaps ever seen death. He had seen victory. He had seen dead bodies and the clash of wills and the blood of a battlefield. But Theo had always assumed that a soldier could not witness such passings in battle as true 'deaths'. For, to do so, would surely leave any human mind too riddled with grief and guilt to move forwards? The death seen on a battlefield was not tragedy. It was honourable sacrifice.
This? This was death. And if her pontification and theorising was at all accurate, then Achilleas had seen little of it and would therefore obviously be ill-prepared for how it felt.
Now that Theo was the expert - for she had hardly been subject to loss and tragedy either.
Not knowing what to say to the man in order to ease his pain, when he spoke of his 'joking' over his father's health, Theodora shifted on the kline. Her hips left the padded seat and her knees came to the floor. The tops of her feet stretched out against the cool of the marble beneath her bottom and the shift to the ground allowed her to lean in closer to where Achilleas had reclined.
"You cannot blame yourself for not acting sooner, Achilleas." She told him, believing her words into fruition. "No-one recognised that his health was so poor as to warrant such concern. To suppose you should have had the clairvoyance to know what would happen is to suppose yourself greater than mortal." Her lips curled a little in one corner, a soft and flippant chastise that she hoped would ease him. "Do not allow your irrational guilt to anger the Gods with your perceived hubris."
Her lips drew in together a little, her eyes soft as she continues to stroke the side of his face. The soft and serene expression of care was marred by the slightest of frowns as her dark brows drew together at his next words.
"I do not think a man of your presence can 'sneak', husband." She told him with that same light-hearted attempts at tone. But her next words were open and softly inquisitive. "What is it that you feel you were doing behind his back?" She squeezed his fingers as she leaned in further, her elbow coming to rest on the seat by his chest, their joined hands rising and her head lowering to rest upon their interlocked fingers. She wasn't sure if she was seeking some connection with the man for herself or still trying to offer him altruistic comfort.
Either way, she had proven herself to be fairly impotent as a Queen and she was desperate to not turn out to be the same as a wife...
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Theodora felt her heart go out to her husband. He said how he had seen and known death. And whilst she was no soldier and had never before been closer to a battlefield than the occasional offering that she made to the Gods to protect those who fought for Taengea, she had her own opinion on that. Not that she would ever voice it for fear of seeming arrogant to the man so clearly suffering.
But she did not feel that Achilleas had perhaps ever seen death. He had seen victory. He had seen dead bodies and the clash of wills and the blood of a battlefield. But Theo had always assumed that a soldier could not witness such passings in battle as true 'deaths'. For, to do so, would surely leave any human mind too riddled with grief and guilt to move forwards? The death seen on a battlefield was not tragedy. It was honourable sacrifice.
This? This was death. And if her pontification and theorising was at all accurate, then Achilleas had seen little of it and would therefore obviously be ill-prepared for how it felt.
Now that Theo was the expert - for she had hardly been subject to loss and tragedy either.
Not knowing what to say to the man in order to ease his pain, when he spoke of his 'joking' over his father's health, Theodora shifted on the kline. Her hips left the padded seat and her knees came to the floor. The tops of her feet stretched out against the cool of the marble beneath her bottom and the shift to the ground allowed her to lean in closer to where Achilleas had reclined.
"You cannot blame yourself for not acting sooner, Achilleas." She told him, believing her words into fruition. "No-one recognised that his health was so poor as to warrant such concern. To suppose you should have had the clairvoyance to know what would happen is to suppose yourself greater than mortal." Her lips curled a little in one corner, a soft and flippant chastise that she hoped would ease him. "Do not allow your irrational guilt to anger the Gods with your perceived hubris."
Her lips drew in together a little, her eyes soft as she continues to stroke the side of his face. The soft and serene expression of care was marred by the slightest of frowns as her dark brows drew together at his next words.
"I do not think a man of your presence can 'sneak', husband." She told him with that same light-hearted attempts at tone. But her next words were open and softly inquisitive. "What is it that you feel you were doing behind his back?" She squeezed his fingers as she leaned in further, her elbow coming to rest on the seat by his chest, their joined hands rising and her head lowering to rest upon their interlocked fingers. She wasn't sure if she was seeking some connection with the man for herself or still trying to offer him altruistic comfort.
Either way, she had proven herself to be fairly impotent as a Queen and she was desperate to not turn out to be the same as a wife...
Theodora felt her heart go out to her husband. He said how he had seen and known death. And whilst she was no soldier and had never before been closer to a battlefield than the occasional offering that she made to the Gods to protect those who fought for Taengea, she had her own opinion on that. Not that she would ever voice it for fear of seeming arrogant to the man so clearly suffering.
But she did not feel that Achilleas had perhaps ever seen death. He had seen victory. He had seen dead bodies and the clash of wills and the blood of a battlefield. But Theo had always assumed that a soldier could not witness such passings in battle as true 'deaths'. For, to do so, would surely leave any human mind too riddled with grief and guilt to move forwards? The death seen on a battlefield was not tragedy. It was honourable sacrifice.
This? This was death. And if her pontification and theorising was at all accurate, then Achilleas had seen little of it and would therefore obviously be ill-prepared for how it felt.
Now that Theo was the expert - for she had hardly been subject to loss and tragedy either.
Not knowing what to say to the man in order to ease his pain, when he spoke of his 'joking' over his father's health, Theodora shifted on the kline. Her hips left the padded seat and her knees came to the floor. The tops of her feet stretched out against the cool of the marble beneath her bottom and the shift to the ground allowed her to lean in closer to where Achilleas had reclined.
"You cannot blame yourself for not acting sooner, Achilleas." She told him, believing her words into fruition. "No-one recognised that his health was so poor as to warrant such concern. To suppose you should have had the clairvoyance to know what would happen is to suppose yourself greater than mortal." Her lips curled a little in one corner, a soft and flippant chastise that she hoped would ease him. "Do not allow your irrational guilt to anger the Gods with your perceived hubris."
Her lips drew in together a little, her eyes soft as she continues to stroke the side of his face. The soft and serene expression of care was marred by the slightest of frowns as her dark brows drew together at his next words.
"I do not think a man of your presence can 'sneak', husband." She told him with that same light-hearted attempts at tone. But her next words were open and softly inquisitive. "What is it that you feel you were doing behind his back?" She squeezed his fingers as she leaned in further, her elbow coming to rest on the seat by his chest, their joined hands rising and her head lowering to rest upon their interlocked fingers. She wasn't sure if she was seeking some connection with the man for herself or still trying to offer him altruistic comfort.
Either way, she had proven herself to be fairly impotent as a Queen and she was desperate to not turn out to be the same as a wife...
He wasn’t even sure why he was saying the things he was saying, the words had crept up on him with so little warning, and yet once he’d started, Achilleas found it hard to stop the sudden flurry of thoughts that were reminders of how he’d let his father down, not just this day, but in those gone before. And though he wanted to beleive Theodora’s words, it was too easy for the reasoning to slide off a guilty conscience. Even the threat of displeasing the Gods was not enough to stop that sudden surge of self recrimination.
Achilleas paused and glanced at her when she suggested him less than able to sneak, and he could hardly disagree, but it was her confusion as to what he thought he had done that had him sigh and rub a hand over his face. Of course, she did not know, and the time for telling had hardly seemed appropriate before.
Now though, he supposed it didn’t matter.
For a moment, the man hesitated, trying to decide where he might start, and eventually he found himself just spilling all of it in a rushed and jumbled order. His confession.
