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Hesiodos always said that drinking was borrowing happiness from tomorrow. Right now, as he sat on the main room of the Mikaelidas manor, nursing a cup of tea while hungover, he knew once again that he was right.
Truly, he has been happy last night. He has been drinking, dancing and having fun with Neena, his best friend in the world, and Isaiah, that Jew that didn’t seem to want to be there. Those were good times, even though he could barely remember them – he was sure the memories would come once he felt more human and less like an abstract concept. Right now, every sound was too loud and every light was too bright.
The ambiance was somber in the manor. It wasn’t for less – the king was dead, taken by one of Apollo’s arrows, and his son was just crowned once again. It was odd how those things happened… Hesiodos looked at his hand, still bandaged by one of Neena’s clothes. He shredded his fingers from playing too much after the king fell, trying to get everyone distracted and to not to cause a further tragedy. And it worked, up until the morning when the news spread like wildfire. Everyone woke up hungover to the fact that they were under new administration… quite a hard thing to hit.
Yet Hesiodos was there for another reason. While this was tragic, the fact was that he was hired to play at the royal wedding. He knew that the following days would be really hectic and depressing, so he decided to get his money for the service as soon as possible. When he stated the reason to his visit, the guards that greeted him gave him a dirty look, but allowed him to pass once he was recognized. Now, he was waiting for someone in particular to do the reclaim…
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Hesiodos always said that drinking was borrowing happiness from tomorrow. Right now, as he sat on the main room of the Mikaelidas manor, nursing a cup of tea while hungover, he knew once again that he was right.
Truly, he has been happy last night. He has been drinking, dancing and having fun with Neena, his best friend in the world, and Isaiah, that Jew that didn’t seem to want to be there. Those were good times, even though he could barely remember them – he was sure the memories would come once he felt more human and less like an abstract concept. Right now, every sound was too loud and every light was too bright.
The ambiance was somber in the manor. It wasn’t for less – the king was dead, taken by one of Apollo’s arrows, and his son was just crowned once again. It was odd how those things happened… Hesiodos looked at his hand, still bandaged by one of Neena’s clothes. He shredded his fingers from playing too much after the king fell, trying to get everyone distracted and to not to cause a further tragedy. And it worked, up until the morning when the news spread like wildfire. Everyone woke up hungover to the fact that they were under new administration… quite a hard thing to hit.
Yet Hesiodos was there for another reason. While this was tragic, the fact was that he was hired to play at the royal wedding. He knew that the following days would be really hectic and depressing, so he decided to get his money for the service as soon as possible. When he stated the reason to his visit, the guards that greeted him gave him a dirty look, but allowed him to pass once he was recognized. Now, he was waiting for someone in particular to do the reclaim…
Hesiodos always said that drinking was borrowing happiness from tomorrow. Right now, as he sat on the main room of the Mikaelidas manor, nursing a cup of tea while hungover, he knew once again that he was right.
Truly, he has been happy last night. He has been drinking, dancing and having fun with Neena, his best friend in the world, and Isaiah, that Jew that didn’t seem to want to be there. Those were good times, even though he could barely remember them – he was sure the memories would come once he felt more human and less like an abstract concept. Right now, every sound was too loud and every light was too bright.
The ambiance was somber in the manor. It wasn’t for less – the king was dead, taken by one of Apollo’s arrows, and his son was just crowned once again. It was odd how those things happened… Hesiodos looked at his hand, still bandaged by one of Neena’s clothes. He shredded his fingers from playing too much after the king fell, trying to get everyone distracted and to not to cause a further tragedy. And it worked, up until the morning when the news spread like wildfire. Everyone woke up hungover to the fact that they were under new administration… quite a hard thing to hit.
Yet Hesiodos was there for another reason. While this was tragic, the fact was that he was hired to play at the royal wedding. He knew that the following days would be really hectic and depressing, so he decided to get his money for the service as soon as possible. When he stated the reason to his visit, the guards that greeted him gave him a dirty look, but allowed him to pass once he was recognized. Now, he was waiting for someone in particular to do the reclaim…
Achilleas had lain awake for a long time after Theodora had fallen asleep beside him. The sound of her breath, the first time he saw her in repose, all should have been moments to treasure, but instead he had laid back and stared at the ceiling, the blankness of it matching nicely with the blankness he felt. The warmth of her body where it curled around his own was at least something he could anchor himself to.
He had turned over each memory of the day, observed it from different angles, tried to force himself into feeling something, but there was nothing. Just..emptiness. He thought he should cry, as if he owed that to the man who had sired him and been so unstoppable a force for al of his days, but though Achilleas reached for some emotion, it eluded him. Eventually, he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, only to wake again early, and for a few blissful moments have forgotten what had gone before. But truth reasserted itself quickly enough, and Achilleas had swept off his new wife’s concern with an honest assurance that he felt okay, and gone about his day in this strange new landscape that they now occupied.
The servants had been busy, he noted, having stripped away any signs of decoration that had marked the celebration of the day before, and he made a note to thank the housekeeper. There was much to be attended to. People who should be informed, steps that needed to be taken. A burial to be arranged.
So the new King had found much to keep himself busy with as the hours of the day crept onwards. It was good to be busy, reassuring. Which was why he did not think to object when a rather weary looking housekeeper informed there was a man asking for him, just blinked at her a moment before getting to his feet and moving towards the chamber where the guest had been seated. There was a guard, he noted, tailing his steps, which was a new and somewhat unwelcome addition, but one that he supposed he should get used to.
“Your majesty I did not mean for you to see the gentleman yourself” came a harried voice from his side, but Achilleas looked blankly at the woman and continued walking, his long stride meaning that she had to trot next to him to keep up.
“I am here. Why would I not?” he asked, missing the glances exchanged by the guard and the housekeeper that clearly intimated there were many such reasons. But Achilleas was not to be dissuaded,and he so swept into the solar with both guard and housekeeper at his heels, only to draw to a halt upon seeing the man there, sipping tea of all things.
“Oh” were the King’s first words upon seeing Hesiodos. “It’s you.” He looked a little perplexed for a moment, as if he could not fathom why on earth the bard would be sitting in his house drinking tea. “Can I help you with something?”
“Your majesty, please, let me..” It was the housekeeper again, fretting and looking for all the world as if she wanted to catch a hold of the new king’s arm but not quite daring to be so familiar. But Achilleas seemed not to hear her, instead lookign expectantly at the bard who had imposed himself upon the Mikaelidas household on such a day.
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Achilleas had lain awake for a long time after Theodora had fallen asleep beside him. The sound of her breath, the first time he saw her in repose, all should have been moments to treasure, but instead he had laid back and stared at the ceiling, the blankness of it matching nicely with the blankness he felt. The warmth of her body where it curled around his own was at least something he could anchor himself to.