“It was after the Senate meet. After what you said about Stephanos and Olympia being in fear of their lives. After my father had me thrown out for asking questions..” Achilleas blew out a breath of frustration at that memory. “I wanted answers, and I wanted to find a way to help Stephanos, Theodora, that was all. So I spoke to the Colchian. Magnus? He is close with Prince Vangelis and a man whose job it is to know things. I told him all of the things that have bothered me about this entire mess, the suspicions that have plagued me…. And I sought out Lord Gavriil to learn what had happened in the meeting where they signed away Steph’s right to rule. I sent a letter to Stephanos..”
All of it tumbled out, and Achilleas’ expression left no doubt as to how he felt about his actions now, in the brittle wake of his father’s death. “I have done nothing but quietly work against my father since that meeting. And now..”
There was nothing that followed, as Achilleas bit down on the words that wanted to underline his betrayal. He wasn’t ready to say them himself yet. Instead, the hand that Theodora had not wrapped within her own was being drawn back, pushing through the dark hair that had settled into slightly unruly curls despite all efforts to the contrary.
Achilleas was not good at letting himself be vulnerable, and gods it felt nothing but that to speak of all the things he had done in opposition of the man who now lay so still and cold under that same roof. In that moment, it was all too easy for his son to forget all of the things that had led him to follow that path. Instead he could think only of the fact that he had spent the last weeks of his father’s life trying to undermine the man. The very same man that he’d spent the rest of his years trying to impress. Perhaps this was his punishment for that defection? “I suppose it is immaterial now.”
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He wasn’t even sure why he was saying the things he was saying, the words had crept up on him with so little warning, and yet once he’d started, Achilleas found it hard to stop the sudden flurry of thoughts that were reminders of how he’d let his father down, not just this day, but in those gone before. And though he wanted to beleive Theodora’s words, it was too easy for the reasoning to slide off a guilty conscience. Even the threat of displeasing the Gods was not enough to stop that sudden surge of self recrimination.
Achilleas paused and glanced at her when she suggested him less than able to sneak, and he could hardly disagree, but it was her confusion as to what he thought he had done that had him sigh and rub a hand over his face. Of course, she did not know, and the time for telling had hardly seemed appropriate before.
Now though, he supposed it didn’t matter.
For a moment, the man hesitated, trying to decide where he might start, and eventually he found himself just spilling all of it in a rushed and jumbled order. His confession.
“It was after the Senate meet. After what you said about Stephanos and Olympia being in fear of their lives. After my father had me thrown out for asking questions..” Achilleas blew out a breath of frustration at that memory. “I wanted answers, and I wanted to find a way to help Stephanos, Theodora, that was all. So I spoke to the Colchian. Magnus? He is close with Prince Vangelis and a man whose job it is to know things. I told him all of the things that have bothered me about this entire mess, the suspicions that have plagued me…. And I sought out Lord Gavriil to learn what had happened in the meeting where they signed away Steph’s right to rule. I sent a letter to Stephanos..”
All of it tumbled out, and Achilleas’ expression left no doubt as to how he felt about his actions now, in the brittle wake of his father’s death. “I have done nothing but quietly work against my father since that meeting. And now..”
There was nothing that followed, as Achilleas bit down on the words that wanted to underline his betrayal. He wasn’t ready to say them himself yet. Instead, the hand that Theodora had not wrapped within her own was being drawn back, pushing through the dark hair that had settled into slightly unruly curls despite all efforts to the contrary.
Achilleas was not good at letting himself be vulnerable, and gods it felt nothing but that to speak of all the things he had done in opposition of the man who now lay so still and cold under that same roof. In that moment, it was all too easy for his son to forget all of the things that had led him to follow that path. Instead he could think only of the fact that he had spent the last weeks of his father’s life trying to undermine the man. The very same man that he’d spent the rest of his years trying to impress. Perhaps this was his punishment for that defection? “I suppose it is immaterial now.”
He wasn’t even sure why he was saying the things he was saying, the words had crept up on him with so little warning, and yet once he’d started, Achilleas found it hard to stop the sudden flurry of thoughts that were reminders of how he’d let his father down, not just this day, but in those gone before. And though he wanted to beleive Theodora’s words, it was too easy for the reasoning to slide off a guilty conscience. Even the threat of displeasing the Gods was not enough to stop that sudden surge of self recrimination.
Achilleas paused and glanced at her when she suggested him less than able to sneak, and he could hardly disagree, but it was her confusion as to what he thought he had done that had him sigh and rub a hand over his face. Of course, she did not know, and the time for telling had hardly seemed appropriate before.
Now though, he supposed it didn’t matter.
For a moment, the man hesitated, trying to decide where he might start, and eventually he found himself just spilling all of it in a rushed and jumbled order. His confession.
“It was after the Senate meet. After what you said about Stephanos and Olympia being in fear of their lives. After my father had me thrown out for asking questions..” Achilleas blew out a breath of frustration at that memory. “I wanted answers, and I wanted to find a way to help Stephanos, Theodora, that was all. So I spoke to the Colchian. Magnus? He is close with Prince Vangelis and a man whose job it is to know things. I told him all of the things that have bothered me about this entire mess, the suspicions that have plagued me…. And I sought out Lord Gavriil to learn what had happened in the meeting where they signed away Steph’s right to rule. I sent a letter to Stephanos..”
All of it tumbled out, and Achilleas’ expression left no doubt as to how he felt about his actions now, in the brittle wake of his father’s death. “I have done nothing but quietly work against my father since that meeting. And now..”
There was nothing that followed, as Achilleas bit down on the words that wanted to underline his betrayal. He wasn’t ready to say them himself yet. Instead, the hand that Theodora had not wrapped within her own was being drawn back, pushing through the dark hair that had settled into slightly unruly curls despite all efforts to the contrary.
Achilleas was not good at letting himself be vulnerable, and gods it felt nothing but that to speak of all the things he had done in opposition of the man who now lay so still and cold under that same roof. In that moment, it was all too easy for his son to forget all of the things that had led him to follow that path. Instead he could think only of the fact that he had spent the last weeks of his father’s life trying to undermine the man. The very same man that he’d spent the rest of his years trying to impress. Perhaps this was his punishment for that defection? “I suppose it is immaterial now.”
Theodora felt entirely lost at sea. How was she to help this man? A man so gallant and true that he took every step that he could with careful thought and determined honour and yet still felt the driving need to punish himself for not doing the right thing by every person involved. Had it been Stephanos to have suddenly dropped dead of a heart ailment, and Achilleas had never made such plans against his father, would Achilleas have seen it as his own fault for not supporting whom he believed to be the true heir to the throne? If he had done nothing to aid Stephanos and her sister and Irakles had been the one to pass on still, would he have seen it as punishment from the Gods, punishment that he could have helped his father avoid if he had convinced him to aid Stephanos?
This man found every fault he could upon himself yet was the most honourable one that she knew. How was she to convince him of that, when his mind was a fog of grief and his heart heavy with loss?
Shuffling forwards a little on her knees, her tongue appearing to wet her lips before she spoke, unsure how best to approach the topic at hand, Theodora found herself frustrated that her wedding night had to be so Godsdamned complex - a myriad of emotional communication - when it should have been an effortless celebration of the two of them and their future lives together.
She pushed such selfish thoughts aside as she swallowed and drew herself in close to her husband. Her hand wrapped tighter around his own, pressed to her cheek and she met and held his gaze with determination.
"Achilleas... I will be honest with you because I have no courtly wiles or etiquette lessons to help me here..." Her nose wrinkled at the very notion of using such lessons upon the man she was supposed to be as completely honest with as she could. "I do not have the answers..." Theo shook her head in sad acceptance of a situation she could not change and could not seem to make better for him.
"All I can tell you is how I see the way our lives have unfolded and hope that you can respect me for it... But... the way I see it is that every situation in life presents with someone winning and someone losing..." She swallowed again, her tone soft in a way that she hoped would stop her words becoming arrogant. "Those of us with good in our hearts seek an answer where the loss is the smallest to all those involved. That the end results are as balanced as it is possible to be. But we can never make it so that everyone achieves their heart's desires all the time... It is not possible."
Theo closed her eyes for a moment in pain at her next words before looking upon her husband again. "My heart bleeds for my sister. Every time I think on what has happened to her and to Stephanos I feel like my soul is weeping. And yet, I could do nothing to help them. I did what I could and it was not enough... they lost. And your father won." Her jaw tightened as she took a steadying breath, her lips parting on the exhale. She rested her free hand on Achilleas' chest, feeling his heartbeat through the silks of his chiton. "I do not believe that you should feel guilty for attempting to address that imbalance and help to bring Stephanos and Olympia home." She shook her head at any immediate argument his mind might come up with. "Your actions did not lead to your father's death and your intentions were always true. Do you think that I would not support and herald you for trying to help my sister?"
Theo's eyes brightened a little with unshed tears of gratitude. All this time, she had feared that she had been unable to help Stephanos and Pia. That she had been next to useless in their cause. That her sister Selene had given up everything in order to support the two of them and had been forced to flee her home. She had swum in a selfish sort of guilt that she had not been brave enough to do the same. That she could not walk away from what she had been taught and what was expected of her and do what she thought was right.
Her mind flickered to Emilios, but she pushed the notion away. What was right for her sister and brother-in-law was to act in a way was unselfish for the good of others. The fog of temptation and uncertainty that still lingered around her husband's brother was all for selfish purposes. They were entirely different.
"You'll have to forgive me. I don't have a way with words like Selene does..." A little dip appeared between her eyebrows as she frowned, her lower lip drawing into be worried by her teeth. "But I guess what I'm trying to say is... you cannot protect everyone. You cannot be upon everyone's side all at once. You can only do what you believe to be right and hope for the best." Her smile was soft and sad and a little self-deprecating in a way she hoped would relieve some of the tension in his face and shoulders. "I fear what will happen to me if I have to witness my husband suffer for every good thing that he does for one person that might deprecate another. Knowing you, I think that those acts will be high in number and your sanity whittled away at great speed." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Then who will raise our future children with me, huh?"
Never one with the perfect word choice like Selene, or the spirit with which to drive someone and kick them from the rear in the right direction like Olympia... Theodora fell somewhere in the middle, determined to help but without the exactly right thing to say for each scenario. She had to rely simply on her passion and her humour where she could, and pray that it would be enough...
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Theodora felt entirely lost at sea. How was she to help this man? A man so gallant and true that he took every step that he could with careful thought and determined honour and yet still felt the driving need to punish himself for not doing the right thing by every person involved. Had it been Stephanos to have suddenly dropped dead of a heart ailment, and Achilleas had never made such plans against his father, would Achilleas have seen it as his own fault for not supporting whom he believed to be the true heir to the throne? If he had done nothing to aid Stephanos and her sister and Irakles had been the one to pass on still, would he have seen it as punishment from the Gods, punishment that he could have helped his father avoid if he had convinced him to aid Stephanos?
This man found every fault he could upon himself yet was the most honourable one that she knew. How was she to convince him of that, when his mind was a fog of grief and his heart heavy with loss?
Shuffling forwards a little on her knees, her tongue appearing to wet her lips before she spoke, unsure how best to approach the topic at hand, Theodora found herself frustrated that her wedding night had to be so Godsdamned complex - a myriad of emotional communication - when it should have been an effortless celebration of the two of them and their future lives together.
She pushed such selfish thoughts aside as she swallowed and drew herself in close to her husband. Her hand wrapped tighter around his own, pressed to her cheek and she met and held his gaze with determination.
"Achilleas... I will be honest with you because I have no courtly wiles or etiquette lessons to help me here..." Her nose wrinkled at the very notion of using such lessons upon the man she was supposed to be as completely honest with as she could. "I do not have the answers..." Theo shook her head in sad acceptance of a situation she could not change and could not seem to make better for him.
"All I can tell you is how I see the way our lives have unfolded and hope that you can respect me for it... But... the way I see it is that every situation in life presents with someone winning and someone losing..." She swallowed again, her tone soft in a way that she hoped would stop her words becoming arrogant. "Those of us with good in our hearts seek an answer where the loss is the smallest to all those involved. That the end results are as balanced as it is possible to be. But we can never make it so that everyone achieves their heart's desires all the time... It is not possible."
Theo closed her eyes for a moment in pain at her next words before looking upon her husband again. "My heart bleeds for my sister. Every time I think on what has happened to her and to Stephanos I feel like my soul is weeping. And yet, I could do nothing to help them. I did what I could and it was not enough... they lost. And your father won." Her jaw tightened as she took a steadying breath, her lips parting on the exhale. She rested her free hand on Achilleas' chest, feeling his heartbeat through the silks of his chiton. "I do not believe that you should feel guilty for attempting to address that imbalance and help to bring Stephanos and Olympia home." She shook her head at any immediate argument his mind might come up with. "Your actions did not lead to your father's death and your intentions were always true. Do you think that I would not support and herald you for trying to help my sister?"
Theo's eyes brightened a little with unshed tears of gratitude. All this time, she had feared that she had been unable to help Stephanos and Pia. That she had been next to useless in their cause. That her sister Selene had given up everything in order to support the two of them and had been forced to flee her home. She had swum in a selfish sort of guilt that she had not been brave enough to do the same. That she could not walk away from what she had been taught and what was expected of her and do what she thought was right.
Her mind flickered to Emilios, but she pushed the notion away. What was right for her sister and brother-in-law was to act in a way was unselfish for the good of others. The fog of temptation and uncertainty that still lingered around her husband's brother was all for selfish purposes. They were entirely different.
"You'll have to forgive me. I don't have a way with words like Selene does..." A little dip appeared between her eyebrows as she frowned, her lower lip drawing into be worried by her teeth. "But I guess what I'm trying to say is... you cannot protect everyone. You cannot be upon everyone's side all at once. You can only do what you believe to be right and hope for the best." Her smile was soft and sad and a little self-deprecating in a way she hoped would relieve some of the tension in his face and shoulders. "I fear what will happen to me if I have to witness my husband suffer for every good thing that he does for one person that might deprecate another. Knowing you, I think that those acts will be high in number and your sanity whittled away at great speed." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Then who will raise our future children with me, huh?"
Never one with the perfect word choice like Selene, or the spirit with which to drive someone and kick them from the rear in the right direction like Olympia... Theodora fell somewhere in the middle, determined to help but without the exactly right thing to say for each scenario. She had to rely simply on her passion and her humour where she could, and pray that it would be enough...