He had turned over each memory of the day, observed it from different angles, tried to force himself into feeling something, but there was nothing. Just..emptiness. He thought he should cry, as if he owed that to the man who had sired him and been so unstoppable a force for al of his days, but though Achilleas reached for some emotion, it eluded him. Eventually, he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, only to wake again early, and for a few blissful moments have forgotten what had gone before. But truth reasserted itself quickly enough, and Achilleas had swept off his new wife’s concern with an honest assurance that he felt okay, and gone about his day in this strange new landscape that they now occupied.
The servants had been busy, he noted, having stripped away any signs of decoration that had marked the celebration of the day before, and he made a note to thank the housekeeper. There was much to be attended to. People who should be informed, steps that needed to be taken. A burial to be arranged.
So the new King had found much to keep himself busy with as the hours of the day crept onwards. It was good to be busy, reassuring. Which was why he did not think to object when a rather weary looking housekeeper informed there was a man asking for him, just blinked at her a moment before getting to his feet and moving towards the chamber where the guest had been seated. There was a guard, he noted, tailing his steps, which was a new and somewhat unwelcome addition, but one that he supposed he should get used to.
“Your majesty I did not mean for you to see the gentleman yourself” came a harried voice from his side, but Achilleas looked blankly at the woman and continued walking, his long stride meaning that she had to trot next to him to keep up.
“I am here. Why would I not?” he asked, missing the glances exchanged by the guard and the housekeeper that clearly intimated there were many such reasons. But Achilleas was not to be dissuaded,and he so swept into the solar with both guard and housekeeper at his heels, only to draw to a halt upon seeing the man there, sipping tea of all things.
“Oh” were the King’s first words upon seeing Hesiodos. “It’s you.” He looked a little perplexed for a moment, as if he could not fathom why on earth the bard would be sitting in his house drinking tea. “Can I help you with something?”
“Your majesty, please, let me..” It was the housekeeper again, fretting and looking for all the world as if she wanted to catch a hold of the new king’s arm but not quite daring to be so familiar. But Achilleas seemed not to hear her, instead lookign expectantly at the bard who had imposed himself upon the Mikaelidas household on such a day.
Achilleas had lain awake for a long time after Theodora had fallen asleep beside him. The sound of her breath, the first time he saw her in repose, all should have been moments to treasure, but instead he had laid back and stared at the ceiling, the blankness of it matching nicely with the blankness he felt. The warmth of her body where it curled around his own was at least something he could anchor himself to.
He had turned over each memory of the day, observed it from different angles, tried to force himself into feeling something, but there was nothing. Just..emptiness. He thought he should cry, as if he owed that to the man who had sired him and been so unstoppable a force for al of his days, but though Achilleas reached for some emotion, it eluded him. Eventually, he had fallen into an uneasy sleep, only to wake again early, and for a few blissful moments have forgotten what had gone before. But truth reasserted itself quickly enough, and Achilleas had swept off his new wife’s concern with an honest assurance that he felt okay, and gone about his day in this strange new landscape that they now occupied.
The servants had been busy, he noted, having stripped away any signs of decoration that had marked the celebration of the day before, and he made a note to thank the housekeeper. There was much to be attended to. People who should be informed, steps that needed to be taken. A burial to be arranged.
So the new King had found much to keep himself busy with as the hours of the day crept onwards. It was good to be busy, reassuring. Which was why he did not think to object when a rather weary looking housekeeper informed there was a man asking for him, just blinked at her a moment before getting to his feet and moving towards the chamber where the guest had been seated. There was a guard, he noted, tailing his steps, which was a new and somewhat unwelcome addition, but one that he supposed he should get used to.
“Your majesty I did not mean for you to see the gentleman yourself” came a harried voice from his side, but Achilleas looked blankly at the woman and continued walking, his long stride meaning that she had to trot next to him to keep up.
“I am here. Why would I not?” he asked, missing the glances exchanged by the guard and the housekeeper that clearly intimated there were many such reasons. But Achilleas was not to be dissuaded,and he so swept into the solar with both guard and housekeeper at his heels, only to draw to a halt upon seeing the man there, sipping tea of all things.
“Oh” were the King’s first words upon seeing Hesiodos. “It’s you.” He looked a little perplexed for a moment, as if he could not fathom why on earth the bard would be sitting in his house drinking tea. “Can I help you with something?”
“Your majesty, please, let me..” It was the housekeeper again, fretting and looking for all the world as if she wanted to catch a hold of the new king’s arm but not quite daring to be so familiar. But Achilleas seemed not to hear her, instead lookign expectantly at the bard who had imposed himself upon the Mikaelidas household on such a day.
Hesiodos had a knack of not forgetting names, faces or voices. Even after years of looking, and kissing, countless people all over the world, he always remembered who it belonged to. Achilleas’ voice was something he would recognize even in the depths of Hades, and it made him look away from his tea to look at him.
It was admirable, he thought, how he carried himself after the death of his father. It would have been a devastating event for most people… not for him, thought. Hesiodos hated his father, and would probably not care if he died – if he was still alive, that’s it. At most, he would have some wine to celebrate, which would make no difference considering he was always drinking to celebrate something.
“Your majesty”, he said, with his voice trying to hide his poor state. It was weird to call him that, after those years. He remembered vividly the fight they had years ago, and the kiss he gave him, and the song he composed due to the event, which was quite successful. Now he was in front of a king, “I came here for…”
‘To get my wage’, he was going to say, until the words died on his mouth. He realized that it was of poor taste to do this. The man had his father die on his wedding day, just to be immediately crowned. Hesiodos took a deep breath and took another sip of his tea, before looking at Achilleas with tired eyes.
“I came here to offer my condolences.”
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Hesiodos had a knack of not forgetting names, faces or voices. Even after years of looking, and kissing, countless people all over the world, he always remembered who it belonged to. Achilleas’ voice was something he would recognize even in the depths of Hades, and it made him look away from his tea to look at him.
It was admirable, he thought, how he carried himself after the death of his father. It would have been a devastating event for most people… not for him, thought. Hesiodos hated his father, and would probably not care if he died – if he was still alive, that’s it. At most, he would have some wine to celebrate, which would make no difference considering he was always drinking to celebrate something.
“Your majesty”, he said, with his voice trying to hide his poor state. It was weird to call him that, after those years. He remembered vividly the fight they had years ago, and the kiss he gave him, and the song he composed due to the event, which was quite successful. Now he was in front of a king, “I came here for…”
‘To get my wage’, he was going to say, until the words died on his mouth. He realized that it was of poor taste to do this. The man had his father die on his wedding day, just to be immediately crowned. Hesiodos took a deep breath and took another sip of his tea, before looking at Achilleas with tired eyes.
“I came here to offer my condolences.”
Hesiodos had a knack of not forgetting names, faces or voices. Even after years of looking, and kissing, countless people all over the world, he always remembered who it belonged to. Achilleas’ voice was something he would recognize even in the depths of Hades, and it made him look away from his tea to look at him.
It was admirable, he thought, how he carried himself after the death of his father. It would have been a devastating event for most people… not for him, thought. Hesiodos hated his father, and would probably not care if he died – if he was still alive, that’s it. At most, he would have some wine to celebrate, which would make no difference considering he was always drinking to celebrate something.