Theodora felt entirely lost at sea. How was she to help this man? A man so gallant and true that he took every step that he could with careful thought and determined honour and yet still felt the driving need to punish himself for not doing the right thing by every person involved. Had it been Stephanos to have suddenly dropped dead of a heart ailment, and Achilleas had never made such plans against his father, would Achilleas have seen it as his own fault for not supporting whom he believed to be the true heir to the throne? If he had done nothing to aid Stephanos and her sister and Irakles had been the one to pass on still, would he have seen it as punishment from the Gods, punishment that he could have helped his father avoid if he had convinced him to aid Stephanos?
This man found every fault he could upon himself yet was the most honourable one that she knew. How was she to convince him of that, when his mind was a fog of grief and his heart heavy with loss?
Shuffling forwards a little on her knees, her tongue appearing to wet her lips before she spoke, unsure how best to approach the topic at hand, Theodora found herself frustrated that her wedding night had to be so Godsdamned complex - a myriad of emotional communication - when it should have been an effortless celebration of the two of them and their future lives together.
She pushed such selfish thoughts aside as she swallowed and drew herself in close to her husband. Her hand wrapped tighter around his own, pressed to her cheek and she met and held his gaze with determination.
"Achilleas... I will be honest with you because I have no courtly wiles or etiquette lessons to help me here..." Her nose wrinkled at the very notion of using such lessons upon the man she was supposed to be as completely honest with as she could. "I do not have the answers..." Theo shook her head in sad acceptance of a situation she could not change and could not seem to make better for him.
"All I can tell you is how I see the way our lives have unfolded and hope that you can respect me for it... But... the way I see it is that every situation in life presents with someone winning and someone losing..." She swallowed again, her tone soft in a way that she hoped would stop her words becoming arrogant. "Those of us with good in our hearts seek an answer where the loss is the smallest to all those involved. That the end results are as balanced as it is possible to be. But we can never make it so that everyone achieves their heart's desires all the time... It is not possible."
Theo closed her eyes for a moment in pain at her next words before looking upon her husband again. "My heart bleeds for my sister. Every time I think on what has happened to her and to Stephanos I feel like my soul is weeping. And yet, I could do nothing to help them. I did what I could and it was not enough... they lost. And your father won." Her jaw tightened as she took a steadying breath, her lips parting on the exhale. She rested her free hand on Achilleas' chest, feeling his heartbeat through the silks of his chiton. "I do not believe that you should feel guilty for attempting to address that imbalance and help to bring Stephanos and Olympia home." She shook her head at any immediate argument his mind might come up with. "Your actions did not lead to your father's death and your intentions were always true. Do you think that I would not support and herald you for trying to help my sister?"
Theo's eyes brightened a little with unshed tears of gratitude. All this time, she had feared that she had been unable to help Stephanos and Pia. That she had been next to useless in their cause. That her sister Selene had given up everything in order to support the two of them and had been forced to flee her home. She had swum in a selfish sort of guilt that she had not been brave enough to do the same. That she could not walk away from what she had been taught and what was expected of her and do what she thought was right.
Her mind flickered to Emilios, but she pushed the notion away. What was right for her sister and brother-in-law was to act in a way was unselfish for the good of others. The fog of temptation and uncertainty that still lingered around her husband's brother was all for selfish purposes. They were entirely different.
"You'll have to forgive me. I don't have a way with words like Selene does..." A little dip appeared between her eyebrows as she frowned, her lower lip drawing into be worried by her teeth. "But I guess what I'm trying to say is... you cannot protect everyone. You cannot be upon everyone's side all at once. You can only do what you believe to be right and hope for the best." Her smile was soft and sad and a little self-deprecating in a way she hoped would relieve some of the tension in his face and shoulders. "I fear what will happen to me if I have to witness my husband suffer for every good thing that he does for one person that might deprecate another. Knowing you, I think that those acts will be high in number and your sanity whittled away at great speed." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Then who will raise our future children with me, huh?"
Never one with the perfect word choice like Selene, or the spirit with which to drive someone and kick them from the rear in the right direction like Olympia... Theodora fell somewhere in the middle, determined to help but without the exactly right thing to say for each scenario. She had to rely simply on her passion and her humour where she could, and pray that it would be enough...
He realised somewhere that she was saying what would surely be all the right things, her expression so earnest,her gaze so fixed upon him. But letting them permeate, letting them smother what was surely a growing guilt would mean he had to find some way to shake himself from the numbness that he’d wrapped himself in. And perhaps in some unconscious act of self-preservation, he could not.
That distance, the strange sense of dislocation, was likely all that had allowed him to be what was required of him in the past hours.
And to really hear what Theodora was saying, Achilleas would have to let it go. He wasn’t ready to. Instead he focused on where her fingers squeezed his own, where she pressed their hands against the softness of her cheek, and then later, on the warmth of her palm set above where his heart was still beating. He tried not to draw parallels with the scene that was now etched into his memories with all the permanence of letters carved into stone.
It was much easier to look at the emotions that played across the beautiful face of his wife than to consider the empty, hollow feeling where his own should be, and he nodded where it seemed appropriate, smiled where she did, and all the while tried to find some meaning in her words.
Achilleas couldn’t recognise how irrational he was being in that moment, too caught in the centre of the situation to be objective. If he had ever been able to be objective when considering the impossible challenge of trying to please a man who would never be satisfied. It perhaps gave Theodora far more of an insight into her new husband than he would have allowed, had exhaustion and shock not conspired against him.
For there was no doubt that this was not the Achilleas of Mikaelidas who presented himself to the outside world. This was not the Baron, the Senator or the Commander, or indeed any one of the carefully constructed personas that had been cultivated over the years. The polish was not there, the shine was dulled.
This was the son who had spent too long in a hopeless endeavour to be the man his father had wanted, only to be faced with the idea that in fact that man was not someone he could stomach becoming. This was the child who had idolised a father who could not express love. This was the man who was never going to get the chance to set things right.
“No…” he replied, denying the idea that he would have thought she would react any differently to him helping Olympia. “Of course not but I..” All of his eloquence seemed to desert him, because he couldn’t find a rational reason for it all feeling so wrong. It just did.
When Theodora quieted, Achilleas pulled himself together, because if nothing else, this was right. This marriage that had been so long in coming, this woman who was trying her best to ease him. He could be grateful for that. Should be grateful for that and not let this bleak ending to their wedding day be what set the tone for their marriage. "You are better with words than you give yourself credit for" he corrected. With a weak smile at her jesting, his chest rose and fell in a sigh that at least seemed to carry away some of the tension. And when his wife spoke lightly of her fears, the man gave a shake of his head. “I would be a poor husband to leave you to such a fate” he observed, tugging slightly on their joined hands, wanting her up off her knees and the cold marble floor. “I don’t want to be”
It could not have been an easy day for her to endure either, and he was aware than he had left her mostly to her own devices. Not as attentive as a husband should be to his new wife.When she rose back to her feet, he stood too, wrapping her up in his arms.His physical presence was a solid as ever, and Achilleas drew her close into him, closer than they had been all day. There was a quiet “Thank You,Theodora” next to her ear, but he didn’t say anything else, just held her tightly in an embrace that might have been for her, but could equally as well be for himself. Perhaps it was as it should be, and for them both.
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He realised somewhere that she was saying what would surely be all the right things, her expression so earnest,her gaze so fixed upon him. But letting them permeate, letting them smother what was surely a growing guilt would mean he had to find some way to shake himself from the numbness that he’d wrapped himself in. And perhaps in some unconscious act of self-preservation, he could not.