“Your majesty”, he said, with his voice trying to hide his poor state. It was weird to call him that, after those years. He remembered vividly the fight they had years ago, and the kiss he gave him, and the song he composed due to the event, which was quite successful. Now he was in front of a king, “I came here for…”
‘To get my wage’, he was going to say, until the words died on his mouth. He realized that it was of poor taste to do this. The man had his father die on his wedding day, just to be immediately crowned. Hesiodos took a deep breath and took another sip of his tea, before looking at Achilleas with tired eyes.
“I came here to offer my condolences.”
There was an awkward pause where the Mikaelidas man waited for the other to get to his feet and offer a bow, with the housekeeper eventually clicking her tongue in disapproval and urging Hesiodos to stand. “...for your King” she scolded under her breath, whilst the man himself stood looking unimpressed mere feet away.
Achilleas stared at the bard before him, took in the bandaged hands and the rough sounding voice, and was none the wiser as to why the bard, of all people, would present himself thusly. The man had been somewhat of a thorn in Achilleas’ side since they had first met, all those years ago. He had been so forward then, flirting and making suggestive comments even though he had known Achilleas for all of a few minutes.
It had left the then Lord very uncomfortable, particularly given that Stephanos was there, one of the few who knew that his cousin had taken a male lover before. It had been one of the more serious disagreements between the cousins, and not one that Achilleas wished to revisit. His standing and reputation were of greater import than indulging in what could be simply ignored, that had been where he and Stephanos had come to an uneasy agreement.
Aggravated, Achilleas had thought to end the bard’s antagonism at the end of a blade, but even that had not been as simple as he had hoped, and Hesiodos was not the only one who had not forgotten that kiss. And much to his chagrin, the Mikaelidas Lord was also acquainted with the song, though if anyone dared to suggest it had anything to do with him he would deny it until he was hoarse.
So to find the man responsible before him offering seemingly genuine sympathies upon the death of his father had the new King a little thrown off balance.
“...I see”. A brief pause where the King looked for all he was worth like he did not see, but then Achilleas cleared his throat and added “That is very gracious of you, bard, and appreciated”
He slipped into a polished response that he supposed would be one called upon frequently over the coming days. Perhaps this man with ideas above his station could be considered a trial of sorts, for when he needed to be able to comport himself with dignity in front of those who mattered.
With his hands clasped behind his back, and standing taller than the bard, Achilleas gazed down at Hesiodos, his face impassive. “I was not aware you were acquainted with my fa...with the late King?”
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There was an awkward pause where the Mikaelidas man waited for the other to get to his feet and offer a bow, with the housekeeper eventually clicking her tongue in disapproval and urging Hesiodos to stand. “...for your King” she scolded under her breath, whilst the man himself stood looking unimpressed mere feet away.
Achilleas stared at the bard before him, took in the bandaged hands and the rough sounding voice, and was none the wiser as to why the bard, of all people, would present himself thusly. The man had been somewhat of a thorn in Achilleas’ side since they had first met, all those years ago. He had been so forward then, flirting and making suggestive comments even though he had known Achilleas for all of a few minutes.
It had left the then Lord very uncomfortable, particularly given that Stephanos was there, one of the few who knew that his cousin had taken a male lover before. It had been one of the more serious disagreements between the cousins, and not one that Achilleas wished to revisit. His standing and reputation were of greater import than indulging in what could be simply ignored, that had been where he and Stephanos had come to an uneasy agreement.
Aggravated, Achilleas had thought to end the bard’s antagonism at the end of a blade, but even that had not been as simple as he had hoped, and Hesiodos was not the only one who had not forgotten that kiss. And much to his chagrin, the Mikaelidas Lord was also acquainted with the song, though if anyone dared to suggest it had anything to do with him he would deny it until he was hoarse.
So to find the man responsible before him offering seemingly genuine sympathies upon the death of his father had the new King a little thrown off balance.
“...I see”. A brief pause where the King looked for all he was worth like he did not see, but then Achilleas cleared his throat and added “That is very gracious of you, bard, and appreciated”
He slipped into a polished response that he supposed would be one called upon frequently over the coming days. Perhaps this man with ideas above his station could be considered a trial of sorts, for when he needed to be able to comport himself with dignity in front of those who mattered.
With his hands clasped behind his back, and standing taller than the bard, Achilleas gazed down at Hesiodos, his face impassive. “I was not aware you were acquainted with my fa...with the late King?”
There was an awkward pause where the Mikaelidas man waited for the other to get to his feet and offer a bow, with the housekeeper eventually clicking her tongue in disapproval and urging Hesiodos to stand. “...for your King” she scolded under her breath, whilst the man himself stood looking unimpressed mere feet away.
Achilleas stared at the bard before him, took in the bandaged hands and the rough sounding voice, and was none the wiser as to why the bard, of all people, would present himself thusly. The man had been somewhat of a thorn in Achilleas’ side since they had first met, all those years ago. He had been so forward then, flirting and making suggestive comments even though he had known Achilleas for all of a few minutes.
It had left the then Lord very uncomfortable, particularly given that Stephanos was there, one of the few who knew that his cousin had taken a male lover before. It had been one of the more serious disagreements between the cousins, and not one that Achilleas wished to revisit. His standing and reputation were of greater import than indulging in what could be simply ignored, that had been where he and Stephanos had come to an uneasy agreement.
Aggravated, Achilleas had thought to end the bard’s antagonism at the end of a blade, but even that had not been as simple as he had hoped, and Hesiodos was not the only one who had not forgotten that kiss. And much to his chagrin, the Mikaelidas Lord was also acquainted with the song, though if anyone dared to suggest it had anything to do with him he would deny it until he was hoarse.
So to find the man responsible before him offering seemingly genuine sympathies upon the death of his father had the new King a little thrown off balance.
“...I see”. A brief pause where the King looked for all he was worth like he did not see, but then Achilleas cleared his throat and added “That is very gracious of you, bard, and appreciated”
He slipped into a polished response that he supposed would be one called upon frequently over the coming days. Perhaps this man with ideas above his station could be considered a trial of sorts, for when he needed to be able to comport himself with dignity in front of those who mattered.
With his hands clasped behind his back, and standing taller than the bard, Achilleas gazed down at Hesiodos, his face impassive. “I was not aware you were acquainted with my fa...with the late King?”
The click of the housekeeper’s tongue was like a slap on the back of his head, and felt as such. Hesiodos glared at her, and holding the want to say ‘fiiiiine’, he stood up and bowed as it was appropriate for his new king. The Bard of Phossis HATED bowing for anybody – no matter the station, he only did so because he knew he could lose his head if he didn’t so. For him, there were only three proper occasions for bowing, and those were for a partner for a dance, to your friends after doing something impressive, and to the crowd after a dazzling performance. Other than that, it was pure submission.
Achilleas seemed surprised after he expressed his sympathies. It wasn’t odd to think that, to be honest… of all the things the bard wanted to do in his house, just after the tragic event, the least one would be to offer condolences and sympathies for that. He was right, though… only Hesiodos’ best sense beat him before he said something stupid, “Do not mention it, my kind. Losing someone is never easy…”, he dropped the tea cup on the bench where he was sitting, and touched the man on his shoulder with his uninjured hand in a show of camaraderie, which was probably way out of his station, “I can’t say I’ve lost family I appreciated… but I did lose friends that were like family. I know that is not something easy…”
Hesiodos liked to bother Achilleas. That was the reason why he flirted with him, why he composed the song, and one of the reasons why he continued playing in the events where he was – other than the obvious. He was an easy person to bother, and what better job for a bard than to ridicule an important person? But right now… he realized that this was a man that lost his father. He was sure he had a lot of friends to help him with that, plus his wife and family, but it never hurt to know that someone else cared.
He let go of his shoulder and picked the tea back up, taking a tentative sip. The hot beverage felt good on his dry mouth, “I was, but briefly. He asked me to meet him a couple of times, but every time I play here, it was Her Highness, your mother Queen Myrto, the one that did the interviews. I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than two dozen words with the late King”, he said honestly.
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The click of the housekeeper’s tongue was like a slap on the back of his head, and felt as such. Hesiodos glared at her, and holding the want to say ‘fiiiiine’, he stood up and bowed as it was appropriate for his new king. The Bard of Phossis HATED bowing for anybody – no matter the station, he only did so because he knew he could lose his head if he didn’t so. For him, there were only three proper occasions for bowing, and those were for a partner for a dance, to your friends after doing something impressive, and to the crowd after a dazzling performance. Other than that, it was pure submission.
Achilleas seemed surprised after he expressed his sympathies. It wasn’t odd to think that, to be honest… of all the things the bard wanted to do in his house, just after the tragic event, the least one would be to offer condolences and sympathies for that. He was right, though… only Hesiodos’ best sense beat him before he said something stupid, “Do not mention it, my kind. Losing someone is never easy…”, he dropped the tea cup on the bench where he was sitting, and touched the man on his shoulder with his uninjured hand in a show of camaraderie, which was probably way out of his station, “I can’t say I’ve lost family I appreciated… but I did lose friends that were like family. I know that is not something easy…”
Hesiodos liked to bother Achilleas. That was the reason why he flirted with him, why he composed the song, and one of the reasons why he continued playing in the events where he was – other than the obvious. He was an easy person to bother, and what better job for a bard than to ridicule an important person? But right now… he realized that this was a man that lost his father. He was sure he had a lot of friends to help him with that, plus his wife and family, but it never hurt to know that someone else cared.
He let go of his shoulder and picked the tea back up, taking a tentative sip. The hot beverage felt good on his dry mouth, “I was, but briefly. He asked me to meet him a couple of times, but every time I play here, it was Her Highness, your mother Queen Myrto, the one that did the interviews. I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than two dozen words with the late King”, he said honestly.
The click of the housekeeper’s tongue was like a slap on the back of his head, and felt as such. Hesiodos glared at her, and holding the want to say ‘fiiiiine’, he stood up and bowed as it was appropriate for his new king. The Bard of Phossis HATED bowing for anybody – no matter the station, he only did so because he knew he could lose his head if he didn’t so. For him, there were only three proper occasions for bowing, and those were for a partner for a dance, to your friends after doing something impressive, and to the crowd after a dazzling performance. Other than that, it was pure submission.
Achilleas seemed surprised after he expressed his sympathies. It wasn’t odd to think that, to be honest… of all the things the bard wanted to do in his house, just after the tragic event, the least one would be to offer condolences and sympathies for that. He was right, though… only Hesiodos’ best sense beat him before he said something stupid, “Do not mention it, my kind. Losing someone is never easy…”, he dropped the tea cup on the bench where he was sitting, and touched the man on his shoulder with his uninjured hand in a show of camaraderie, which was probably way out of his station, “I can’t say I’ve lost family I appreciated… but I did lose friends that were like family. I know that is not something easy…”
Hesiodos liked to bother Achilleas. That was the reason why he flirted with him, why he composed the song, and one of the reasons why he continued playing in the events where he was – other than the obvious. He was an easy person to bother, and what better job for a bard than to ridicule an important person? But right now… he realized that this was a man that lost his father. He was sure he had a lot of friends to help him with that, plus his wife and family, but it never hurt to know that someone else cared.
He let go of his shoulder and picked the tea back up, taking a tentative sip. The hot beverage felt good on his dry mouth, “I was, but briefly. He asked me to meet him a couple of times, but every time I play here, it was Her Highness, your mother Queen Myrto, the one that did the interviews. I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than two dozen words with the late King”, he said honestly.
Had it been another day, Hesiodos’ obvious reluctance to bow might have offended Achilleas, or even amused him, but as it was he felt very little, just looked on dispassionately as the bard eventually conceded to the chiding of the Mikaelidas Housekeeper.
Similarly, the new King did not react outwardly when Hesiodos moved to rest a hand upon his shoulder, but the bard would feel the muscles rigid beneath his touch in a manner that did not entirely meld with the impassive expression upon the Mikaelidas man’s face. So very self-contained, it was obvious that Achilleas was not prepared to behave any differently in spite of the circumstances. Certainly not in front of this man who had done little to establish any kind of trust in him.
“No..indeed.” he said in reply to the bard’s words, though it was clear enough to any that knew him that the death of his father had not hit Achilleas yet. He was operating on fall back behaviours. Quiet efficiency and formality and nothing else. Perhaps there was the slightest flicker of relief when Hesiodos removed his hand and stepped back, but if it was there it was gone again just as quickly as it appeared.
And Achilleas gave a nod – he knew it had been his mother who had arranged the entertainers for the wedding, had remonstrated with himself the day before for not paying more heed to her questions, but that all seemed immaterial now. And he could well believe that the man before him had met the late King only once or twice, for if Hesiodos had received short shrift from Achilleas, then he would have received even less indulgence from Irakles.
“Well, it is kind of you to..uh..take the time to offer your condolences. Perhaps one day you will honour him with a song”
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Had it been another day, Hesiodos’ obvious reluctance to bow might have offended Achilleas, or even amused him, but as it was he felt very little, just looked on dispassionately as the bard eventually conceded to the chiding of the Mikaelidas Housekeeper.
Similarly, the new King did not react outwardly when Hesiodos moved to rest a hand upon his shoulder, but the bard would feel the muscles rigid beneath his touch in a manner that did not entirely meld with the impassive expression upon the Mikaelidas man’s face. So very self-contained, it was obvious that Achilleas was not prepared to behave any differently in spite of the circumstances. Certainly not in front of this man who had done little to establish any kind of trust in him.
“No..indeed.” he said in reply to the bard’s words, though it was clear enough to any that knew him that the death of his father had not hit Achilleas yet. He was operating on fall back behaviours. Quiet efficiency and formality and nothing else. Perhaps there was the slightest flicker of relief when Hesiodos removed his hand and stepped back, but if it was there it was gone again just as quickly as it appeared.