That distance, the strange sense of dislocation, was likely all that had allowed him to be what was required of him in the past hours.
And to really hear what Theodora was saying, Achilleas would have to let it go. He wasn’t ready to. Instead he focused on where her fingers squeezed his own, where she pressed their hands against the softness of her cheek, and then later, on the warmth of her palm set above where his heart was still beating. He tried not to draw parallels with the scene that was now etched into his memories with all the permanence of letters carved into stone.
It was much easier to look at the emotions that played across the beautiful face of his wife than to consider the empty, hollow feeling where his own should be, and he nodded where it seemed appropriate, smiled where she did, and all the while tried to find some meaning in her words.
Achilleas couldn’t recognise how irrational he was being in that moment, too caught in the centre of the situation to be objective. If he had ever been able to be objective when considering the impossible challenge of trying to please a man who would never be satisfied. It perhaps gave Theodora far more of an insight into her new husband than he would have allowed, had exhaustion and shock not conspired against him.
For there was no doubt that this was not the Achilleas of Mikaelidas who presented himself to the outside world. This was not the Baron, the Senator or the Commander, or indeed any one of the carefully constructed personas that had been cultivated over the years. The polish was not there, the shine was dulled.
This was the son who had spent too long in a hopeless endeavour to be the man his father had wanted, only to be faced with the idea that in fact that man was not someone he could stomach becoming. This was the child who had idolised a father who could not express love. This was the man who was never going to get the chance to set things right.
“No…” he replied, denying the idea that he would have thought she would react any differently to him helping Olympia. “Of course not but I..” All of his eloquence seemed to desert him, because he couldn’t find a rational reason for it all feeling so wrong. It just did.
When Theodora quieted, Achilleas pulled himself together, because if nothing else, this was right. This marriage that had been so long in coming, this woman who was trying her best to ease him. He could be grateful for that. Should be grateful for that and not let this bleak ending to their wedding day be what set the tone for their marriage. "You are better with words than you give yourself credit for" he corrected. With a weak smile at her jesting, his chest rose and fell in a sigh that at least seemed to carry away some of the tension. And when his wife spoke lightly of her fears, the man gave a shake of his head. “I would be a poor husband to leave you to such a fate” he observed, tugging slightly on their joined hands, wanting her up off her knees and the cold marble floor. “I don’t want to be”
It could not have been an easy day for her to endure either, and he was aware than he had left her mostly to her own devices. Not as attentive as a husband should be to his new wife.When she rose back to her feet, he stood too, wrapping her up in his arms.His physical presence was a solid as ever, and Achilleas drew her close into him, closer than they had been all day. There was a quiet “Thank You,Theodora” next to her ear, but he didn’t say anything else, just held her tightly in an embrace that might have been for her, but could equally as well be for himself. Perhaps it was as it should be, and for them both.
He realised somewhere that she was saying what would surely be all the right things, her expression so earnest,her gaze so fixed upon him. But letting them permeate, letting them smother what was surely a growing guilt would mean he had to find some way to shake himself from the numbness that he’d wrapped himself in. And perhaps in some unconscious act of self-preservation, he could not.
That distance, the strange sense of dislocation, was likely all that had allowed him to be what was required of him in the past hours.
And to really hear what Theodora was saying, Achilleas would have to let it go. He wasn’t ready to. Instead he focused on where her fingers squeezed his own, where she pressed their hands against the softness of her cheek, and then later, on the warmth of her palm set above where his heart was still beating. He tried not to draw parallels with the scene that was now etched into his memories with all the permanence of letters carved into stone.
It was much easier to look at the emotions that played across the beautiful face of his wife than to consider the empty, hollow feeling where his own should be, and he nodded where it seemed appropriate, smiled where she did, and all the while tried to find some meaning in her words.
Achilleas couldn’t recognise how irrational he was being in that moment, too caught in the centre of the situation to be objective. If he had ever been able to be objective when considering the impossible challenge of trying to please a man who would never be satisfied. It perhaps gave Theodora far more of an insight into her new husband than he would have allowed, had exhaustion and shock not conspired against him.
For there was no doubt that this was not the Achilleas of Mikaelidas who presented himself to the outside world. This was not the Baron, the Senator or the Commander, or indeed any one of the carefully constructed personas that had been cultivated over the years. The polish was not there, the shine was dulled.
This was the son who had spent too long in a hopeless endeavour to be the man his father had wanted, only to be faced with the idea that in fact that man was not someone he could stomach becoming. This was the child who had idolised a father who could not express love. This was the man who was never going to get the chance to set things right.
“No…” he replied, denying the idea that he would have thought she would react any differently to him helping Olympia. “Of course not but I..” All of his eloquence seemed to desert him, because he couldn’t find a rational reason for it all feeling so wrong. It just did.
When Theodora quieted, Achilleas pulled himself together, because if nothing else, this was right. This marriage that had been so long in coming, this woman who was trying her best to ease him. He could be grateful for that. Should be grateful for that and not let this bleak ending to their wedding day be what set the tone for their marriage. "You are better with words than you give yourself credit for" he corrected. With a weak smile at her jesting, his chest rose and fell in a sigh that at least seemed to carry away some of the tension. And when his wife spoke lightly of her fears, the man gave a shake of his head. “I would be a poor husband to leave you to such a fate” he observed, tugging slightly on their joined hands, wanting her up off her knees and the cold marble floor. “I don’t want to be”
It could not have been an easy day for her to endure either, and he was aware than he had left her mostly to her own devices. Not as attentive as a husband should be to his new wife.When she rose back to her feet, he stood too, wrapping her up in his arms.His physical presence was a solid as ever, and Achilleas drew her close into him, closer than they had been all day. There was a quiet “Thank You,Theodora” next to her ear, but he didn’t say anything else, just held her tightly in an embrace that might have been for her, but could equally as well be for himself. Perhaps it was as it should be, and for them both.
Theo watched as her husband nodded and agreed and gave confirmation of his following if her words but she wasn't sure if she believed it or not. In moments she was utterly convinced that she was getting through his grief and that her words of encouragement were seeping in. At other times his eyes seemed to glaze for just a moment as they watched the changes of her facial expressions and she realised that she had lost him to an internal fog of loss.
Heedless, however, and with nothing else she could fathom as the answer to their situation, Theodora had continued on with her theorising and her attempts to make him feel better, her heart aching at every moment that suggested she was being no more use than a wave against a rock.
When she finally quietened and tried to alleviate the tension in the room with a little humour, Achilleas at least showed an appreciation for it and assured her in return that he wished, in no way, to be a lacking husband.
Whilst pleased by this assurance, she wanted to smack the hand rested against his heart down upon his chest. For once more he was finding fault in himself, over something that was not a failing he should claim blame for. Grief was a perfectly acceptable reason for him to be a poor husband to her. Even if it had, frustratingly, landed upon their wedding day.
When Achilleas drew Theo to her feet, and pulled her in close, she smiled softly when he referred to her by her full name, as she had asked. It sent an unfamiliar shiver down her spine that was not unpleasant.
She leaned into the embrace, breathing in the scent of the man who held hr and suddenly realising a sense of total peace. There was no need to be concerned for who might see them in this manner, or what someone might think of her ladylike sensibilities. They were married. And this was perfectly allowable.
Theo found her muscles seem to loosen and relax at the very notion. She had never been so permitted in her affectionate actions before.