And Achilleas gave a nod – he knew it had been his mother who had arranged the entertainers for the wedding, had remonstrated with himself the day before for not paying more heed to her questions, but that all seemed immaterial now. And he could well believe that the man before him had met the late King only once or twice, for if Hesiodos had received short shrift from Achilleas, then he would have received even less indulgence from Irakles.
“Well, it is kind of you to..uh..take the time to offer your condolences. Perhaps one day you will honour him with a song”
Had it been another day, Hesiodos’ obvious reluctance to bow might have offended Achilleas, or even amused him, but as it was he felt very little, just looked on dispassionately as the bard eventually conceded to the chiding of the Mikaelidas Housekeeper.
Similarly, the new King did not react outwardly when Hesiodos moved to rest a hand upon his shoulder, but the bard would feel the muscles rigid beneath his touch in a manner that did not entirely meld with the impassive expression upon the Mikaelidas man’s face. So very self-contained, it was obvious that Achilleas was not prepared to behave any differently in spite of the circumstances. Certainly not in front of this man who had done little to establish any kind of trust in him.
“No..indeed.” he said in reply to the bard’s words, though it was clear enough to any that knew him that the death of his father had not hit Achilleas yet. He was operating on fall back behaviours. Quiet efficiency and formality and nothing else. Perhaps there was the slightest flicker of relief when Hesiodos removed his hand and stepped back, but if it was there it was gone again just as quickly as it appeared.
And Achilleas gave a nod – he knew it had been his mother who had arranged the entertainers for the wedding, had remonstrated with himself the day before for not paying more heed to her questions, but that all seemed immaterial now. And he could well believe that the man before him had met the late King only once or twice, for if Hesiodos had received short shrift from Achilleas, then he would have received even less indulgence from Irakles.
“Well, it is kind of you to..uh..take the time to offer your condolences. Perhaps one day you will honour him with a song”
Hesiodos felt Achilleas tense under his hand. Normally, he would have commented about how muscular and attractive he was, just to rile him up, but right now, it was a show of comfort, and of camaraderie which they really have. For the bard, physical comfort was important, and he was free to give it to others. Thankfully he had better sense than to try to hug him, though he really wanted to.
He didn’t fail to notice his mannerisms. Achilleas wasn’t crying, or didn’t appear to have cried recently. He wasn’t depressed, or didn’t appear to be. He was as stoic as always. Was it because he had to demonstrate a king’s temper, or because he simply didn’t want to show emotions in front of a man he didn’t have patience for? Either way, he understood that everyone mourned their own way. If it were to him – well, if he liked his own father on the first place – he would have cried a lot.
“It’s the least I could do, my king. I’m not as heartless or evil as to ignore the issues of a man I know and respect”, he let that last word hang in the air for a moment, “I still remember that duel. You fought well, and I still bear the scars you did to me proudly. For me, at least, that means something”, Hesiodos took a deep breath, then offered him a slight smile, “We should repeat that. Can you imagine the duel between the Bard of Phossis and the King of Taengea? That would be legendary. People will talk about it for millennia to come…”, at this point he was just thinking out loud, still dizzy. He drank more tea.
“Yes, I pondered about it. A song for the late king would be a fitting tribute”, he nodded, “Can you tell me how was he? That might help me have more… personal lyrics. Something that people can hear and say ‘Yes, that was our king’.”
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Hesiodos felt Achilleas tense under his hand. Normally, he would have commented about how muscular and attractive he was, just to rile him up, but right now, it was a show of comfort, and of camaraderie which they really have. For the bard, physical comfort was important, and he was free to give it to others. Thankfully he had better sense than to try to hug him, though he really wanted to.
He didn’t fail to notice his mannerisms. Achilleas wasn’t crying, or didn’t appear to have cried recently. He wasn’t depressed, or didn’t appear to be. He was as stoic as always. Was it because he had to demonstrate a king’s temper, or because he simply didn’t want to show emotions in front of a man he didn’t have patience for? Either way, he understood that everyone mourned their own way. If it were to him – well, if he liked his own father on the first place – he would have cried a lot.
“It’s the least I could do, my king. I’m not as heartless or evil as to ignore the issues of a man I know and respect”, he let that last word hang in the air for a moment, “I still remember that duel. You fought well, and I still bear the scars you did to me proudly. For me, at least, that means something”, Hesiodos took a deep breath, then offered him a slight smile, “We should repeat that. Can you imagine the duel between the Bard of Phossis and the King of Taengea? That would be legendary. People will talk about it for millennia to come…”, at this point he was just thinking out loud, still dizzy. He drank more tea.
“Yes, I pondered about it. A song for the late king would be a fitting tribute”, he nodded, “Can you tell me how was he? That might help me have more… personal lyrics. Something that people can hear and say ‘Yes, that was our king’.”
Hesiodos felt Achilleas tense under his hand. Normally, he would have commented about how muscular and attractive he was, just to rile him up, but right now, it was a show of comfort, and of camaraderie which they really have. For the bard, physical comfort was important, and he was free to give it to others. Thankfully he had better sense than to try to hug him, though he really wanted to.
He didn’t fail to notice his mannerisms. Achilleas wasn’t crying, or didn’t appear to have cried recently. He wasn’t depressed, or didn’t appear to be. He was as stoic as always. Was it because he had to demonstrate a king’s temper, or because he simply didn’t want to show emotions in front of a man he didn’t have patience for? Either way, he understood that everyone mourned their own way. If it were to him – well, if he liked his own father on the first place – he would have cried a lot.
“It’s the least I could do, my king. I’m not as heartless or evil as to ignore the issues of a man I know and respect”, he let that last word hang in the air for a moment, “I still remember that duel. You fought well, and I still bear the scars you did to me proudly. For me, at least, that means something”, Hesiodos took a deep breath, then offered him a slight smile, “We should repeat that. Can you imagine the duel between the Bard of Phossis and the King of Taengea? That would be legendary. People will talk about it for millennia to come…”, at this point he was just thinking out loud, still dizzy. He drank more tea.
“Yes, I pondered about it. A song for the late king would be a fitting tribute”, he nodded, “Can you tell me how was he? That might help me have more… personal lyrics. Something that people can hear and say ‘Yes, that was our king’.”
It was wise of the bard not to press his luck in terms of familiarity with the king. Achilleas - never one who ran particularly towards easy going - was wound even more tightly than usual, his responses kept rigidly controlled. As it was, he allowed the touch of the man’s hand upon his shoulder but made no invation for any further contact. And when he offered his thanks for Hesiodos’ condolences, he had though their conversation would come to an end.
Surprised by the generous words from a man whom he had not had the most friendly of relatioships with, Achilleas had tilted his head to the side a little, unsure what to do with the sentiment, Respect was not a thing he had come to expect from the bard. But it would seem the man had not yet finished.
Later, he would think it brave of Hesiodos to bring up that encounter they’d had those years before, but at that very moment, it caught Achilleas off-guard, and his carefully measured expression slipped a moment. That fight had hardly been a fond memory of his. Hindered by the effects of alcohol, he had been sloppy in his defense, and it irked him that he bore a thin silver scar across his ribs from one of the bard’s twin blades. And though victory might have been his, he could not help but feel like Hesiodos had won somehow, just by managing to get under his skin. He gazed at the other man and tried to guauge if he was being mocked, but there was nothing in the bard’s face to suggest so, and so Achilleas made a non-commital noise. He did not think it worthy behaviour of a King to cross blades with man so roguish as the one before him, but also he was not so unkind as give voice to the thought. “Perhaps one day”
But it would seem that was not to be what had him at a loss for words, for Hesiodos took him quite literally at his word when it came to composing a song for the late King, and Achilleas was not at all prepared for such a question.
Words that would faithfully express his father’s nature? The Mikaelidas man faltered, for such was a big ask, and for a horrible, awkward moment his mind was entirely blank and he just stared at the bard. Thankfully, the ability to think seemed to return to him though, and he made an effort at arming the bard with some fitting words.
“My father, he’s..was an intractable force, and yet well-loved. He cared for nothing more than he cared for Taengea.” Achilleas broke off, frowning. He found he did not much want to recite Somebody else could do this better than he, surely?
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It was wise of the bard not to press his luck in terms of familiarity with the king. Achilleas - never one who ran particularly towards easy going - was wound even more tightly than usual, his responses kept rigidly controlled. As it was, he allowed the touch of the man’s hand upon his shoulder but made no invation for any further contact. And when he offered his thanks for Hesiodos’ condolences, he had though their conversation would come to an end.
Surprised by the generous words from a man whom he had not had the most friendly of relatioships with, Achilleas had tilted his head to the side a little, unsure what to do with the sentiment, Respect was not a thing he had come to expect from the bard. But it would seem the man had not yet finished.
Later, he would think it brave of Hesiodos to bring up that encounter they’d had those years before, but at that very moment, it caught Achilleas off-guard, and his carefully measured expression slipped a moment. That fight had hardly been a fond memory of his. Hindered by the effects of alcohol, he had been sloppy in his defense, and it irked him that he bore a thin silver scar across his ribs from one of the bard’s twin blades. And though victory might have been his, he could not help but feel like Hesiodos had won somehow, just by managing to get under his skin. He gazed at the other man and tried to guauge if he was being mocked, but there was nothing in the bard’s face to suggest so, and so Achilleas made a non-commital noise. He did not think it worthy behaviour of a King to cross blades with man so roguish as the one before him, but also he was not so unkind as give voice to the thought. “Perhaps one day”
But it would seem that was not to be what had him at a loss for words, for Hesiodos took him quite literally at his word when it came to composing a song for the late King, and Achilleas was not at all prepared for such a question.
Words that would faithfully express his father’s nature? The Mikaelidas man faltered, for such was a big ask, and for a horrible, awkward moment his mind was entirely blank and he just stared at the bard. Thankfully, the ability to think seemed to return to him though, and he made an effort at arming the bard with some fitting words.
“My father, he’s..was an intractable force, and yet well-loved. He cared for nothing more than he cared for Taengea.” Achilleas broke off, frowning. He found he did not much want to recite Somebody else could do this better than he, surely?
It was wise of the bard not to press his luck in terms of familiarity with the king. Achilleas - never one who ran particularly towards easy going - was wound even more tightly than usual, his responses kept rigidly controlled. As it was, he allowed the touch of the man’s hand upon his shoulder but made no invation for any further contact. And when he offered his thanks for Hesiodos’ condolences, he had though their conversation would come to an end.
Surprised by the generous words from a man whom he had not had the most friendly of relatioships with, Achilleas had tilted his head to the side a little, unsure what to do with the sentiment, Respect was not a thing he had come to expect from the bard. But it would seem the man had not yet finished.
Later, he would think it brave of Hesiodos to bring up that encounter they’d had those years before, but at that very moment, it caught Achilleas off-guard, and his carefully measured expression slipped a moment. That fight had hardly been a fond memory of his. Hindered by the effects of alcohol, he had been sloppy in his defense, and it irked him that he bore a thin silver scar across his ribs from one of the bard’s twin blades. And though victory might have been his, he could not help but feel like Hesiodos had won somehow, just by managing to get under his skin. He gazed at the other man and tried to guauge if he was being mocked, but there was nothing in the bard’s face to suggest so, and so Achilleas made a non-commital noise. He did not think it worthy behaviour of a King to cross blades with man so roguish as the one before him, but also he was not so unkind as give voice to the thought. “Perhaps one day”
But it would seem that was not to be what had him at a loss for words, for Hesiodos took him quite literally at his word when it came to composing a song for the late King, and Achilleas was not at all prepared for such a question.
Words that would faithfully express his father’s nature? The Mikaelidas man faltered, for such was a big ask, and for a horrible, awkward moment his mind was entirely blank and he just stared at the bard. Thankfully, the ability to think seemed to return to him though, and he made an effort at arming the bard with some fitting words.
“My father, he’s..was an intractable force, and yet well-loved. He cared for nothing more than he cared for Taengea.” Achilleas broke off, frowning. He found he did not much want to recite Somebody else could do this better than he, surely?
Never once did Hesiodos tried to mock Achilleas in their conversation, even if he seemed to overstep boundaries, and try to have familiarity for a man that disliked him at best, and outright hated him at worst. But the bard was not an evil man; at least not enough to mock a man that lost his father and was grieving. He felt that some sympathy would make him feel better, but Achilleas was quite hard to read.
Still, Hesiodos knew how to read people properly. It was a huge part of being a performer, to be able to read a crowd and individuals, to see their reaction, and where to move from there. He knew that his offer for a future duel was politely declined, in which ‘Perhaps one day’ meant ‘Not ever’, but he didn’t say anything else.
But the fact that Achilleas seemed thrown off by his question about his dad didn’t escape him. He suspected he strung a particularly delicate string… perhaps they didn’t get along well? Hesiodos would know a thing or two about that. The fact that he talked about how the people saw him, and not how he saw him, was a dead giveaway.
“Understood”, he said, making a mental note to search for rumors and general opinion later. But then he continued, “Reminds me of my dad… he was a hard man, but generally beloved by the community. He had the best wine in Phossis, or so he claimed”, he chuckled, and with the same tone, he said, “He was an asshole.”
Hesiodos subtly raised his head, and pointed as his chin, which was showing a bit of stubble. On his jaw, bellow his cheek, there was a noticeable silver scar, “He did this to me, when I was young. I never understood why, exactly, only that he was angry”, he said with the same tone one would suggest that the weather has been particularly bad lately, “It was one of the reasons I became a wanderer and left Phossis”, Hesiodos interrupted himself to take a deep breath, and exhale, “I’m telling you this because I hope the late king Irakles has been better to you. You deserve a father that loves you. Everyone does. Don’t you think?”