Wrapping her arms around her husband's waist, Theo turned her head so that she could press her cheek to Achilleas's chest and close her eyes, sinking into his touch, her weight relying on his strength. She pulled tight on her arms, holding to be as supportive of him in return.
She was no idiot to the communications that had hone between Achilleas and his father. She had only been in their shared company a few times and yet it was clear the dynamic between them. Even now, after the man was gone, Achilleas insisted on blaming himself for not being a good enough son.
"You are brave, Achilleas." She said, in a tone that seemed quiet and almost to herself, despite her words clearly being directed at him. "You are intelligent, kind, honourable..." She searched for other adjectives that would be flattering to a man. Handsome and tall, despite being attractive to her might not have been received in the right way. "You are the truest man that I know and if your father could not and never saw that..." She lifted her head so that she could speak her last point looking directly into his eyes. "Then that was a failure on his part. Not yours." She knew that she was speaking I'll of the dead, which her husband might not appreciate, given that the dead in question was his father. But she also felt this to be her duty as his wife. "Do not claim yourself to be lacking colour when you father was simply blind."
Drawing back a step and shifting her touch from an embrace to the holding of his hand, Theo moved towards the door of the chamber, leading her husband forwards.
"Now..." She said, in a tone that suggested no argument. "I think it time we retire and you be a good husband to me, Achilleas." She smiled at him, as she walked backwards towards the door. "Even if all that involves tonight is lying beside me."
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Theo watched as her husband nodded and agreed and gave confirmation of his following if her words but she wasn't sure if she believed it or not. In moments she was utterly convinced that she was getting through his grief and that her words of encouragement were seeping in. At other times his eyes seemed to glaze for just a moment as they watched the changes of her facial expressions and she realised that she had lost him to an internal fog of loss.
Heedless, however, and with nothing else she could fathom as the answer to their situation, Theodora had continued on with her theorising and her attempts to make him feel better, her heart aching at every moment that suggested she was being no more use than a wave against a rock.
When she finally quietened and tried to alleviate the tension in the room with a little humour, Achilleas at least showed an appreciation for it and assured her in return that he wished, in no way, to be a lacking husband.
Whilst pleased by this assurance, she wanted to smack the hand rested against his heart down upon his chest. For once more he was finding fault in himself, over something that was not a failing he should claim blame for. Grief was a perfectly acceptable reason for him to be a poor husband to her. Even if it had, frustratingly, landed upon their wedding day.
When Achilleas drew Theo to her feet, and pulled her in close, she smiled softly when he referred to her by her full name, as she had asked. It sent an unfamiliar shiver down her spine that was not unpleasant.
She leaned into the embrace, breathing in the scent of the man who held hr and suddenly realising a sense of total peace. There was no need to be concerned for who might see them in this manner, or what someone might think of her ladylike sensibilities. They were married. And this was perfectly allowable.
Theo found her muscles seem to loosen and relax at the very notion. She had never been so permitted in her affectionate actions before.
Wrapping her arms around her husband's waist, Theo turned her head so that she could press her cheek to Achilleas's chest and close her eyes, sinking into his touch, her weight relying on his strength. She pulled tight on her arms, holding to be as supportive of him in return.
She was no idiot to the communications that had hone between Achilleas and his father. She had only been in their shared company a few times and yet it was clear the dynamic between them. Even now, after the man was gone, Achilleas insisted on blaming himself for not being a good enough son.
"You are brave, Achilleas." She said, in a tone that seemed quiet and almost to herself, despite her words clearly being directed at him. "You are intelligent, kind, honourable..." She searched for other adjectives that would be flattering to a man. Handsome and tall, despite being attractive to her might not have been received in the right way. "You are the truest man that I know and if your father could not and never saw that..." She lifted her head so that she could speak her last point looking directly into his eyes. "Then that was a failure on his part. Not yours." She knew that she was speaking I'll of the dead, which her husband might not appreciate, given that the dead in question was his father. But she also felt this to be her duty as his wife. "Do not claim yourself to be lacking colour when you father was simply blind."
Drawing back a step and shifting her touch from an embrace to the holding of his hand, Theo moved towards the door of the chamber, leading her husband forwards.
"Now..." She said, in a tone that suggested no argument. "I think it time we retire and you be a good husband to me, Achilleas." She smiled at him, as she walked backwards towards the door. "Even if all that involves tonight is lying beside me."
Theo watched as her husband nodded and agreed and gave confirmation of his following if her words but she wasn't sure if she believed it or not. In moments she was utterly convinced that she was getting through his grief and that her words of encouragement were seeping in. At other times his eyes seemed to glaze for just a moment as they watched the changes of her facial expressions and she realised that she had lost him to an internal fog of loss.
Heedless, however, and with nothing else she could fathom as the answer to their situation, Theodora had continued on with her theorising and her attempts to make him feel better, her heart aching at every moment that suggested she was being no more use than a wave against a rock.
When she finally quietened and tried to alleviate the tension in the room with a little humour, Achilleas at least showed an appreciation for it and assured her in return that he wished, in no way, to be a lacking husband.
Whilst pleased by this assurance, she wanted to smack the hand rested against his heart down upon his chest. For once more he was finding fault in himself, over something that was not a failing he should claim blame for. Grief was a perfectly acceptable reason for him to be a poor husband to her. Even if it had, frustratingly, landed upon their wedding day.
When Achilleas drew Theo to her feet, and pulled her in close, she smiled softly when he referred to her by her full name, as she had asked. It sent an unfamiliar shiver down her spine that was not unpleasant.
She leaned into the embrace, breathing in the scent of the man who held hr and suddenly realising a sense of total peace. There was no need to be concerned for who might see them in this manner, or what someone might think of her ladylike sensibilities. They were married. And this was perfectly allowable.
Theo found her muscles seem to loosen and relax at the very notion. She had never been so permitted in her affectionate actions before.
Wrapping her arms around her husband's waist, Theo turned her head so that she could press her cheek to Achilleas's chest and close her eyes, sinking into his touch, her weight relying on his strength. She pulled tight on her arms, holding to be as supportive of him in return.
She was no idiot to the communications that had hone between Achilleas and his father. She had only been in their shared company a few times and yet it was clear the dynamic between them. Even now, after the man was gone, Achilleas insisted on blaming himself for not being a good enough son.
"You are brave, Achilleas." She said, in a tone that seemed quiet and almost to herself, despite her words clearly being directed at him. "You are intelligent, kind, honourable..." She searched for other adjectives that would be flattering to a man. Handsome and tall, despite being attractive to her might not have been received in the right way. "You are the truest man that I know and if your father could not and never saw that..." She lifted her head so that she could speak her last point looking directly into his eyes. "Then that was a failure on his part. Not yours." She knew that she was speaking I'll of the dead, which her husband might not appreciate, given that the dead in question was his father. But she also felt this to be her duty as his wife. "Do not claim yourself to be lacking colour when you father was simply blind."
Drawing back a step and shifting her touch from an embrace to the holding of his hand, Theo moved towards the door of the chamber, leading her husband forwards.
"Now..." She said, in a tone that suggested no argument. "I think it time we retire and you be a good husband to me, Achilleas." She smiled at him, as she walked backwards towards the door. "Even if all that involves tonight is lying beside me."