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Never once did Hesiodos tried to mock Achilleas in their conversation, even if he seemed to overstep boundaries, and try to have familiarity for a man that disliked him at best, and outright hated him at worst. But the bard was not an evil man; at least not enough to mock a man that lost his father and was grieving. He felt that some sympathy would make him feel better, but Achilleas was quite hard to read.
Still, Hesiodos knew how to read people properly. It was a huge part of being a performer, to be able to read a crowd and individuals, to see their reaction, and where to move from there. He knew that his offer for a future duel was politely declined, in which ‘Perhaps one day’ meant ‘Not ever’, but he didn’t say anything else.
But the fact that Achilleas seemed thrown off by his question about his dad didn’t escape him. He suspected he strung a particularly delicate string… perhaps they didn’t get along well? Hesiodos would know a thing or two about that. The fact that he talked about how the people saw him, and not how he saw him, was a dead giveaway.
“Understood”, he said, making a mental note to search for rumors and general opinion later. But then he continued, “Reminds me of my dad… he was a hard man, but generally beloved by the community. He had the best wine in Phossis, or so he claimed”, he chuckled, and with the same tone, he said, “He was an asshole.”
Hesiodos subtly raised his head, and pointed as his chin, which was showing a bit of stubble. On his jaw, bellow his cheek, there was a noticeable silver scar, “He did this to me, when I was young. I never understood why, exactly, only that he was angry”, he said with the same tone one would suggest that the weather has been particularly bad lately, “It was one of the reasons I became a wanderer and left Phossis”, Hesiodos interrupted himself to take a deep breath, and exhale, “I’m telling you this because I hope the late king Irakles has been better to you. You deserve a father that loves you. Everyone does. Don’t you think?”
Never once did Hesiodos tried to mock Achilleas in their conversation, even if he seemed to overstep boundaries, and try to have familiarity for a man that disliked him at best, and outright hated him at worst. But the bard was not an evil man; at least not enough to mock a man that lost his father and was grieving. He felt that some sympathy would make him feel better, but Achilleas was quite hard to read.
Still, Hesiodos knew how to read people properly. It was a huge part of being a performer, to be able to read a crowd and individuals, to see their reaction, and where to move from there. He knew that his offer for a future duel was politely declined, in which ‘Perhaps one day’ meant ‘Not ever’, but he didn’t say anything else.
But the fact that Achilleas seemed thrown off by his question about his dad didn’t escape him. He suspected he strung a particularly delicate string… perhaps they didn’t get along well? Hesiodos would know a thing or two about that. The fact that he talked about how the people saw him, and not how he saw him, was a dead giveaway.
“Understood”, he said, making a mental note to search for rumors and general opinion later. But then he continued, “Reminds me of my dad… he was a hard man, but generally beloved by the community. He had the best wine in Phossis, or so he claimed”, he chuckled, and with the same tone, he said, “He was an asshole.”
Hesiodos subtly raised his head, and pointed as his chin, which was showing a bit of stubble. On his jaw, bellow his cheek, there was a noticeable silver scar, “He did this to me, when I was young. I never understood why, exactly, only that he was angry”, he said with the same tone one would suggest that the weather has been particularly bad lately, “It was one of the reasons I became a wanderer and left Phossis”, Hesiodos interrupted himself to take a deep breath, and exhale, “I’m telling you this because I hope the late king Irakles has been better to you. You deserve a father that loves you. Everyone does. Don’t you think?”
Achilleas wasn’t certain what he had done to provoke such a level of personal revelation from the man before him. He had not asked him about his own father, had not invited such a retelling and yet here he was, in uncomfortable receipt of one anyway. Perhaps it went along with the man’s craft, the inabilty to hold his tongue?
The Mikaelidas man stood rigid, arms folded behind his back, his eyes sharp where they looked upon the bard, following his movement to see the faint scar visible on the man’s chin. He wasn’t entirely sure what Hesiodos was getting at, and his confusion must have been visible for the bard offered some explaination, though it hardly pleased the new King.
His relationship with his father had been a complicated one. On one hand, Achilleas had striven to please the man, had bent himself out of shape more than once in trying to do so. But the long years of receiving little but criticism and worn away at the hero worship he had nurtured as a young boy. He had respected his father as a General,but as a man? That was less easy to say.
But such was not a thing that Achilleas would have chosen to discuss on the best of days, let alone now, so soon after his death, with his body still lying in the far wing of the house as arrangements were made for a burial fit for a King. His lips thinned, features hardened at such a remark. What was he supposed to say to that?
“I am certain most would be in agreement with you there” he offered after a moment, in what he hoped was a neutral tone. “But if you do not mind, I must take my leave of you now. There are many things requiring my attention and I cannot delay. I thank you again for your well-wishes.”
Achilleas glanced toward the housekeeper who had busied herself in the corner of the room, before returning his focus to the bard. “Alexa will see you out once you’ve finished your refreshments. Good day to you, Hesiodos”
And with that, the new monarch gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, turned and left the room, leaving the bard to finish his tea, collect his pay and be on his way, perhaps with more of an insight into the new King’s thoughts on the late King than Achilleas might have liked.
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Achilleas wasn’t certain what he had done to provoke such a level of personal revelation from the man before him. He had not asked him about his own father, had not invited such a retelling and yet here he was, in uncomfortable receipt of one anyway. Perhaps it went along with the man’s craft, the inabilty to hold his tongue?
The Mikaelidas man stood rigid, arms folded behind his back, his eyes sharp where they looked upon the bard, following his movement to see the faint scar visible on the man’s chin. He wasn’t entirely sure what Hesiodos was getting at, and his confusion must have been visible for the bard offered some explaination, though it hardly pleased the new King.
His relationship with his father had been a complicated one. On one hand, Achilleas had striven to please the man, had bent himself out of shape more than once in trying to do so. But the long years of receiving little but criticism and worn away at the hero worship he had nurtured as a young boy. He had respected his father as a General,but as a man? That was less easy to say.
But such was not a thing that Achilleas would have chosen to discuss on the best of days, let alone now, so soon after his death, with his body still lying in the far wing of the house as arrangements were made for a burial fit for a King. His lips thinned, features hardened at such a remark. What was he supposed to say to that?
“I am certain most would be in agreement with you there” he offered after a moment, in what he hoped was a neutral tone. “But if you do not mind, I must take my leave of you now. There are many things requiring my attention and I cannot delay. I thank you again for your well-wishes.”
Achilleas glanced toward the housekeeper who had busied herself in the corner of the room, before returning his focus to the bard. “Alexa will see you out once you’ve finished your refreshments. Good day to you, Hesiodos”
And with that, the new monarch gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, turned and left the room, leaving the bard to finish his tea, collect his pay and be on his way, perhaps with more of an insight into the new King’s thoughts on the late King than Achilleas might have liked.
Achilleas wasn’t certain what he had done to provoke such a level of personal revelation from the man before him. He had not asked him about his own father, had not invited such a retelling and yet here he was, in uncomfortable receipt of one anyway. Perhaps it went along with the man’s craft, the inabilty to hold his tongue?