He had gone very still as Theodora had begun to speak, sweet words falling from from her lips. He had not been looking for them. And yet his wife said them anyway, and Achilleas frowned a little. Settling his gaze upon the far wall, he waited for whatever motivated this flurry of compliments,noting absently that the tapestry that hung there listed to the right. Imperfect. Irritating. And when he felt Theodora pull back, Achilleas dutifully tipped his head dowards hers, a brief lift of his eyebrows as he realised what she was saying to him.
His first want, his first thought was to correct her, she did not know his father, the man had not been demonstrative, but he had valued Achilleas, despite what she seemed to be suggesting.
Only perhaps he was too raw to find the lie, and instead he was quiet, the blue of his eyes darkened to that of a restless sea as he looked at her, not quite frowning but with a set to his face that betrayed his discomfort.
To say that the man had a complicated relationship with his father would be only speaking the truth, but Achilleas was proud, and it was hard enough to accept the fact that Irakles had found him less than perfect,without having to acknowledge the effect it had upon him. An effect apparently visible to those even on the outskirts of his life, which really, was all Theodora had been until the very most recent weeks.
Not anymore though, he reminded himself, trying very hard to soften his expression. As much as he wanted to bite back that she was speaking nonsense, to douse that fire before it even caught, he shouldn’t, he knew. Now she was his wife, and if honesty could not be between them now then what did that mean? So when Achilleas finally did speak, it was a conscious decision not to deny her words.
“Thank you” A little bland perhaps, and the brief flicker at his mouth hardly enough to be called a smile. He didn’t want to speak of it, but he did not lie. And when she pulled on his hand, the man allowed her to move him, seemingly content to follow her lead.
They had gotten but a few steps before Achilleas stopped though, coming to a jerky halt and turning back towards the kline he had departed. Still there, set down upon the plush upholstery was the crown. He laughed then, levelled a shocked sort of look at Theodora before he released her hand and moved to retrieve it.
“I suppose it would be best not to leave it just lying around” he remarked quietly, blinking at his oversight. Like he had forgotten. He had forgotten. With a rueful shake of his head, Achilleas glanced back towards the woman across the room, the woman who was now a Queen just as he was now a King, and for a moment he was overwhelmed with relief that he was not alone in this. Theodora would be by his side.
“I am not entirely sure what the done thing is” he admitted, some attempt at levity as he drew level with her again. “Where does one keep one's crown?” He held it in the hand that did not immediately seek hers and this time, it was Achilleas that led Theodora, through the hallways to the wing of the house where his own rooms were.
He settled, eventually, on placing it in a drawer within his chambers, a place he had not shared with Theodora before that night. There was some sign of thoughtfulness towards the newlyweds even amongst the somber aftermath of their nuptials. Fine linens adorned the bed, someone had left fresh flowers in a bowl upon the side table. There was wine waiting.
And as Achilleas shut the drawer on that crown that signified so much change, he at least attempted to shut away the maudlinness that had threatened to overwhelm this night. This night that they would not get again, and that should be more than him ‘lying beside’ his wife. Theodora deserved better.
“Will you let me then? Be a good husband to you, my wife?” His smile, more real this time, had an echo of the young man who had come across her all those years ago, in a field in Macendia. Because the reality of this moment, after so long, could not be blanketed entirely by grief or shock.
And if he had worried that the absence of feeling would extend towards his wife, then it was put to rest when he welcomed her into his arms, when he quietly divested her of her bridal raiment and welcomed her too into his bed. Theodora roused him as easily as she ever had, if not more so, because now he could lay claim to her in a way no other ever could. She was his wife, every flawless inch of her,and it proved a better balm to his hurts to lose himself in silken skin and warmth. It chased everything else from his head, the ability to focus instead on the flush that crept up her throat, and the dark spill of her hair over white sheets.
It was pooling heat where he’d felt cold, and one thing he could control in a day where that had been sorely lacking. Something that he could anchor himself too, because sensation pulled him out of his thoughts and into the moment. This was real.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He had gone very still as Theodora had begun to speak, sweet words falling from from her lips. He had not been looking for them. And yet his wife said them anyway, and Achilleas frowned a little. Settling his gaze upon the far wall, he waited for whatever motivated this flurry of compliments,noting absently that the tapestry that hung there listed to the right. Imperfect. Irritating. And when he felt Theodora pull back, Achilleas dutifully tipped his head dowards hers, a brief lift of his eyebrows as he realised what she was saying to him.
His first want, his first thought was to correct her, she did not know his father, the man had not been demonstrative, but he had valued Achilleas, despite what she seemed to be suggesting.
Only perhaps he was too raw to find the lie, and instead he was quiet, the blue of his eyes darkened to that of a restless sea as he looked at her, not quite frowning but with a set to his face that betrayed his discomfort.
To say that the man had a complicated relationship with his father would be only speaking the truth, but Achilleas was proud, and it was hard enough to accept the fact that Irakles had found him less than perfect,without having to acknowledge the effect it had upon him. An effect apparently visible to those even on the outskirts of his life, which really, was all Theodora had been until the very most recent weeks.
Not anymore though, he reminded himself, trying very hard to soften his expression. As much as he wanted to bite back that she was speaking nonsense, to douse that fire before it even caught, he shouldn’t, he knew. Now she was his wife, and if honesty could not be between them now then what did that mean? So when Achilleas finally did speak, it was a conscious decision not to deny her words.
“Thank you” A little bland perhaps, and the brief flicker at his mouth hardly enough to be called a smile. He didn’t want to speak of it, but he did not lie. And when she pulled on his hand, the man allowed her to move him, seemingly content to follow her lead.
They had gotten but a few steps before Achilleas stopped though, coming to a jerky halt and turning back towards the kline he had departed. Still there, set down upon the plush upholstery was the crown. He laughed then, levelled a shocked sort of look at Theodora before he released her hand and moved to retrieve it.
“I suppose it would be best not to leave it just lying around” he remarked quietly, blinking at his oversight. Like he had forgotten. He had forgotten. With a rueful shake of his head, Achilleas glanced back towards the woman across the room, the woman who was now a Queen just as he was now a King, and for a moment he was overwhelmed with relief that he was not alone in this. Theodora would be by his side.
“I am not entirely sure what the done thing is” he admitted, some attempt at levity as he drew level with her again. “Where does one keep one's crown?” He held it in the hand that did not immediately seek hers and this time, it was Achilleas that led Theodora, through the hallways to the wing of the house where his own rooms were.
He settled, eventually, on placing it in a drawer within his chambers, a place he had not shared with Theodora before that night. There was some sign of thoughtfulness towards the newlyweds even amongst the somber aftermath of their nuptials. Fine linens adorned the bed, someone had left fresh flowers in a bowl upon the side table. There was wine waiting.
And as Achilleas shut the drawer on that crown that signified so much change, he at least attempted to shut away the maudlinness that had threatened to overwhelm this night. This night that they would not get again, and that should be more than him ‘lying beside’ his wife. Theodora deserved better.
“Will you let me then? Be a good husband to you, my wife?” His smile, more real this time, had an echo of the young man who had come across her all those years ago, in a field in Macendia. Because the reality of this moment, after so long, could not be blanketed entirely by grief or shock.
And if he had worried that the absence of feeling would extend towards his wife, then it was put to rest when he welcomed her into his arms, when he quietly divested her of her bridal raiment and welcomed her too into his bed. Theodora roused him as easily as she ever had, if not more so, because now he could lay claim to her in a way no other ever could. She was his wife, every flawless inch of her,and it proved a better balm to his hurts to lose himself in silken skin and warmth. It chased everything else from his head, the ability to focus instead on the flush that crept up her throat, and the dark spill of her hair over white sheets.