The Mikaelidas man stood rigid, arms folded behind his back, his eyes sharp where they looked upon the bard, following his movement to see the faint scar visible on the man’s chin. He wasn’t entirely sure what Hesiodos was getting at, and his confusion must have been visible for the bard offered some explaination, though it hardly pleased the new King.
His relationship with his father had been a complicated one. On one hand, Achilleas had striven to please the man, had bent himself out of shape more than once in trying to do so. But the long years of receiving little but criticism and worn away at the hero worship he had nurtured as a young boy. He had respected his father as a General,but as a man? That was less easy to say.
But such was not a thing that Achilleas would have chosen to discuss on the best of days, let alone now, so soon after his death, with his body still lying in the far wing of the house as arrangements were made for a burial fit for a King. His lips thinned, features hardened at such a remark. What was he supposed to say to that?
“I am certain most would be in agreement with you there” he offered after a moment, in what he hoped was a neutral tone. “But if you do not mind, I must take my leave of you now. There are many things requiring my attention and I cannot delay. I thank you again for your well-wishes.”
Achilleas glanced toward the housekeeper who had busied herself in the corner of the room, before returning his focus to the bard. “Alexa will see you out once you’ve finished your refreshments. Good day to you, Hesiodos”
And with that, the new monarch gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, turned and left the room, leaving the bard to finish his tea, collect his pay and be on his way, perhaps with more of an insight into the new King’s thoughts on the late King than Achilleas might have liked.
Hesiodos had a tendency to overshare sometimes, which got him in trouble most of the time. This moment, though, he didn’t do it with bad intention – he was telling the new king about his father, and his ill treatment, because he suspected he was treated the same way. It was his way, without saying it outright, of telling him ‘you’re not alone’. It may have come off as something else for Achilleas, of course, but he did have in mind that he must be emotionally numb. Perhaps in the future he would think of this moment and realize.
“Of course, my king”, he replied as Achilleas dismissed him, “I don’t intend to take more of your time. Thanks for receiving me”, he said, and offered another bow, this time without being asked, “Goodbye, Achilleas. Until we meet again”, and like that, he was gone. Hesiodos took his sweet time to finish his tea, and once he the king was out of earshot, he directed himself to Alexa, “Ahh, before I forget… I haven’t collected my pay for my services during the party. You understand that I can’t leave without that”, Alexa then nodded and left for a couple of minutes, returning with a bag of coins, “Thank you. Good day”, and with that, he left. The pouch was of sizeable size, and he suspected it was more than was agreed in the deal. He wasn’t going to complain.
Hesiodos was escorted out of the palati by Alexa. They were both surrounded by an uncomfortable silence, so he decided to hum a sad song while he walked. He returned to the city and spent part of the money. He talked with people all over the place about the late king Irakles, and what they thought of him, and how he was. Gathering the information ended up being really informative, and one night, Hesiodos composed a song, and began to sing it when he had the chance. It went something like this:
“Ares smirks with delighted glee When Irakles marches on the corpses of his enemies They cower and ask a mercy plea While the metal clashes in a sweet melody The people he cares about cheer his name He marches, and they smile as best as they can After all, who else can they blame? His image has to be longer than their lifespan A hard first and a harder rule He knows how to handle his men well He might know well, about the tool Otherwise something else he might smell”
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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Hesiodos had a tendency to overshare sometimes, which got him in trouble most of the time. This moment, though, he didn’t do it with bad intention – he was telling the new king about his father, and his ill treatment, because he suspected he was treated the same way. It was his way, without saying it outright, of telling him ‘you’re not alone’. It may have come off as something else for Achilleas, of course, but he did have in mind that he must be emotionally numb. Perhaps in the future he would think of this moment and realize.
“Of course, my king”, he replied as Achilleas dismissed him, “I don’t intend to take more of your time. Thanks for receiving me”, he said, and offered another bow, this time without being asked, “Goodbye, Achilleas. Until we meet again”, and like that, he was gone. Hesiodos took his sweet time to finish his tea, and once he the king was out of earshot, he directed himself to Alexa, “Ahh, before I forget… I haven’t collected my pay for my services during the party. You understand that I can’t leave without that”, Alexa then nodded and left for a couple of minutes, returning with a bag of coins, “Thank you. Good day”, and with that, he left. The pouch was of sizeable size, and he suspected it was more than was agreed in the deal. He wasn’t going to complain.
Hesiodos was escorted out of the palati by Alexa. They were both surrounded by an uncomfortable silence, so he decided to hum a sad song while he walked. He returned to the city and spent part of the money. He talked with people all over the place about the late king Irakles, and what they thought of him, and how he was. Gathering the information ended up being really informative, and one night, Hesiodos composed a song, and began to sing it when he had the chance. It went something like this:
“Ares smirks with delighted glee When Irakles marches on the corpses of his enemies They cower and ask a mercy plea While the metal clashes in a sweet melody The people he cares about cheer his name He marches, and they smile as best as they can After all, who else can they blame? His image has to be longer than their lifespan A hard first and a harder rule He knows how to handle his men well He might know well, about the tool Otherwise something else he might smell”
Hesiodos had a tendency to overshare sometimes, which got him in trouble most of the time. This moment, though, he didn’t do it with bad intention – he was telling the new king about his father, and his ill treatment, because he suspected he was treated the same way. It was his way, without saying it outright, of telling him ‘you’re not alone’. It may have come off as something else for Achilleas, of course, but he did have in mind that he must be emotionally numb. Perhaps in the future he would think of this moment and realize.
“Of course, my king”, he replied as Achilleas dismissed him, “I don’t intend to take more of your time. Thanks for receiving me”, he said, and offered another bow, this time without being asked, “Goodbye, Achilleas. Until we meet again”, and like that, he was gone. Hesiodos took his sweet time to finish his tea, and once he the king was out of earshot, he directed himself to Alexa, “Ahh, before I forget… I haven’t collected my pay for my services during the party. You understand that I can’t leave without that”, Alexa then nodded and left for a couple of minutes, returning with a bag of coins, “Thank you. Good day”, and with that, he left. The pouch was of sizeable size, and he suspected it was more than was agreed in the deal. He wasn’t going to complain.
Hesiodos was escorted out of the palati by Alexa. They were both surrounded by an uncomfortable silence, so he decided to hum a sad song while he walked. He returned to the city and spent part of the money. He talked with people all over the place about the late king Irakles, and what they thought of him, and how he was. Gathering the information ended up being really informative, and one night, Hesiodos composed a song, and began to sing it when he had the chance. It went something like this:
“Ares smirks with delighted glee When Irakles marches on the corpses of his enemies They cower and ask a mercy plea While the metal clashes in a sweet melody The people he cares about cheer his name He marches, and they smile as best as they can After all, who else can they blame? His image has to be longer than their lifespan A hard first and a harder rule He knows how to handle his men well He might know well, about the tool Otherwise something else he might smell”