It was pooling heat where he’d felt cold, and one thing he could control in a day where that had been sorely lacking. Something that he could anchor himself too, because sensation pulled him out of his thoughts and into the moment. This was real.
He had gone very still as Theodora had begun to speak, sweet words falling from from her lips. He had not been looking for them. And yet his wife said them anyway, and Achilleas frowned a little. Settling his gaze upon the far wall, he waited for whatever motivated this flurry of compliments,noting absently that the tapestry that hung there listed to the right. Imperfect. Irritating. And when he felt Theodora pull back, Achilleas dutifully tipped his head dowards hers, a brief lift of his eyebrows as he realised what she was saying to him.
His first want, his first thought was to correct her, she did not know his father, the man had not been demonstrative, but he had valued Achilleas, despite what she seemed to be suggesting.
Only perhaps he was too raw to find the lie, and instead he was quiet, the blue of his eyes darkened to that of a restless sea as he looked at her, not quite frowning but with a set to his face that betrayed his discomfort.
To say that the man had a complicated relationship with his father would be only speaking the truth, but Achilleas was proud, and it was hard enough to accept the fact that Irakles had found him less than perfect,without having to acknowledge the effect it had upon him. An effect apparently visible to those even on the outskirts of his life, which really, was all Theodora had been until the very most recent weeks.
Not anymore though, he reminded himself, trying very hard to soften his expression. As much as he wanted to bite back that she was speaking nonsense, to douse that fire before it even caught, he shouldn’t, he knew. Now she was his wife, and if honesty could not be between them now then what did that mean? So when Achilleas finally did speak, it was a conscious decision not to deny her words.
“Thank you” A little bland perhaps, and the brief flicker at his mouth hardly enough to be called a smile. He didn’t want to speak of it, but he did not lie. And when she pulled on his hand, the man allowed her to move him, seemingly content to follow her lead.
They had gotten but a few steps before Achilleas stopped though, coming to a jerky halt and turning back towards the kline he had departed. Still there, set down upon the plush upholstery was the crown. He laughed then, levelled a shocked sort of look at Theodora before he released her hand and moved to retrieve it.
“I suppose it would be best not to leave it just lying around” he remarked quietly, blinking at his oversight. Like he had forgotten. He had forgotten. With a rueful shake of his head, Achilleas glanced back towards the woman across the room, the woman who was now a Queen just as he was now a King, and for a moment he was overwhelmed with relief that he was not alone in this. Theodora would be by his side.
“I am not entirely sure what the done thing is” he admitted, some attempt at levity as he drew level with her again. “Where does one keep one's crown?” He held it in the hand that did not immediately seek hers and this time, it was Achilleas that led Theodora, through the hallways to the wing of the house where his own rooms were.
He settled, eventually, on placing it in a drawer within his chambers, a place he had not shared with Theodora before that night. There was some sign of thoughtfulness towards the newlyweds even amongst the somber aftermath of their nuptials. Fine linens adorned the bed, someone had left fresh flowers in a bowl upon the side table. There was wine waiting.
And as Achilleas shut the drawer on that crown that signified so much change, he at least attempted to shut away the maudlinness that had threatened to overwhelm this night. This night that they would not get again, and that should be more than him ‘lying beside’ his wife. Theodora deserved better.
“Will you let me then? Be a good husband to you, my wife?” His smile, more real this time, had an echo of the young man who had come across her all those years ago, in a field in Macendia. Because the reality of this moment, after so long, could not be blanketed entirely by grief or shock.
And if he had worried that the absence of feeling would extend towards his wife, then it was put to rest when he welcomed her into his arms, when he quietly divested her of her bridal raiment and welcomed her too into his bed. Theodora roused him as easily as she ever had, if not more so, because now he could lay claim to her in a way no other ever could. She was his wife, every flawless inch of her,and it proved a better balm to his hurts to lose himself in silken skin and warmth. It chased everything else from his head, the ability to focus instead on the flush that crept up her throat, and the dark spill of her hair over white sheets.
It was pooling heat where he’d felt cold, and one thing he could control in a day where that had been sorely lacking. Something that he could anchor himself too, because sensation pulled him out of his thoughts and into the moment. This was real.
Had she the social graces and skill of her older sister, Theodora might have noticed Achilleas' reserved manner in the way he thanked her for her words. Might have noticed that she had failed in some manner of trying to comfort him. Instead, she simply chalked his lack of emotion to the stress and fatigue of the day, comforted within herself that she had done as a wife should do and stood by her husband, in a defence that was as innocent as it was ignorant.
When Achilleas commented about not leaving the crown lying around, Theodora smiled a little, murmuring an agreement - "I should think not..." - as he moved to take it into his hands. She smiled stronger when he queried where someone might keep their crown, her eyes glistening with mirth.
"I should think upon his head, usually." She joked with him, hoping to bring just a little light-heartedness to the serious eventualities of the day.
By the time the two of them reached their bed chamber, it Theodora felt her desire and hunger to secure her union with Achilleas growing in the pit of her belly. The fingers that entangled with hers and grown warm and his touch and gaze had become intimate.
She went to him willingly, entering his bed and then allowing him to enter her, as she held him close and made love to the only man she was sure she would hold in such a way, for the rest of her days...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Had she the social graces and skill of her older sister, Theodora might have noticed Achilleas' reserved manner in the way he thanked her for her words. Might have noticed that she had failed in some manner of trying to comfort him. Instead, she simply chalked his lack of emotion to the stress and fatigue of the day, comforted within herself that she had done as a wife should do and stood by her husband, in a defence that was as innocent as it was ignorant.
When Achilleas commented about not leaving the crown lying around, Theodora smiled a little, murmuring an agreement - "I should think not..." - as he moved to take it into his hands. She smiled stronger when he queried where someone might keep their crown, her eyes glistening with mirth.
"I should think upon his head, usually." She joked with him, hoping to bring just a little light-heartedness to the serious eventualities of the day.
By the time the two of them reached their bed chamber, it Theodora felt her desire and hunger to secure her union with Achilleas growing in the pit of her belly. The fingers that entangled with hers and grown warm and his touch and gaze had become intimate.
She went to him willingly, entering his bed and then allowing him to enter her, as she held him close and made love to the only man she was sure she would hold in such a way, for the rest of her days...
Had she the social graces and skill of her older sister, Theodora might have noticed Achilleas' reserved manner in the way he thanked her for her words. Might have noticed that she had failed in some manner of trying to comfort him. Instead, she simply chalked his lack of emotion to the stress and fatigue of the day, comforted within herself that she had done as a wife should do and stood by her husband, in a defence that was as innocent as it was ignorant.
When Achilleas commented about not leaving the crown lying around, Theodora smiled a little, murmuring an agreement - "I should think not..." - as he moved to take it into his hands. She smiled stronger when he queried where someone might keep their crown, her eyes glistening with mirth.
"I should think upon his head, usually." She joked with him, hoping to bring just a little light-heartedness to the serious eventualities of the day.
By the time the two of them reached their bed chamber, it Theodora felt her desire and hunger to secure her union with Achilleas growing in the pit of her belly. The fingers that entangled with hers and grown warm and his touch and gaze had become intimate.
She went to him willingly, entering his bed and then allowing him to enter her, as she held him close and made love to the only man she was sure she would hold in such a way, for the rest of her days...